Victor Lavalle - The Devil in Silver

“Now that you’ve got him,” Redhead Kingpin said. “What are we going to do with him?”

Mr. Visserplein howled. And Pepper, without thinking, tightened his grip around the throat again.

“That’s it,” Heatmiser mumbled.

“Just choke him right here,” Sandra Day O’Connor said plainly.

The group crowded closer, all as one. Were they grinning or was that just a trick of the dark?

“Choke him and let us listen,” Redhead Kingpin said.

Pepper inched himself and the old man backward down the hall.

Wally Gambino moved to the front of the group. He landed a damn powerful kick right into Mr. Visserplein’s thigh. Yuckmouth followed Wally’s example, kicking Mr. Visserplein in the ribs.

Pepper tried to get up off the floor. while keeping hold of the old man and pushing backward. The other patients followed. They didn’t speak but only made sounds. When Pepper looked down at the figure in his arms, he got confused. One moment, he looked down and saw the same gaunt, bearded man. But in the next, he saw the bison’s head again. And the more confused he became, the more scared he felt. Mr. Visserplein was becoming the Devil again.

Heatmiser and Doris Roberts landed punches against Mr. Visserplein’s chest, his spindly arms. At this point, Pepper realized he was holding the old man still so the others could pummel him. It was an old-school beatdown . Eight on one. They meant to kill the old man. They’d open him up, just like Frank Waverly. But what was the last thing, the only thing, Frank Waverly had said?

Pepper rose to his feet and dragged Mr. Visserplein backward, yoking the old man off his feet. He turned so the others couldn’t land any more blows on Mr. Visserplein. So instead they hit him. They didn’t care now. They probably didn’t even notice. Pepper got to room 5. Because he’d left the door half open it was easy to slip inside. And just as quickly, he slammed the door shut with his butt. The rest were on the other side instantly, their grunts and cries muffled. Hands slammed against the door and feet kicked. The wood rattled.

“You’re safe,” Pepper said to the old man. “You’re okay.”

But Mr. Visserplein had recovered. Pepper tried to calm him, but the old man only hissed through his clenched teeth. Then, of all things, he laughed, as if this was the most fun he’d had in decades.

That was when Pepper grasped just how far gone this old man must’ve been. So detached from this reality that maybe all of them seemed like figments of some grand dream. As Mr. Visserplein’s laughter grew louder, Pepper understood why Dorry must’ve snuck out of her room every night. Why she brought nourishment, even, to him. Because Dorry saw that this man wasn’t monstrous, he was tragic.

The pressure on the other side of the door only increased. There were eight people over there determined to get through.

The door didn’t splinter, it bent.

Pepper couldn’t wait. Whatever he was going to do must be done now. But what? He guessed it had to be five or six a.m. (Six thirty-three, actually.) The morning shift and the overnight shift might all be in the building. He needed to introduce a new element. He needed to get them all — including Mr. Visserplein — away from this floor, this room. Suppose the others did kill this old man. How soon before they turned on him for helping the Devil? Then on one another?

Pepper lifted Mr. Visserplein. He carried the old man in front of him, like a baby being cradled. He ran toward the great old chair sitting in the middle of the room. The door finally gave up. The upper half cracked from the attack on the other side. The patients crowded, climbing over one another to get through the broken door.

Pepper moved around the far side of the chair. When he reached the proper spot, weak from leaked rainwater, he jumped up and down just once, as if he and Mr. Visserplein were playing on a trampoline. The floor couldn’t hold their combined weight.

The floor caved in. The two of them fell through. Down to the first floor.

They landed back in Pepper’s room. Mr. Visserplein provided Pepper with a bit of cushion because the old man hit the floor first. He cried out like he’d been struck by the Holy Spirit, but it was just Pepper’s elbow. Considering the circumstance, Pepper didn’t feel too bad about bashing the guy once in the nose.

The other patients reached the hole but had the good sense not to drop. They looked down at Pepper and the Devil and, for that moment, in the light coming through the windows of Pepper’s room, even they saw an old man, lying on his back, blood running from his nose and across his cheeks and chin so profusely that it looked like he wore a red kerchief.

The door to Pepper’s room opened. The morning shift hadn’t clocked in yet, but the night shift was still there. Miss Chris, Nurse Washburn, and Scotch Tape entered the room. They saw Pepper and Mr. Visserplein from Northwest 4 on the floor. They saw a hole in the ceiling the size of a washing machine. They walked closer, looked up through the hole and saw eight other patients peering down.

“I gonna quit,” Miss Chris said.

And she might. But not just then. Order must be restored and she was still on duty. The three staff members had to corral those upstairs, see to Mr. Visserplein’s bloody face injuries, and call Dr. Anand to report all this wildness. Eventually they would discover the bodies of Frank Waverly and Mr. Mack, both men dead from brutal injuries. Both, somehow, would be written up as suicides.

Because of all this, no one paid attention to the enormous smile on Pepper’s face for the rest of the morning. He did his best to hide it while helping the others down once Scotch Tape retrieved a service ladder. Pepper kept his face near his armpit as he reached up to steady patients on the ladder. He looked out the window, at the sunlight crossing the tops of the trees, rather than at anyone in particular. But he couldn’t stop grinning.

It had taken a while, he’d certainly failed and fumbled along the way, but right now Loochie at least might have escaped, Mr. Visserplein — that malevolent nut — was going to live, and the other eight patients had all survived this terrible ordeal. He’d done more right than wrong tonight. He’d helped as much as he could and many had come through.

EVERYBODY FELT WELL rested.

This was mostly because Dr. Anand had the staff replace every patient’s blood with an equal amount of tranquilizer. Or nearly that much. What else was he going to do? The fallout of the rebellion was a storm cloud of scrutiny. You’re not going to lose two patients (Frank Waverly and Mr. Mack), have another five suffer serious injuries, and experience property damage that totaled $82,000 and not draw some attention.

The harm done to the building caused the most uproar. The board of New Hyde Hospital wasn’t pleased to see such trouble coming out of a department that, frankly, didn’t generate enough in profits. The slapdash security room for Mr. Visserplein was of particular concern. Who had allowed such a thing? It was time to appear concerned. Someone would have to be punished. That person was the legal rep who’d sat in on Pepper’s meeting with Dr. Anand. Mr. iPad. He became a martyr to the cause. The cause being protecting New Hyde Hospital from myriad lawsuits. The man was, metaphorically, burned and buried in an unmarked grave. Only a day after he’d left New Hyde, no one at the hospital could remember the dude’s name. (His name is Robert Paulson. His name is Robert Paulson.)

Dr. Anand quickly figured out that if that guy could be let go so easily, then maybe he could, too. The doctor figured he needed to prove he could get the unit back to full compliance, not running but coasting. Release the sedatives! With the patients sufficiently stupefied, he shuffled them. He turned the conference rooms in Northwest 1 into the women’s bedrooms. And the long-unused rooms of Northwest 4 were aired out and turned into the men’s hall. Repurposing like a motherfucker. He transferred Mr. Visserplein to New Hyde’s geriatric unit, far off in the main building; pawning his troubles off on those staff members (and patients!) without a word of warning. He even oversaw the construction crews who were brought in to permanently seal off the painted-over doors and patch up the ceiling in Pepper’s old room.