When The Time Comes

chapter 28; Omar

I think I catch some shut eye, seated there on the waiting room chair. The one I've been planted on for hours now. When I stand up, it's like my back side has formed muscle memory of the seat shape. There are more people in the room now than before. I check the time and can't remember what time we pulled in. There is no way to monitor how long it's been since they took Liberty inside.

I drag my feet across the reflective floor tiles. If I bend my neck a little, I can see a distorted face look back up at me. I walk out through the parking lot, walking past the scattered cars. It almost feels like a graveyard of sorts. I don't know how to explain it but the building behind me, the orange, almost glowing lights across the stacked floors, feels like the hospital is buzzing. 

Almost like you can imagine the anxiety and grief of the people inside. Doctor's and nurse's exhaustion, the whirring of vending machines, snacks stacked inside that have probably been there for months because the cafeteria offers much better options. Outside, here in the parking lot, is a lot more calmer. A lot more quieter.

The bases of my shoes scrape across the ground. I can feel where the seams are loosening at the tip of my left shoe. I hope it holds it together. If it rips now, I don't know what I'd do. There's a black bench, where the parking lot ends and the pavement passes at the top of a patch of grass.

I sit down and close my eyes, pressing them into my palms. Under them, I can feel where my stubble has begun to lengthen. I can't remember the last time I shaved. Oh right, in the hotel. I used the mini one they stocked under the sink. My jaw itches. A sign of a blunt razor I suppose. I dig my nails into my skin,  trying to find the spot that's the most irritating when I nip the skin with a nail.

Ah fuck. I look at my finger where blood's collected under my nail. I pat my chin dry with my sleeve and push myself up. I can't leave Liberty while she's in there alone. It catches me off guard, this new feeling of responsibility. I guess this trip did bring us closer somehow. For some reason, I don't want to abandon Miss. Stabby.

I check my phone and count the days left. I do this every day to make sure time does not escape me. I do it so the last day doesn't creep up on me.

I start to walk again until it becomes a light jog. And then I'm finally sprinting. I circle the whole parking. For a while, I forget what I was thinking about and just focus on my feet- one step over the other. I pick up the pace and damn it, it feels good. I build up a sweat pretty fast but that's probably because it's humid outside. 

One lap takes me around six minutes and so I do another. On my third round, I slow down near the bench. While airing out my shirt, I hear a cry in the distance. It's faint at first so I'm not sure I even heard it. But then it happens again.

I begin to sprint again and the crying seems to be getting closer. I'm in the right direction so I keep going and going until I exit the hospital parking and climb up to the pavement next to the road. 

I pause near the bushes, trying to listen out for it. There's a long stretch of silence for a while and it's difficult to hear anything over the occasional car driving past. I hear it again so I start clawing at the hedge, shaking it to see if it's there.

Moving the bush doesn't cause any movement or sign so I move to the one next to it. I hear the cry again and I'm certain it's a dog. Maybe a puppy. It sounds like the cry of a young animal in pain. There is a whimper as my search deepens. 

My knees touch the hedges now as I shine my phone's flashlight into the crevices. I call out to whatever it is, hoping it'll recognize that I'm trying to help and not harm it.

Come on, crawl out.

The crying stops and when it doesn't return, I give up. Maybe it's run off. I feel defeated as I crawl back out and on to the pavement again. My ankles and legs itch from where I was knee deep in the growth. Shaking my legs, I try to brush off any insects that may have crawled inside my pants.

As I turn my back, about to head back to the hospital, the sounds of the mystery creature return. I deliberate it for a moment, wondering if I should just let it be or not. Finding whatever it is that is in distress here in the thick of night seems improbable. I've already tried and I guess it just doesn't want to be found.

The wail grows significantly clearer, so much so that it makes me turn around. I continue up the path where another large bush grows isolated from the others. My gut tells me it's gotta be here. If mom was here, she'd tell me to leave it. She'd say it was rabid and I'd foam at the mouth if I got any closer. To mom, nearly all stray animals had rabies. I'm not sure why she was always so certain but she believed it more than she probably believed in anything else. That's why, when I push a stem out of the way to get a clear view, I hesitate a bit.

With a deep breath, I move the flashlight towards it with the assurance that if a hospital was needed, I would have no trouble finding one. Even with rabies.

My heart sinks when I find the shape of a dog, lying on leaves and dirt. It takes a minute to figure out which side is the head and which is the tail. I make a noise and shuffle the stem in my hand, trying to get it to move or sit up. 

When it doesn't move or whimper, I realize it's eyes while open, were unmoving. Strikingly similar to Stewart when I'd found him in the attic. You'd think I'd be used to it by now. Two dead things in one night. But I'm not. I stay fixed in position, prompting it to show me a sign that it is alive. I am in a state of disbelief. When I stare at it, the poor dog with still brown eyes, I notice the cuts on its body and where the blood left him and soaked into the ground and fur.

It freaks me out to the point that I let out a mangled yelp as I stagger away, letting go of the stems and watching them return to their original place. I'm not sure how I didn't smell it before now everything smells of rot. I don't know what it is but it's overwhelming. It's so strong that I can't think of anything else and my stomach flips.

I hunch over and don't make it far from the dog when I puke into the other hedge. At first, I assume it'll just be a small reaction but I can't control it. I keep puking. It comes in waves. I'm on the fourth impulse when I try to get it together again. Now it smells even worse.

Breathing deeply and with my hand clamped over my stomach, I get up steadily. I feel whoozy as I stand straight, slightly swaying left and right. As I keep facing the hedges, too embarrassed to see if anyone saw that, my mind can't help but run a neon sign saying rabies, through and through my mind. It buzzes in my head like a conveyer belt that just won't stop.

No ma, this isn't rabies. Shit, but my head does hurt.

I take a heavy step then pause. And then I get comfortable with my gait again and make it back to the hospital again. I must be dehydrated or some shit because on my way, I swear I can hear the dog cry out again.

I don't have it in me to go back and check. That smell was awful. Like a pile of rot sitting in the sun or something. There's no way that dog was crying and there's no way that it's alive either. 

The walk back to the hospital is awful. I want to stop and lie down in the grass but even I know that I won't be getting up after that. Besides, I need some water from the dispenser in the waiting room. Maybe then all this ringing and wailing in my head will go away.

By the time I get back inside, I notice they've switched staff behind the reception. I walk past her and grab a disposable cup from the side, holding it under the tap. I bring it up to my mouth and look at the emergency doors, the same ones with the big panels of see through glass on them. 

My fingers tighten around the cup but I fail to notice that I've crumpled it. Behind the glass screen, for a fraction of a second, maybe shorter, I swear I see Stewart with his mouth open wide.

I squeeze my eyes closed and look back at the doors again. Except he's gone now.