A Perfect Machine(27)
Ah, is that why you’re helping me, Steve?
He moved back, cleared his throat, embarrassed, but carried on: “Let’s just think for a sec. What else is out there? Near the doors, I mean. Maybe some other place he can hide till it gets dark? Whatever we do, we have to figure it out now. I already have no idea how I’m going to explain why I’m not at work and have been driving around in a fucking ambulance all morning for no apparent reason.”
Faye pulled her hands away from her face, breathed deeply. Straightened out her uniform. “Alright, OK. Let’s have a look.” She leaned forward into the passenger seat, poked her head out just far enough so she could see outside.
Dumpster. Of course. I’m an idiot.
“The dumpster,” she said, turning back to Steve. “We don’t need to pull the fire alarm. We only need a diversion big enough for me to get him into the dumpster. I’ll wait till people are asleep tonight, and then move him in. That’ll give me a chance to get a bigger blanket, too – one that might actually cover all of him, head to toe. It’ll still look weird if anyone sees it, but at least they won’t be able to actually see what he is.”
She glanced over at Henry, looking sheepish. She didn’t mean for her words to hurt him, but she saw that they did.
“Alright, do it,” Steve said, now visibly near panic at the thought of potentially losing his job. “Let’s go. Come on. I gotta get back.”
“Wait, what’s the diversion?” Faye said.
Steve looked lost in thought for a few seconds, then said, “Just watch what I do, then move Henry when you see I’ve got everyone’s attention. It won’t be anything Hollywood-flashy, so pay attention. Just gonna spin some bullshit.”
Steve moved to the back of the ambulance, took one more glance at Faye and Henry, opened the doors, then was out and walking toward the apartment building’s rear entrance.
Faye turned quickly to Henry. “I’ll get you out as soon as I can, Henry. I promise. It’ll be well over twelve hours, but then we’ll be safe, OK?”
Henry looked up at her. “Safe?” Then he dropped his eyes again. The word was hollow, meaningless in his mouth, her ears.
Milo felt that stomach-churning feeling of wrongness again. Knew something horrible was coming. And soon.
Faye draped the blanket over Henry as best she could. His legs would stick out the bottom, but it wouldn’t be for long. Just a few feet – assuming, that was, Henry had mastered his new body enough to actually be able to climb into the dumpster.
“Here we go,” Faye said, and smiled again. This time it felt more natural. Looked more at ease on her face.
Henry just nodded, looking grim.
She poked her head out the back, saw Steve with a small crowd of people gathered around and near him. She couldn’t hear everything he was saying, but she caught wisps of sentences: “… called here by an elderly man…” “… collapsed outside the building…” “… didn’t tell us the apartment number…” “… could’ve had a stroke, wasn’t thinking clearly, maybe crawled off to try to get some help?…”
Everyone wore concerned looks on their faces, eager to be of help in finding this fictitious elderly stroke victim – or at least eager to appear wanting to be of help.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was their best shot. “Now, Henry!” Faye whispered. “I’ll guide you to the edge of the dumpster, then you hop in as quick as you can.”
When Henry’s weight left the ambulance, the shocks groaned again. Faye and Henry moved as silently as they could across the roughly ten feet of distance between the vehicle and the dumpster. Faye risked a quick glance at Steve and the crowd.
No one looking their way.
Henry reached the edge of the dumpster (thankfully the lid was open), reached up, felt around blindly for the lip, hoisted himself up, dropped in. He landed on a bed of snow and garbage bags. The container was nearly full of the bags, but when his full body weight hit them, he pancaked them down, and still hit the bottom – but with a muted enough sound that no one looked over.
Faye then walked as casually as possible over to Steve and his crowd of concerned citizens. Steve saw her, and promptly wrapped up his story. “Well, I really need to get back to the hospital, but if anyone sees or hears anything about this call, please let us know. Thanks, everyone, for your concern. Keep an eye out.”
Steve turned and walked back to the ambulance, got in, drove away.
The crowd dispersed, muttering to each other about what a shame it was, which old man from their building it could’ve been, etc.
Faye looked at the dumpster as she walked through the doors of her apartment building, her heart in her throat. Hoping to hell and back that today was not a pickup day.
Across the street, Edward Palermo, hidden in shadows till now, walked slowly away.
* * *
That day turned out not to be a garbage pickup day, but Faye thought she was going to have a heart attack every time she heard a big truck go by or, worse yet, pull into the apartment building’s parking lot.
The hours dragged like they were weighed down by immense anchors. Faye did everything she could think of to distract herself – watched TV, surfed the internet, played what felt like a thousand games of solitaire – but evening was slow in coming. The window of her apartment darkened by infinitesimal degrees. When night finally fell, it felt like a cool balm on her shoulders: her back and neck muscles relaxed, and she felt like she could pull in a full breath for the first time all day.