CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Alex lathered during his morning shower in preparation of smuggling Charles to visit their dead friend. His thoughts, however, clung to the previous day. Though rare, he and Rosa had argued before. When subtracting the time he spent in the Lobby, perhaps the frequencies of their spats aligned with the national average? But never had they elevated a disagreement to words of cruelty or vindictive actions.
Last night they’d pressed those boundaries.
Rosa returned home in a dark mood. Her ninety minute bath with the door locked and the radio blaring gospel music acted as one of numerous hints that she preferred solitude.
Taking his cue, Alex spent the evening in the library watching the news, periodically forgetting the life quandary that awaited him, listening to outlandish claims about the Lobby and thinking: if they only knew.
When fatigue finally overcame him, he trudged up the stairs, approached the bed. Seeing Rosa’s inert form, yet being quite positive she lay awake, he grabbed his pillow dramatically, hoping to initiate an invitation to stay. When none came, he moved to the couch. When he woke, he found her gone.
Using his index finger, he pressed the button next to the water temperature gauge and ended the hundred degree stream. He stepped out to a message from Victor: breakfast was almost ready and Charles Arnold waited. Feeling anything but, he dressed casual, and met Charles in the breakfast nook.
The sun had yet to rise, leaving the sky black and the air moist, but the animated sun from his back wall shined brightly over his re-created property. Alex had once read that brain function didn’t peak until the sun had risen, so Victor greeted him with sunshine, regardless of the time or actual elements. Today, however, the calculated ploy made him feel like a pretentious fool.
Charles waited for him at the far end of the iron table, reading the LA Times. He sat, thanked Glen for the egg white, vegetable omelet, and tried to calm his nerves as the pair ate in silence.
Charles had never been much of a conversationalist. This morning, along with being reticent, he looked sick, nauseous. His guest wiped sweat from his brow on more than one occasion, bags underlined his eyes, and each time he spooned a wedge from his half of grapefruit, he looked pained by the idea of swallowing.
Alex imagined everything he explained to Charles the previous afternoon shocked him, but Alex needed the elderly man’s granite-like strength and cooperation to avoid expanding a catastrophe.
“There’s no need to worry about me or my health,” Charles said. “After Roy’s passing, I had a full physical, blood work, the whole nine. Doctor Goldstein rated my health pristine for my age.”
“That’s good to hear, because I’m counting on you in this. I’m not the best guy to handle this problem.”
“Disaster,” Charles corrected. “And no, you’re not, but accepting that shows your character. Abraham Lincoln wasn’t a brilliant mind. His greatest talent was knowing his areas of weakness and delegating them to others. Having a similar strength will help you through this. No matter what happens, remember that. We’ll put together a plan with Roy, Tara will step in, and a year from now you’ll wonder if this was all some dream you cooked up.”
Somewhere in the abyss of his subconscious, Alex believed those words. Still, he’d feel better at the end of this day, when they had a viable plan. Alone, he continually pictured doomsday scenarios.
They rode the elevator to the second level. Reaching the door to the access room, Charles paused with his grip on the handle. At that moment, to Alex, he looked more like a man in the middle of sickness, rather than near its end. As if to prove his thought, Charles pivoted, hurried to the master bath, and slammed the door behind him.
Alex wouldn’t say he envied someone with the flu, but entering the Lobby sick doubled the trip’s value. Escaping ailments arguably encompassed its original intention. Thinking about the Lobby’s beginning led to thoughts of Adisah. Staring at the closed bathroom door, he longed for Adisah’s take on the Lobby’s current mutation.
The toilet flushed and Charles staggered out. He forced a smile as he wiped his mouth. He remained pale, but looked relieved, ready for his upcoming challenge.
“I’ll ask Glen to keep an eye on us while we are inside.”
“No, I’m fine, Alex. I’m certain the worst is behind me. I just needed one final purge.” He wiped moisture from his brow and around his neck, and preceded Alex into the access room.
As Alex inputted their vacation parameters, he thought Charles’ ailments proved life kicked us while we’re down.
Charles had lost a life-long friend, learned that friend had defeated mortality, and now faced the task of containing a secret with immense complexity. Add to that, with the new Health and Wellness guidelines, this would be his final vacation. His future looked bleak, lonely.
Alex found his ability to keep the Health and Wellness information from his friend troubling. Settling into his chair, he shared a confident nod with Charles, and wondered when he’d become so callous, so selfish.
As the timer struck ten seconds, he assured himself there were many out-of-bounds things he wouldn’t do to protect the Lobby’s existence. As the counter reached zero, he still hadn’t identified a single one.