Violent Dreams
Four
"Remind me ta never, ever play that game again."
"An' I still says you cheated."
"He def'nately cheated."
"I didn't," Race objected, and slapped the back of Mush's head lightly as he walked behind him, took his place at the sink and began to lather his chin. He had cheated, of course, but not the way Mush thought; he'd been keeping everyone's running tally in his head, and Mush had accused him of mis-adding them, deliberately.
"You must'a, 'cause I wasn't that far behind. An' Christ, I'se tired now," Blink said, yawned in Race's face, and went to wash his own.
"Ugh, brush yer teeth, would ya?" Race asked, and began to shave.
"Dunno how you do it, Race," Jack yawned. "You always up that late?"
"Yeah." Race glanced around, but no one was really listening. Most people were chattering away themselves.
"You don't never look tired."
"Well, I'm used to it by now. An' besides, I got some shuteye yesterday, durin' the storm."
"How could you sleep through that an' not at night?"
"I'm just talented."
"You'se crazy, that's what it is." Jack punched Race's arm lightly, rinsed the last traces of the shaving cream from his own chin, and groped for a towel. Race grabbed it out of his friend's reach and tossed it across the room to Snoddy, who was looking for one to use in the shower, and Jack tried to chase after it before he had a chance to disappear into the stall.
But Jack saying it so casually like that...
I'm not crazy, I just can't sleep at night. That's all. But that sounded ridiculous, and Race didn't dare voice it aloud. Instead, he finished removing his stubble, doused his face with water, and headed out to get dressed. He hadn't slept a wink, but the game had kept him occupied until late into the night, and by the time everyone else turned in--he'd won eventually, of course--the uneasiness brought about by the nightmare and the storm had lifted. So long as there was no more thunder for awhile, he'd be fine.
Everyone headed outside, rushing past Kloppman as he did his morning headcount, and chattered on their way to pick up breakfast from the nuns. Race crossed himself as he accepted a cup of water and an apple, shared the water with Blink, and accepted a ripped off piece of bread from Mush, who finished off the water; they walked on, sharing the breakfast between the three of them.
"Hey--" someone ahead yelled. "Hey, look!" It was Snitch, yelling excitedly and pointing up at the headline chalkboard. He began to read aloud. "'Murderer--' Murderer! Great! 'Murderer-kidnapper,' man it's just getting better an' better, 'Murderer-kidnapper escapes from prison!' Do ya hear that, guys? Great headline, great, you guys see that!"
An almost electric energy began to spread through the boys. It was the best headline they'd seen in months, the sort that they barely needed to yell to sell, and everyone knew that meant lots of money by the end of the day, enough for dinner and desert, the lodging house, cigarettes, and probably even a show besides. And if the story went on for a few days...
Kids who usually bought twenty papers bought fifty; Race took a hundred and knew he could move more than that if he wanted to, but saw no reason to be greedy. Especially not since he was pretty sure he had a bet that afternoon that was a sure thing.
Jack, smirking, took a full two hundred as Race sat and began to read the story. There had been a jailbreak, as the headline said; a man named Thomas Lerror broke out seven years into a life-long sentence. He'd been arrested along with a handful of other men, for kidnapping and murdering two children.
Race lit up a cigarette and shared it with Jack when he sat down. "Poor kids," Jack commented.
"Yeah," Race agreed, taking it back. "But it sells the papes, so..." He stood, and started to walk out towards the road where he could hitch a ride to Sheepshead. "Massive jailbreak, criminals on the loose! Could be hiding in your basement, protect your family!"
And by the time he hit the road, Racetrack had already begun to sell papers, and the change was jingling in his pocket.
*
"Damn horse," Race mused, lighting up his cigar. "Swear to god, it was in the lead, an' then jus' stopped. Jus' like that, in the middle'a the track!"
"Whatever you says, Race," Mush yawned. "I'm headin' for bed soon, I think."
"Broke?" Race grinned at the pot they had going; it wasn't large, but probably contained a full day's salary when everything was added up. And he could use the extra money, since the horse he'd been promised was an absolute sure thing had lost it at the last second.
"Yeah, yeah." Mush rolled his eyes.
"You two wanna keep it down or what?" Jack groaned. He'd given up earlier, not willing to lose the total benefit of a good day's work. He'd sold all two hundred and was temporarily rich; as much as Race would have loved to see all of that up for grabs in a poker game he was certain to win, Jack wasn't stupid and enjoyed keeping some cash around for longer than most of the rest of the guys.
"Aw, sorry, we keepin' you up, Jacky?" Race asked, his voice dripping with mock sincerity.
"Christ, Race, just 'cause you'se crazy an' can't sleep never don't mean the rest a' us don't wanna."
"Never said I don' wanna," he answered lightly, ignoring Jack's comment about him being crazy, "just that I can't, ya scab."
"Yeah, well, I can. Or I could if you'd jus' shut up."
"For someone who spent all night braggin' about all the papes he sold, you'se in a lousy mood."
"For someone who'd go down in ten seconds in a fight, you'se awful loud."
"You threatenin' me, Jacky?" Race was more amused than anything else; sure, he would lose to Jack in a fight, though probably not as quickly as Jack claimed, but he knew Jack wouldn't ever really carry through with the threat. It wasn't as though this was the first time his chatter had kept Jack awake.
"Yeah," Jack muttered, rolling over to face the card game on Mush's bed. "Yeah, so shut up, would ya?"
"Hey, guys," Mush sighed. "Cool it, awright?"
"Sure," Race said. A wave of sleepiness washed over him, but he shook it off; his mind was still too caught up in the excitement of the bet--even though he'd lost--mixed with the excitement of the good headline. He wouldn't have been able to sleep, even if he hadn't gotten a nap in the day before.
"This is my last hand," Mush told him. "Even if Blink ain't back, some a' us do got to sleep."
Race shrugged. "You'd be surprised, how long you can go wit'out sleep," he said, his brain jumping from subject to subject. He didn't feel like sitting alone playing cards, for some reason; the headline had left him downright giddy and he wanted to be up and moving, or at least talking to someone. Even if it meant talking about his insomnia, a subject usually firmly off limits.
"You'se the expert. How do you manage? You always seem so... Alert."
"Just 'cause I'm tired, I don't let my guard down," he said, then, "like now, I can see from your face you got a decent hand."
Mush blanched a little. "What was on my face?"
"You got a lousy poker face, Mush. It ain't what's on your face now, it's what ain't. When you get a bad hand, you stare at your cards and think real hard, like they'll change what they are 'cause you'se thinkin' so much. When you got a good hand, you can't hide it, you always grin. Right now, you'se just... relaxed. So you got an okay hand."
"Wow." Mush stared at him, then shrugged and played his cards. Race was right, his hand was decent, but Race's was better. Mush sighed, leant back in his chair and closed his eyes. "Yeah, 's time for bed."
"Aw, one more hand?" Race asked. "I'll spot you the cash."
"So you can take it back again? I'm tired, Racetrack, I was up all night last night. You an' Blink, neither of you sleeps. I don't understand how, but I'm going to bed."
"Fine." Race gathered up the cards and gathered up his winnings. As Mush lurched into bed, Race dragged the table back to where it belonged and flounced down on to his bed. He wasn't even dressed for sleep, since he knew he wouldn't be sleeping anyway, and he closed his eyes and crossed his arms.
That got boring quickly, so he sighed, sat up, and began to shuffle the cards. It was nice not to have shaking hands for a change; he was in a strangely good mood, too antsy to sit still, and even when he dealt the game of solitaire, his mind began to wander back and forth. He played the game to its conclusion, even though he knew halfway through he'd lose it, regathered the cards and shuffled. "Jack," he half-whispered. "Jack? Jack!"
"Christ, what is it?" Jack sat bolt upright, half-panicked.
"You awake?"
"Am I--I hate you, Race." Jack lay back down and glared at him through the dark. A few other people stirred. "It takes energy ta sell that many papes. I'm tired, an if you wake me up one more time--"
"Just askin'. I'm bored."
"Take a walk or somethin', then. You'se keeping everyone awake."
"Only you."
"That ain't enough?" He grinned.
"'S after curfew, though."
"So?"
"So it's cold out."
"So--so go take a damn walk or shut the hell up or something. You'se makin' me as crazy as you are."
"Maybe that's the point," he said in a sing-song voice.
"Race, I'm counting to ten, an' then--"
"Shut up, would ya?" That was Skittery.
"Yeah, Jack, shut up," Race mocked.
"Race, I'se gonna soak you so bad..."
"Would you all shut up?" This time it was Jake, half-growling in his almost-asleep state.
"Yeah, yeah, sorry. I'm gonna go take a walk," Race sighed.
"Good!" about four people yelled. He grinned. If he couldn't sleep, he saw no reason why everyone else should get to. But, as he had no urge to actually egg someone on into trying to kill him, he pocketed his cards, pulled his shoes back on, and made his way out the window.
No sooner had his boots scraped the fire escape than he looked down, and could see Blink staring up at him from the ground. It was hard to make out anything too distinct through the holes in the metal, but there were only so many blond guys who'd be out in the alley late at night, and intuition made things clear. "Heya, Blink," Race called.
"Where ya goin'?" Blink asked, as Race let himself down the two stories to join him on the ground.
"Jus' for a walk or somethin'. Feelin' too jittery to sleep."
"You never sleep anyways, though," Blink pointed out.
Race punched him in the shoulder. "How was your date?" he asked.
"Great." Blink grinned, then tried and failedto wipe the look off his face. "Hannah wants ta meet everyone soon, an'... She says tomorrow she's takin' me to meet her family."
"You serious?"
"Sure I'm serious. I... I don' usually stick aroun' long enough to meet people like that, though. Usually, I find out my girl has brothers an' I'm out the door."
"Or window."
"Yeah, or window. But what if..." he trailed off. "I ain't good at being a boyfriend, ya know? What if her folks hate me?"
"They ain't gonna hate you," Race said.
"How do you know?"
"'Cause you love their daughter. Any parents'll just think you got good taste," Race assured him. "Well, I'm goin' fer a walk, so..."
"You want ta get a drink or somethin'?"
"What?"
"I don't feel like turnin' in yet--gettin' used ta being up 'till all hours, like you."
"Trust me, it ain't like me."
"Yeah, whatever. I just... Don't feel like going ta bed yet. I'm excited." He paused. "Unless--Mush ain't still up, is he?"
"Nah."
"Okay." Blink let out a slight breath. "I never know what to do 'bout him no more."
"Let's go get that drink. You know anywhere open?"
"Yeah."
They walked in silence for a minute. "Race, I know I asked you b'fore an' you didn't want to tell me, but... why can't you sleep at night?"
"Dunno," Race answered truthfully, as they turned a corner.
"How can you not know?"
"'Cause I..." He trailed off. "I used ta get these nightmares... I'd get these awful dreams an' wake up scared a' my own shadow..."
"I remember you screamin' your head off one night. I'd only been at the house a week or two."
"Yeah, yeah, that was the worst of it. After that... Nightmares like that make a guy want to stay awake, ya know?"
"What do you dream about?"
Racetrack hesitated a little before speaking. This wasn't as awkward as he had expected. These were questions he'd asked himself thousands of times as he lay awake at night, and he'd always feared answering them out loud... But Blink was a good friend, and for reasons he didn't understand, Race just felt like talking. Talking about this wasn't as bad as he'd expected, even. "I don't really remember after I wake up," he said finally.
Blink tapped his shoulder and pointed into a fairly grimy looking building. They walked in, and the stench of smoke and booze was almost overwhelming; the place was clearly not the most reputable in the world. But no one would ask them questions like how old they were, and the drinks were cheap, so that made up for the atmosphere.
"When I wake up," Race continued, as they waded through a sea of smoke, splintered furniture, past huge drunk men and the occasional huge drunk woman as well, "I just sorta... I remember that there was someone, someone playing cards. He had brown leather gloves, but I can't remember anything else about him except that I'm terrified of him." He shuddered a little, as Blink dug into a pocket, found a coin and slapped it down on the bar. He echoed the movement. "Whoever he is... I think he musta taught me to play cards, 'cause I don't remember learnin' it in the lodgin' house, an' I know my parents never woulda taught me. They was real religious."
"So why's he scary?" Blink asked, flagging down the bartender. He gave them a dark look, but provided two large mugs of watered down beer.
"I don't know." Race shook his head a little and took a drink. "But I think that in the dreams, he did something to me, something real bad. I can't remember it once I wake up, I just know that he's a scary son of a bitch."
"Well, dreams is just dreams, right? It don't mean nothin'."
"Yeah," Race agreed. "You're right." He took another drink, only willing to discuss things so far. How was he supposed to tell Blink that he knew it did mean something, he just didn't know what? That these dreams, these nightmares that terrified him beyond words even though he couldn't remember them, that they had happened somehow. During the months of his life that were missing, he'd known the man with the brown gloves, and been scared of him, so scared that years later, without even remembering why he was terrified, the man was still keeping him up at night.
There was no way to explain it, so instead, he just polished off the drink and ordered another. Blink did likewise, and though they started talking again half-way through the drink, Race steered the conversation back towards Hannah and away from the shadows of his past.