Nocturnal

Alex

The metallic sound rattled through the white room. Aggie and the Chinaman ran to the wall, put their backs to it, pressed their collars to the flanges as the chains started to rattle and draw tight.

The boy with no tongue was lying flat on his back.

“Get up, boy! Get to the wall or that chain’s gonna yank you!”

The boy’s eyes opened. He looked at Aggie with an empty stare. Aggie had seen that look on the streets many times — the look of someone who’s given up.

The chain snapped taut, yanking the boy by his neck. That got his attention. His eyes scrunched tight with pain as hands flew to the collar. He slid along on his back, spitting up fresh blood. The chain pulled the boy up the wall until his collar clanged against the flange. He coughed and stared out, wide-eyed and confused.

The white gate opened.

Seven white-robed masked men came in: Wolfman, Darth Vader, Tiger-Face, Frankenstein, Dracula, Jason Voorhees and was that the green Power Ranger? Seven of them — and this time, two dragging sticks.

Aggie’s breath lodged in his lungs, stayed there like a rock that kept him from inhaling or exhaling.

Who had the masked men come for this time?

Wolfman, Tiger-Face and Frankenstein headed straight for the Chinaman, who screamed in terror. The other four moved to the big boy — he screeched a mewling, sad sound that tried and failed to form words.

Aggie’s body sagged in relief. A guilty feeling of knowing joy at someone else’s demise once again overwhelmed him, filled him with bottomless self-hate, but there was nothing he could do to help either of them.

The white-robed men closed in on the boy. He kicked out, or tried to, but he slipped and fell, yanking the collar hard against his neck and chin. Before he could get his feet under him, the monster masks were on him, black-gloved hands reaching in, grabbing, hitting, pulling, holding.

The Chinaman tried to fight, but he wasn’t like that scrappy Mexican. The masked men easily overpowered him. Frankenstein reached in with his stick and hooked the Chinaman’s collar. He screamed and cried as they dragged him out of the cell.

Aggie looked back at the boy. Darth Vader hooked the boy’s collar. The robed men wasted no time pulling him toward the door. The boy kicked, he screamed gutteral sounds. Splatters and streams of blood bubbled out with each desperate breath, the red marking his path along the white floor.

They took him out of the white cell.

But this time, the door didn’t close.

Aggie stared, waiting, wondering.

Hillary walked through. No cart this time. No sandwiches. She walked right up to Aggie. She leaned in close. He forced himself not to flinch away, not that there was anywhere he could go. She was his only hope.

She sniffed him. She smiled, showing her missing teeth.

“You are better.”

Aggie shook his head so violently it rattled the chain in his flange. If he was better, they would take him away like the others.

“I’m still real sick! I need my medicine.”

Hillary laughed, a light sound that anywhere else in the world would have sounded delightful. “You understand,” she said. “You are smarter than most of those we bring down here.”

Aggie kept shaking his head.

She reached out a wrinkled hand and grabbed his jaw, holding him still. He started to talk, but she put a finger on his lips.

“Shhhh,” she said. “Now I show you what happens if you don’t help me. Now we go and see Mommy.”