Randy White - Dead of Night

Tomlinson removed the mask. She was surprised to see that his eyes weren’t crazed, as she expected. He was frightened, urgent, but focused.

Does sevoflurane cause violent hallucinations?-the doctor was scanning among rational explanations for why this was happening. She was also picturing the man’s face-Marion Ford-interested because he’d had an unusual physical presence. Attractive in an unconventional way. She’d even pulled the schoolgirl stunt of pumping his son for information. Unheard of.

The woman felt a chill when Tomlinson said it again, “My friend died. Just a few seconds ago. Shit.” He took several more deep whiffs of gas, inhaling rhythmically-he might have been smoking a joint-the entire medical team standing and watching, immobilized by the bizarre circumstances, and the man’s self-assurance.

It was impossible, but he seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

“Personally, I’m not ready for a world without Doc Ford. There’s already too much chaos and darkness.” Tomlinson held the mask to his face, filled his lungs, then inhaled again. “Fortunately, I’m in the business of seeking light. I still have some pull in high places. A rendezvous-it’s worth a shot. Dr. Shepherd?”

The physician had settled into humor-him mode. “Give us the gas mask, Mr. Tomlinson. Then lay down on the table. As a personal favor, okay?”

Deep breath. “Are you done with the surgery?”

“Just finishing up.”

“Did the fish make it?” Deeper breath.

“I had to remove the parasite in sections. I’ll let you have a look-if you cooperate.”

“Damn, I was hoping to put it in an aquarium, watch it grow. Every year, my story would get better.” A huge gulp, chest inflating.

“Sorry. Mr. Tomlinson, please-no more gas.”

Three deep breaths in succession. “Put the pieces in a freezer. I live aboard a boat at a marina. I’ll either have it mounted, or give it to the guides for bait.”

As the anesthesiologist took a step toward him, saying, “You’re going to kill yourself if you take much more-” Tomlinson held up a warning palm. “That’s what I was about to tell you. For the next two or three minutes, ignore the heart monitor, the blood pressure gauge. Do not-repeat, do not-overreact and try anything crazy like open-chest heart massage. I have enough scars. Autopsy? Put the nix on that one, too. The electric paddles-save those for later. A little R and R, sure, good for a few yuks when we have some time. Otherwise, ignore all life support monitors.”

Dr. Shepherd was exchanging looks with the three other physicians.

Sure we will.

“Anyhing you want, Mr. Tomlinson. Lay back, give us the mask. Please.”

The room relaxed when the man settled himself on the table, hands folded over his abdomen, eyes closed, face showing a soft, sad smile as his lips moved, whispering something over and over. Garbled syllables that sounded like “Omni Padi Hum-m-m-m,” but then changed to something else.

Words formed but unheard, repeated as a mantra:

Come back, Doc.

Come back, Doc.

Come back, Doc.

… I fell toward the car’s open trunk, and into a dream. I was in a vast black sleep, afloat in a chilled and enormous space. A gathering of molecules, of watery salt, a loose cohesion of cells, my nucleus dissipating…

Fragments of thoughts flared briefly, sparks of electrical discharge.

Wind. Rock. Black morning sea.

Physics: sun-heavy liquid, gas constrained by stars, gravity below, nothing between. A man’s voice booming from waves: “Come back, Doc… Come back… Come back…”

Driftwood fire. A mangrove shore.

Smoke, lichens, scent of an autumn-shaded voice, a woman.

“I knew we’d arrive again on the same small island. My dear love. Finally, you are coming back to me…”

Black waves booming: “Come back, Doc. Come back. Doc, come back, Doc…”

Moon-haired girl, my beloved in a golden locket. Lighted portions of chin and cheek, strong nose creating shadow, perceptive heart indifferent to her own beauty. Small precise breasts, eyes not scarred by uncertainty.

The face of Dewey Nye appeared… faded.

Was not the face of my girl.

Heard Dewey’s long-ago voice saying, “It took me forever to admit but I’m in love with a woman. Always have been; always will…”

Dewey, with her deer stride, aside a dark-haired Romanian, their backs to me, walking among spring corn, tassel-haired child between.

Tropic rain. Banana leaves fauceting water. Village fire, a dog’s howls sparking starward.

Faces of men transected by a rifle’s crosshairs. Faces of men vaporized, a misting of red. Buoyancy of midnight water; words of a valued friend: “The only safe haven for guys like us, the only home we’ll ever know, is in the dead of night.”

Pencil on rice paper: In any conflict, the boundaries of behavior are defined by the party that values morality least…

Heredity. Blood. Tribe.

… All primate units struggle for ascendance, the weaknesses of many sheltered by the strength of a few…

Rolling waves. Black water, white-cresting: “… coming back to me. Come back… Come back… Doc, come back to me…”

I felt the urge to linger, to take the soft hand extended, to float away with dissipating molecules and vanish into delicious nonexistence.

Then I was aware of a woman’s touch. Warm lips on a numb vacancy. Warm wind funneling into a sealed space.

My lungs inflating, deflating.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM. Pounding on a door, someone demanding entrance through my chest.

A kiss: Inflate… deflate.

Another: Inflate… deflate.

The woman’s warm breath becoming cold, fueling slow light in a dark place. Dying embers flared by a breeze.

Male voice. A guttural raging. Then a woman.

“Idiot, speak English. You know my rules when Mr. Earl’s around.”

“I said this guy, he’s so goddamn heavy, Broz should be here to help.”

“To hell with Broz, we’re leaving without him.”

“Even if the man’s breathing, his brain’s dead by now. Why bother? And I’m getting very tired of your orders!”

“Get him in the plane. Behind the cargo curtain. And don’t drop the oxygen cylinder, you idiot!”

Sound of a woman walking away. Silence. Footfall of a man approaching. Stink of lavender, a burning cigarette.

“Stay cool, Aleski. Keep it together until we get to the islands. They’re expecting us. I just got off the phone.”

“She makes me so mad. I hate her.”

“Just be cool. We’ve got business to discuss, you and me. I suddenly don’t like that bitch as much as I thought.”

“She treats this guy like treasure, but treats me like shit-and he almost killed us one night with a boat.”

I felt a withering spinal compression, simultaneously a hollow melon thud.

“Don’t kick him. If you want, give him another shot before she comes back-that way, no surprises during the flight. If he tells us something useful, afterward, you can do whatever you want.”

Bee-sting burning in my arm.

“I’d like that. And what about Dasha? Can I…?”

“Whatever you want. You’re the new head of security. You make the rules.”

“Me? Really?”

“Really. I just got real bad news about Dr. Stokes. The medic says our boss has a problem. Parasites. We probably all do. Me, I’m such a genius. I put the bitch in charge of our water supply.”

Engines synching, torque of propellers, a robotic turn. G-force stomach of Earth falling away.

Vibration. Cargo plane hydraulics. Familiar.

Thermal pockets in darkness; straining for altitude… then a deeper, cozier darkness. Air becoming sea. I was on my pretty new surfboard, slow lifting waves, riding deeper, deeper into a drug-gauzy sleep.