Ascent, p.12
Ascent, page 12
part #2 of The Lit Series Series
“OK, I'm coming there. Might be a while, but I'm on my way, OK?” She scanned the road. The bus back would leave from the other side. “What's been going on?”
“I went to the police, and I was waiting to talk to them, just like you said, and while I was waiting someone tried to take my phone. Then the dog…” Josh said.
“What happened?”
“... The dog was an asshole.”
Defeated, Ellie sat heavily on the metal bench, rubbing her face. He hadn't lasted an hour. She was not naive to what could go wrong, but she had been strangely optimistic. She hadn't imagined it would all go to shit so quickly. “So what's happening now?”
“My aunt was here and the doctors. The police are coming, I think, but I don't know when. They came to the hospital, but I was asleep… uncon-conk—sion.”
“Unconscious,” Ellie closed her eyes wearily.
“Yeah that. Are you coming to get me? Are you coming?”
Ellie took a deep breath. She would try to see him. At least try to calm him. Perhaps she could quell his anxiety, if even for today. Christ this is hopeless.
“Yes, I'm coming,” she replied. “Just please stay calm… say the words until I get there.”
“Yes, I'm calm now you're coming! I’ll get dressed. My clothes are here on the chair. Come quickly!”
The phone went dead.
No, no, no. This was not supposed to happen. Thinking for a moment, she turned and ran across the road. Once again, no plan. Chances were they wouldn't even let her in. That would mean talking to people. This was getting worse by the minute.
Chapter 9
As soon as the door opened the sickly odour of urine filled Jason's nostrils. Grimacing in disgust he entered the aged-care home. The smell made the corridor seem small and oppressive. He usually tried to avoid this visit until later in the day, when the residents had been sufficiently wiped down with oversized baby wipes. Then the stench was more bearable. As a candid doctor once said to him, when the man he had called grandfather was waitlisted for this place:
“Make no mistake, it's God's waiting room. Nothing more.”
God had a tragic waiting room.
He walked down the short corridor to a long, oak desk lit by the sickly yellow glow of tube fluorescent lighting. There was one solitary nurse sitting behind the desk. She was an older, plump woman with small eyes and a tight little duck’s ass mouth. She was relatively new. She had replaced the other fat cow who had sat here until a few weeks ago. That one had ‘left’ due to Jason’s hangover and the terse morning greeting that she had delivered when he really wasn’t in the mood. He remembered it briefly, wanting her destruction to end. His head had hurt badly and her screaming just made it worse.
He smiled softly at this memory, watching her silly fat frame running and bouncing about. He was sure he saw her body ripple when a huge fist had slammed into her massive belly. He even heard the fat in her throat as she screamed, muffled and croaky.
He rounded the corner and walked past the desk, down the wall-papered hall, giving a blunt “Hi” as the new nurse greeted him. He walked through the dining hall crowded with rows of fold-away tables, still adorned with cheap plastic flower arrangements and vinyl placemats. He had witnessed the worst of eating habits in this room; sloppy mouths and blended food.
Past the five identical doors to the left, all with little token laminated name tags upon them, to door number eleven. With a deep sigh of contempt, and without knocking, he opened the door to find the room in semi-darkness with only the dim, midmorning sunlight filtering through a curtained window. Taking a deep breath, he spoke to the lump in the bed that sat in the middle of the room.
“Good morning Grandpa Charlie.”
There was a moment of silence. Maybe he’s dead, mused Jason. He squinted into the darkness, and beyond the familiar silhouette of the bed where the old man lay, to the figure in the corner of the room. It was masked in complete darkness except for the whites of its eyes and the dense black shadow of its bulk.
“Hello, hello is that you Bill?” A hoarse voice called “I need to use the bathroom Bill.”
“No. No, Bill doesn’t call you Grandpa Charlie, does he?” The bed shuffled slightly, “and why are you still in bed?”
“Everyone calls me Grandpa Charlie,” his voice grew aggressive, “so, to what do I owe this pleasure Master Jason?”
A bedside lamp suddenly illuminated the dark space revealing the old man in striped pyjamas. Tufts of white hair barely covered his head. His sunken cheeks revealed what Jason had suspected - he didn’t have his teeth in. Slowly the old man pulled his withered hand back from the lamp, putting it back under the warm blanket. As aged and decrepit as he was, Jason was always intimidated by those strong, blue eyes. Piercing and cold. This was the man who never liked him and never trusted him. Never took him into the family and made it clear that he wasn’t wanted.
However, the past had not been kind to old Grandpa Charlie. Charles Russo and his wife only had one son, Damian. The apple of their eye. Damian married Cynthia. Cynthia could not have children of her own and as luck would have it, Jason was brought to their home as a foster child. Due to Cynthia’s desperation and Damian’s desire for a son, it didn’t take long for the Russo’s to adopt Jason as their own. The barren Cynthia convinced her keen-to-please husband Damian that Jason should stay. But one day Damian and Cynthia vanished. They would never be seen again. Grandpa Charlie had nothing. Old fashioned and modest, Jason’s adoptive father had called his parents. Poor, uneducated and cretinous is how Jason chose to see them. Damian had not come from money. He had come from dirt poor, white trash. Damian was a self-made man and Charlie was a testament to how sad and pathetic his life could have been. But Damian loved his father and his father loved him. In this turn of events, Charlie was left stripped of his only son, his daughter-in-law and, two months later, his wife.
Jason was 16 years old when he became the benefactor of his adopted father’s estate with one, unfortunate proviso, that Jason must be financially responsible for the man he came to know as Grandpa Charlie. Charlie was thus left with a step-grandson who was spoilt and cold. Jason in turn was left with a burden he loathed. True to form, therefore, he provided only the most basic of essentials and nothing more.
“I was on my way to work… thought I would pop in.” Jason crossed his arms and leaned heavily on the door frame.
The old man nodded, “at this early hour, I didn’t think they would let anyone in.”
“It's 10AM Grandpa. It's hardly early” Jason sighed, looking into the corridor behind him. “You seem to have been forgotten.”
“Well, we seem to have lost some staff of late.”
“Yes… yes I noticed.”
“Yes… I’m sure you did” Charlie retorted quickly with a hint of sarcasm that momentarily stunned Jason.
An underlying level of suspicion had been there since the disappearance of his parents. It had increased over time and these kinds of subtle jibes were now commonplace. Years ago, Jason had been intimidated by them but, after years of inaction, he found Charlie’s implied assumptions, or suspicions, were irrelevant and dull.
“What makes you say that?” Jason asked, smiling.
“Well, the whole place is talking about Nurse Carmichael. Just left work a few weeks ago and never came back. No-one can find her. Interesting… intriguing.” Charlie laid back down onto the hard pillows.
“Which one was she?”
“She was an older girl. Sat at the front,” he said waving, his finger.
“Aw ye… the really fat one… probably choked on a sandwich,” Jason said dryly.
Charlie grimaced with disapproval, as he moved himself up to a clumsy slumped position on the bed “Jason you have a very dark sense of humour sometimes.” Charlie chuckled, ignoring Jason’s genuine viciousness. Observing Jason’s triggers was important.
“Not dark, just observant. Lighten the fuck up for god’s sake. Anyway, you needed to pee.” Jason stepped away from the door, looking behind him, hoping for an interruption. “Or have you used your diaper since we've been talking?”
Charlie remained silent, not keen to give his grandson anything further to work with. He watched Jason standing by the door, unwilling to enter, and desperate to leave. Why did he do this? If he wanted to leave then why not just leave? Their interactions were asinine with the occasional sprinkling of politeness. Not enjoyable and, even in his old age, Jason’s visits were not wanted.
There are worse things than being lonely, one of which was having this rude, cold-hearted young man visit him weekly to assess his health in hope of finding him at death’s door. After all, every day he spent in this completely unglamorous facility, with its faux art and baby food, was costing Jason money. Charlie didn’t know why he wasn’t dead already but found it interesting how Jason regarded his living to be a passive aggressive act against him.
“Nah, I’m kidding Grandpa,” Jason laughed. “Let me find someone for you. I pay them enough.”
“No, no, Jason, leave them be. They will be on their way in good time.” Charlie straightened himself up even further watching as Jason slouched with frustrated resignation against the door. He was so easy to read.
“So, as you can see, I’m still alive. Sadly, I continue to drain my son’s bank account with this selfish habit of not dying. You may have to wait a bit longer. Perhaps better luck next week.”
Jason feigned surprise, leaning his head forward and guffawing loudly “well that wasn’t nice Grandpa Charlie. It’s important that I keep an eye on my investments and this place is very expensive.”
“Yes, well they do a very good job,” carefully avoiding Jason’s triggers. With a sigh, he reached to the side table and slid out a walking stick. Not that he walked anymore, since diabetes took his left leg, but he could use it to stand. A standing stick he would joke to his carers and enjoy a moment of false phoney chuckles.
“Well, it seems they are waylaid. Make yourself useful please Jason. Bring me that chair. Place it here.” With the point of his stick Charlie swivelled himself to the edge of the bed and sat up.
Jason felt irksome and uncomfortable. It wasn’t seeing the old man’s body ravaged by the years and diabetes, but the idea that Charlie thought it appropriate to ask him for help. The look of disgust on his face was obvious. Charlie smiled gently “I can get myself into it. I just need you to push it over here... don’t worry I can manage everything from there.”
The old man slid himself into the wheelchair with great difficulty. He didn’t ask the young man for help, and none was offered. Once on the chair, and with an exhausted sigh, he grasped a small yellow blanket from the bed and pulled it over himself. Turning the chair, he faced Jason who had returned to the doorway and was watching with amusement.
“Today is the day that the littlies come and pay us a visit. It's nice, you know. You see there is life in me yet. I can keep up with the young-uns” Charlie beamed contentiously as Jason slowly nodded.
“So there is,” he said bluntly. “You're the Olympian of ragged old people.”
Charlie started to wheel himself to the door. “So maybe you can start coming fortnightly now Jason. That way the wait won’t seem so… laborious for you. Or maybe just wait for the call?” Before Jason had a chance to respond Charlie wheeled past him and into the wide, dark corridor. “Come along now, you really should be going. You’ve seen all you need to see.”
With that, Charlie rolled down the hallway leaving Jason to follow grumpily in his wake. Charlie didn’t allow further conversation with the boy. He had always been unpleasant and odd. Jason had gone from being a little oddball to a taller oddball. Charlie also knew that it was best Jason not be triggered. He greeted the nurses behind the desk, who waved back and waited for Jason to join him.
“So, call me if you need anything,” Jason continued walking past without stopping.
“Yes, just like I always do,” Charlie jibed. “Now leave, the school children arrive soon, and you’ll scare them away.”
“That’s not what I meant, Grandpa...” Jason pulled his beanie back over his short black hair. “I mean if you need something, let me know OK?”
Charlie watched Jason with sadness. This was Jason’s usual approach. Dark banter, venom but with the delivery of the slightest genuine sentiment a moment before he walked out the door. However, this was something Charlie had become immune to. This was a technique he had watched Jason use on many other occasions – mixing venom with honey. Confusing and controlling.
He continued to watch as Jason walked through the door and out into the cold morning air. He felt a heaviness lift. The weight that came from Jason’s presence was a feeling of damage and loss. Charlie was a kind man. Loneliness was commonplace in his life now. Older and alone, it was something he had come to regard as a winding down of life. A half death that persisted before one faded into the darkness. He hated seeing the same loneliness in others. Maybe, he had pondered, when you feel lonely yourself you can justify this by remembering all the regrets you have had. That in some strange way made you feel that you deserve to end your life alone. As complicated as his step-grandson was, and as rare as he felt they shared moments of genuine, human intimacy, he was sure of one aspect of Jason’s pained existence – Jason was never alone.
Checking the text several times, he was sure it was the place that Chelamah had asked to meet. Interesting. It had taken him forty minutes of driving up the narrow, winding roads of Mt. Marshblerie. He had begun to feel nauseous, but opening the window relieved the effects of the twists and turns. Then it started raining and the window went back up. The nausea commenced again.
The location surprised and then intrigued him. Why here? This was an unusual location for them to meet, though he did know today was different. Today he would meet with others. He didn’t know who or where, but Chelamah had promised him that today, it would begin. He would start his introduction to the Pantheon. This, she declared, would be done incrementally. He knew there was a ‘leader’ and, it was clear, he would not be meeting them yet.
There was some kind of bullshit ranking within members. This concept seemed ridiculous and contrived. Some artificial hierarchy. He would love to meet the person who thought that would be a good idea in a situation such as theirs.
Checking his GPS, he turned towards Fort Splendour. The city's war memorial and ‘listening’ garden. He remembered being brought here by foster parents’ number… six?... seven? One of them anyway. Rows of beautiful roses, each with a plaque of the fallen, led to the steps of the memorial. As a kid, he thought it was genius that they had placed the garden there. You had no choice but to walk through this devotion to the dead to reach their large marble shrine. Now though, he was just glad it seemed to have stopped raining.
Stepping out of the car, he looked around. There was only one other vehicle there with him. He was unsure if it was hers, but then who else would be up here? Wearily, he looked beyond the immaculate rows of flowerless rose shrubs to the structure above. He recognised Chelamah’s slender frame and long coat. He waved but received nothing back.
He got closer. A list of rehearsed questions repeated in his mind. He was also charged with gathering information by Ellie. Suddenly he stopped. Chelamah was not alone. Behind her was a guy. A big guy. Excited but cautious, Sam reminded himself that this was the plan today. More people. More people like them.
“Good morning. I mean afternoon!” he corrected himself.
“Hi Sam, how are you?” Chelamah looked down at him.
“I am well. I actually slept last night. Why are we here?” He looked about, snapping back a yawn. “Seems a bit off the beaten track, doesn't it?”
Chelamah smiled “not for us. This place is very much on our beaten track. Sam, I would like you to meet Noah.”
The big guy stepped forward, tall and intimidating. Noah moved past Chelamah, brushing comfortably against her. Sam noticed immediately. These two are fucking. Knowing his tendency to turn candid in possible awkward moments, he bit his tongue. That would be considered rude.
Don't be a dick.
Noah stared at him suspiciously. Sam wondered if Chelamah had talked him into this. Still eyeing him from beneath his baseball cap, Noah strode down the three stairs and to Sam's surprise, held out his hand.
“Noah.” He said in a deep, American accent. This surprised Sam and he instantly wished he could pick its location. “Pleased to meet ya.”
“Sam.” Sam took his hand. “How are you?”
The child now stood beside Sam, staring at the marble stairs, past Noah and at Chelamah.
“Good. Cold but good.” Following Sam's eye, Noah cast a glance to his side where Chelamah was slowly descending.
She watched the Child slowly approach her. There was no mistake when a Leviathan looked at you. A feeling of terror and weakness washed through your entire being at being prey to something so unnatural. But now she wasn’t scared. She wasn’t Lit. That wasn't needed anymore. Not since her last journey. She was already close enough, standing at the threshold.
Confused, Sam looked at Chelamah. Was the Child seeing her? If so, how?
“Are you OK?” Sam looked from the Child to Chelamah. She was distant, aloof. “What's been going on?”
The Child stood in front of Chelamah. She smiled at her, lifting her hands to her face, and gently wiggling her fingers.
“A lot. Come with us.”
“And where are we going?” He was surprised at being led around the back of the monument, his shoes slipping on the muddy ground. Great, another pair of shoes ruined.
Walking up to the top of the hill, Chelamah turned to Noah and Sam. “I want to show you something. You can ask what you like but we should go there now.”
“Good, I’ve got questions,” Sam quipped.
