Chapter 6: A Night Out Clubbing

Despite the club being open at this late hour, there’s not much of a line outside it, and the bouncer doesn’t give me any trouble. It’s a very good thing Nick’s presence made me cut myself off earlier tonight. Had it not, I don’t know that I’d have been able to get in. As things are, it’s not even obvious that I was out drinking earlier tonight.

The club itself is just as crowded as I’d hoped, and just as loud. The blasting techno music fills the air so powerfully that I can feel it as well as hear it. My ears genuinely hurt just being there, but that’s what I want right now. Distraction. If I can’t be unconscious for the next several hours, I want my mind to be as dull and numb as possible.

I sit at the far end of the bar, in the corner of the room. I order the cheapest drink I can find. Luckily, it’s a beer, so I’ll be able to take my time a bit drinking it. I get some soda mixed in with it, mostly for the caffeine.

There’s plenty of crowd around to protect me, but there’s no one right by me in the corner of the room. Good, I don’t have the energy to talk to anyone right now. I don’t want a conversation. I just want to be numb. I take a big swig of my drink. Once I’m done with it, I order it again without the soda.

I look out into the crowd. The dance floor is crammed tight with people, packed too close together, you’d think, to be able to dance, but they somehow manage it. They look silly. The way they vibrate and flail under the flashing neon light. They look ridiculous. It’s hypocritical of me to think that. I’ve done exactly what they’re doing now. If I had the energy, I’d probably be doing it with them.

Mom liked it here. I’ve only been here with her a few times, but she liked it. Most people wouldn’t take their moms here, and most people wouldn’t expect someone as responsible as her to be able to enjoy a place like this, but she never had the slightest trouble balancing those things. She could have so much more fun than you’d think from the look of her.

She’s where I got my talent for fun from, and she had thirty years of experience that I didn’t, with which to grow better than I will ever hope to be.

I need to channel that tonight. I order a third drink. This wouldn’t normally do much to me, but I’m tired enough that the beer has a head start on me, and I’m starting to get out of it enough for the lights to start blurring. Good I don’t need to see the world right now. I’ll take a fuzzy mess of pretty colors instead. I take another drink. I rest my head on the bar in front of me, like I used to do at school when I hadn’t gotten enough sleep. I keep my eyes open to look at the lights, but I let myself rest, otherwise. Not long after I do this, my eyes find their way shut.

***

I’m startled awake by the bartender slamming on the table. I jolt upward and look around. “You alright?” he asks.

After a second, I get my bearings, and remember where I am. “No.” I slap another few dollars on the bar in front of me. “More, please.”

“I can’t give you more if you’re starting to pass out.”

“What? No. No, I’m not passing out. I’m just sleepy, is all.”

“Then it might be a good idea to go home.”

I laugh. I laugh a long, breathy laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“I can’t go home. It’s a crime scene. My mom was killed there.”

“Recently?”

“Tonight.”

“Oh.” This guy is probably used to hearing about the troubles people are drinking away, but that one seems to throw him for a loop. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.”

“Would you like me to call you a cab?”

“No. I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“There’s a homeless shelter a few blocks from here.”

A homeless shelter. I suppose situations like mine are what they’re for. It’s compassionate of him to direct me toward one. I should be grateful to him. I’m not. I’m p*ssed. Insulted.

“I can give you directions,” he continues, “but I can’t let you stay here if you won’t stay conscious. What’s it gonna be?”

Can you even get into a shelter like that this late at night? It’s already… I check. It’s not even two in the morning. I’ve only been here for an hour. I have at least four more until the bank opens, if they even let me in the bank in my current state. “Can I use the bathroom before I go?” I ask.

“Sure.”

With a bit of difficulty, I stand. I waddle my way over to the bathroom. I almost go into the wrong one, but I catch myself. I open the door to the men’s. I make my way to the back, to the large stall. I go inside, lock the door, and sit down on the toilet.

Now that I’m alone, tears flood my eyes, and turn the already less than sharp image of the white lights above me into a proper blur. I lean back, my back resting uncomfortably against the flushing mechanism of the toilet.

What the f*ck is wrong with the universe? Why the hell was this allowed? She wasn’t even old. She was f*cking fifty-four. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to her. The last thing I said to her was that we were out of candy, and that wasn’t even true. What the f*ck did we do to make the people of Springwater hate us enough to do that? My eyes close, the image they revealed having already been so blurry as to be of no use. I’m just going to keep them that way for a second.

***

I’m awoken by the pain of my whole body smacking against the bathroom floor. I practically land on my head. I grab it. It throbs. I force myself to sit up. My pants are still around my ankles. At least there’s no sh*t anywhere.

I lie there for a second. I pull my phone out of my pocket. I accidentally pull the candy I was getting her out along with it. I stuff it back inside. I check my phone. It’s just after four. I’ve been in here for three hours. I’m lucky I got away with that. I guess everyone thought it was just occupied. The bartender must not have checked on me. Maybe he figured I’d left without telling him, or maybe he just wasn’t allowed to leave his post.

I push myself to my feet. Do I feel better, now, after a few minutes of sleep? No. My mom is still dead. The only difference is that now I’m hung over. God, I’m going to have to walk through the main room, with that music, while hung over. Maybe I should just lie down in the corner. I got away with sleeping here for three hours. Maybe I can do that a bit longer.

Footsteps run into the bathroom. Shoes squeak against its floor. Their owner tears open the door to a nearby stall, runs inside, and starts puking. The sound of it is remarkable. There’s so much. It’s like they’re emptying their entire digestive system into that bowl. For a moment I’m impressed by how quickly they managed to empty themselves, but nope, they weren’t done.

I leave the club. I hold my hands over my ears the whole way out. Between the impact, the ache, and the noise, it feels like my head is going to explode. Just my luck to find a way to get a hangover without a good night’s sleep or a proper night of drinking. I stay on the far side of the room from the bar, because I don’t want that bartender to see me.

It’s still dark outside, though it’ll probably be light in an hour or two. I’m still tired. I peek at my phone again. It’s still just after four. Turns out that when you wait a few minutes, only a few minutes pass. Also, my phone is at 11% battery. I never charged it. Hopefully I can find somewhere I can do something about that. Hopefully.

Maybe I should go back in. Maybe I should see if that same bartender is still on shift and see if he can tell me about that homeless shelter. Alternately, I could start walking to the bank. It’ll be open by the time I get there. Am I sober enough that they’ll let me in? I’ve slept for a few hours. Maybe I’ve sobered up. Can I say the alphabet backwards? “Z,” I whisper to myself. “Y, X, W, U,” F*ck. “V, U, T, S, Q, R.” F*ck.

I go back into the club. The bouncer lets me by after I tell him I forgot something inside. The same guy is still on shift. He gives me those directions. He does not ask where I’ve been for the past few hours. Bless him. I leave again and make my way to the shelter.

***

“You’re full?” I ask the woman at the homeless shelter.

“We’re full every night,” the woman who greeted me says. “You’ve come too late to be able to get a bed.”

“Is there a couch or something I can sleep on?” I ask. “I don’t need anything else. Just a place to sleep for a few hours.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she sighs. “There are no more beds, but there might be somewhere in the building I can put you.”

She’s able to get me a pillow and let me sleep in a back room. She says it’s something they’ve done before when things have overflowed. There’s nothing in there I could steal or mess up, so I’m able to be in there unsupervised, with the lights off. There’s even an outlet for my phone.

Nothing further goes on that night. The volunteer who let me stay back here has to kick me out once her shift ends, but she just started, so I’m able to get a nice, long, well, sleep isn’t the right word. It’s more that I fade in and out of consciousness in between fits of crying and being terrified about the gunman who wants to kill me.

When I’m no longer welcome, I walk back out onto the street, which is now bathed in daylight. I feel dirty. I can feel the layer of sweat covering my skin.

I take a cab to the bank. I was a little too optimistic in my hope that they could just give me a checkbook, but when I explain my situation, they are able to give me a few checks to get by, and I’m able to withdraw a bunch of cash as well. I also order a new card while I’m there, not that I’ll get it any time soon.

Once I’m out of the bank, I head back home. My heart medication is in my suitcase, and I need to take that.

Sergeant Barnes is there. I don’t know if he was there through the night or if he went home and came back, but he’s there now. I strike up a conversation with him. “So, how long do you think it’ll be before I can come back here.”

“Still a few days, like I said.”

“Okay. Have you made any progress, figuring anything out?”

“There’s not much I’m at liberty to tell you.”

“Of course there isn’t.”

“Secrecy is important.” Especially since they still think of me as a suspect. “I will say that we’ve been able to confirm that someone was on the roof. Other than that, we’re continuing to look for evidence and witnesses. Considering that you are not, as far as we know, in ongoing danger, that’s the most I should tell you.”

I come close to snapping again at the idea of me not being in any ongoing danger, but I’ve not told him about my assumption that the gunman is after me as well. Maybe I should change that. Maybe it would be a good idea to have police protection, but that would mean telling everything, absolutely everything, to this police officer. My mom wouldn’t want me to tell anyone.

“Do you need anything else?” Barnes asks.

“No.”

Once I’m done in my apartment, I go back down to the administrative area and call the Lamplighter. “Hello!” a bubbly receptionist says.

“Hey, I’m calling about a guest I think is staying with you. His name would be Nick Blanch.”

“Unfortunately, we can’t disclose the identities of guests.”

“Did someone try to break into his room last night?”

She’s silent for a moment. “There was a security incident in one of our rooms last night,” she admits, “but it was resolved, and everything is perfectly safe now.”

So, he wasn’t lying. “Thank you.”

I stare at my phone. There’s something else I could do. Someone else I could call. Someone I might have some questions for. Do I? Do I have questions for him? Yes. Yes, I think I do. I call Nick.