Every Street - chapter 7
author - triggersaurus@hotmail.com 

II
"Facilis descensus Averno" (trans. 'The descent to hell is easy')
Latin proverb

"Woe to him who is alone when he falleth, for he hath not another to help
him up." Ecclesiastes




"C'mon Jack! C'mon! There ya go, run, run!! To first, Jack, to first! Keep
going!"

The small, sandy haired boy stumbled around first base on the little league
pitch, before tripping on his untied sneaker shoelace and landing on the
sand with a thump. Doug picked him up and set him back on his feet.
"You gave it a good shot, don't worry. Go back to the bench." He swatted the
kid affectionately as he wobbled back to his seat and the next batsman
stepped up.

"Okay Samuel, let's smack it right out of the park!"




One week after his case was closed, and a day after he heard that Mark had
kept his license, but Carol had lost her RN status, Doug had packed all his
worldly belongings into his Jeep and left Chicago. He had paid rent on his
apartment for three months in advance, as required if he was leaving at such
short notice. The receipt lay on the dashboard as he drove. Next to him on
the passenger seat was a bottle of water and everything else that had been
left in his fridge. In the backseat, a case of clothes and his basketball
took up most of the space, with a crate on the floor containing a couple of
CD's, the stereo, some paperwork, and right on top a small cactus that Carol
had given him. It was a gift at the beginning of their relationship, a joke
about the fact that Doug was never at his apartment to be able to keep a
plant alive. Unsure where he was headed, he left the city boundaries with
the vague intention of going back to Kentucky. His family were all gone from
there, he knew, but maybe there would be work of some sort. Surely it would
be easier, knowing the area. But what to do, he had no idea. All he'd ever
done was medicine, unless you counted that time he worked in a store,
stacking shelves to help his mom out when she lost a job. He had no
intention of returning to that. He drove for days, blanking out all that lay
behind him, stopping at roadside motels or just sleeping in the car
overnight. But as he watched more and more road disappear behind him, the
less he realised he wanted to go back to his home state. He wanted somewhere
new, where people wouldn't ask questions, where he could be anonymous and
keep his pain to himself. Watching road signs, he pulled the car into the
outer lane and switched Interstates at the junction. "West", it said blandly
at the top of the sign. West sounded good. Sunny. Peaceful, if you chose the
right place. Small town America. Pressing down the accelerator, Doug sped on
towards his future.





He finally stopped in Kansas, just short of Emporia. He was tired, needed a
proper bed and didn't want to drive for at least the next year. A motel,
masquerading under the name of "Happy Henry's", would house him
satisfactorily for the night, then he could think about what tomorrow would
bring. Parking on the gravel lot, he picked his wallet up from the dashboard
and went inside to the reception.

"Yeah?" The girl picked bubble gum off her chin from the bubble that had
just burst.

"Hi. You got-"

The phone rang and interrupted him. The girl took her gum out of her mouth
and picked the phone up.
"Happy Henry's. Uh huh. Uh huh. Yeah. Uh huh. Sure. Yeah. 'Later."
She hung up, and put the bright pink gum back in her mouth. Looking lazily
at Doug, she said again, "Yeah?"

"Got a room for the night?"

"Yeah. Single?"

"Yup."

"Twenty Four Ninety Five."

He handed her his card which she ran through a machine and got him to sign
on. Handing him the receipt, she said, "Room 12, turn right it's the last
one in the row. You can park your car on the right of the lot but you'll
have to move it by 10 tomorrow mornin' so the dustcart can get in. No
smoking in the rooms, no drugs, no mess when you leave or else you pay
extra, here's your complimentary soap," she said, like she had said it a
thousand times before and was only bothering this time because she got
commission on the amount of people using the place. She blew another bubble
as she held out the small, paper wrapped tablet of soap.

"Thanks." Doug took it from her and helped himself to the key on the
counter. Happy Henry's, what a joke. He went back out to the car, collecting
a change of clothes and a few other items for the night before locking it
and following the path to Room 12. Unlocking the door, he surveyed the
humble abode. Looked like just about every other motel he had ever seen.
Bed, small chest of drawers, wardrobe, desk, waste paper basket. Tiny TV on
the desk. Radio by the window. He opened another door into the small
bathroom, where a leaking shower dripped. Turning back, he tossed his
possessions onto the bed and flipped a switch on the TV. Only three channels
worked, and he had no interest in a mock gold wristwatch for only $9.99 on
the Home Shopping Network. Picking the phone up, he waited
for a connection.

"Yeah?" The girl picked up faster than he expected.

"Hi, uh, where's the nearest shop around here? I need some food."

"Go right out of the lot and walk about two hundred yards. It's a gas
station but they got a little convenience store attached."

"Okay, thanks, an-"

She banged the phone down before he could finish. He hung the phone up then
picked up again, waiting for the now familiar response...

"Yeah?"

"And where's the nearest town?"

"Beyond Riley's Gas."

"Okay..."

"That all?"

"Yeah, thank y-"
She hung up again. Doug put the telephone back on the nightstand and shook
his shoes off. He'd have a shower before going out. It was humid outside,
despite the grey skies looming above, and he was hot and sweaty from sitting
inside his car all day. Shedding his clothes in the bathroom, he prepared
for the inevitable dual with the hot and cold water.




An hour later, the sun found a gap in the clouds and bounced rays off the
back of Doug's neck. Walking down the highway, he looked at the surrounding
scenery. You couldn't get much further from Chicago in that respect. Fields
bordered either side of the road, one with maize and another lying fallow,
green grass grown to about knee height in places. In the distance, a tractor
ploughed the land of another field. Few cars had passed him, and he could
see the gas station nearby. It was stunningly silent compared to the wail of
sirens and screaming of monitors. He strolled across gravel and into the
small store that was attached to the gas station. Taking a four pack of
beers from the refrigerator and a chocolate bar from the shelves, he laid
them on the counter and looked at the guy behind it. He wore an old baseball
cap, the kind with the plastic back that was made of mesh. On the front, the
faded white foam was covered in dirty fingerprints, and the name of the
station was just about visible in places. He had a loose, checked shirt on
over a grey vest, and the long hair that he had failed to hold back under
the cap brushed the shoulders of his shirt. A small name badge identified
him as Ralph. As he tapped the prices into the old cash till, Doug leant
forward on the counter and looked out of the window. He took a pizza
delivery flyer out of an old display box, which read "Please take one!" as
if it was an exceptionally funny joke.

"That place don't deliver no more." Ralph said.

"No? You know anywhere that does?"

"There's a place right in town which delivers chicken, but they don't go
more than a foot unless you pay 'em extra."

Doug grunted, looking at the back of the leaflet he was holding and put it
back in its hysterical holder.

"How far is it into town?"

"'Bout a mile, down this road." Ralph handed him his purchases in paper bag,
and pointed in the direction of the town.

"Thanks." Doug handed him a couple of bills and told him to keep the change.
Leaving the store, he looked down the highway. He'd go and put the stuff
down in his room and then head into town to get some supper.




Doug walked into the town an hour later. It was a small place, the main
highway lined with a few stores, a couple of fast-food places, and a covered
area that masqueraded as a mall, despite the fact it only had three shops
and one was boarded up. 'That's my kind of mall,' Doug thought to himself.
Taking a route off the main street, he found a park, which ran up a small
hill that was topped by a tree. He climbed the hill slowly and surveyed the
area below. He could see housing stretching out to the west, further down
the highway. On the other side of the main street, beyond the pitiful
selection of stores, were a couple of roads that wound into the distance.
More housing had sprung up along them, and a larger building sat in the
middle, a school of some sort. It had a track and another field behind that
which contained a small baseball pitch. To the east, yet more housing took
up the space and there was a playground in the middle of one of the housing
estates. A trailer park was the last thing he could make out on the horizon,
before scattered woodland. Wishing he'd brought one of those beers with him,
he looked towards the hazy image of the sun, which was dropping out of the
sky in the distance. It was still so humid. He couldn't walk back without a
drink of something. Wondering if any of the stores would still be open, he
got up and walked back down to the highway.

None of the stores were open, but he caught a glimpse of someone going into
a place further up the road. Following the bends and turns in the sidewalk,
he found that it was a bar. The local watering hole. A flashing sign,
obviously sponsored by Miller Lite, proclaimed loudly that "Everyone's
welcome at Babe Ruth's!" Encouraged by the notice, Doug pushed open the door
and went inside. The smell of cigarettes and beer hit him instantly as he
walked up to the bar. It was a small place, dark with solid wood floors and
stools with fake leather seats. The walls, also boarded over with wooden
panels, were decorated with old newspaper articles, team pennants,
horseshoes, and even some sort of old farming tool right at the back. Across
the front of the bar hung the remains of what could have been Christmas
decorations, and behind the bar it looked like Santa Claus himself was
pouring the drinks. That is, if Santa Claus wore a lumberjack shirt and had
a glass eye that looked the wrong way. Doug sat down on the only free
barstool, between two guys who threw him sideways glances. Santa wiped the
bar down in his direction before coming to a halt in front of him.

"What can I do ya for?"

"Just uh, Miller, thanks."

"Miller? Sure thing." He took a bottle out from under the counter, but
before Doug could take it from him, he also whipped out a glass and poured
the frothy beer into it.

"There ya go. Not from around here, are you?"

"Uhm," Doug took a sip from the novel glass, "no."

"Down here for a holiday, or work, or something?"

One of sitting next to Doug snickered. "Hell of a place to come for a
holiday, buddy."

"I'm just kinda...passing through."

"Yeah, that's what most people do. This is a damn fine town for passin'
through." The guy on the other side spoke up this time, and laughed along
with the other one.

"I'm Bill," said Mr. Left, and held out his hand. Doug shook it. "Doug
Ross."

"That joker there is Charlie, and behind the bar is Mac."

Doug nodded at them both, taking another swig of the Miller.

"So...where you from, Doug?"

"Chicago."

"Chicago? Wowee, that's some distance to come and then end up here."

"Yeah, it's a pretty long drive. You from here?"

"Yes sir. Born about thirty miles west but moved here when the farming was
good."

"Same with you, Charlie?"

"I'm from Oklahoma, moved here for the same reasons though."

"The farming not good anymore then?"

"Aw, it's okay. Trouble is, you farm so much on any one patch of land and it
gets all worn out and you gotta leave it fallow to recover."

"Leave it for, say, two year or so."

Doug raised his eyebrows. "Two years?"

"Yup. Means we got one hell of a lot of time to kill."

"That's the best way to kill it," Charlie said, pointing at the beer he had
in front of him.

"So, you all farmers round here?" Doug wondered whether this was the best
place to look for work, if even the farmers had nothing to do.

"Mostly, yeah. Few people who live out yonder, they commute to Madison or
Emporia, but that's about it."

Doug nodded again and drained the last few sips of beer from his glass.

"Don't tell me you're looking for work too?"

"Uh huh..." The beer was starting to work, and Doug wondered if it hadn't
been spiked with something else. He didn't usually feel like this so early
on.

"What kinda work? What you do in Chicago? Can't have been farming..."

"I was a doctor."

"You'se a doctor?" Charlie said, "And you've come down here from Chicago?!"

"It's a long story..." Doug drank from the new, miraculously filled glass of
beer in front of him.

"Well hell buddy, we got all night!"

"Yeah, we got two years to sit around and listen to your long story!"

"Ahh," Doug looked into his beer, and wiped his palms on his thighs. "I
worked in an Emergency Room, and I treated a sick kid who was going to die.
His mom begged me to help him die...and I did."

Bill whistled softly. "You committed euthanasia?"

"Reckless homicide. I told the kid's mom how to give him enough medication
to kill him."

"That's bad, that's bad..." Charlie said next to him, shaking his head in
disbelief.

"Yeah. So, the court said I'm guilty and I do three years suspended, and
lose my license."

"Your driving license?"

"No, dumbass," Bill threw a beer mat at Charlie, who caught it, "his medical
license. Let me buy you another one. Mac, another round for our visitor! One
more for me too."

"No, Bill, don't worry about it, I should be getting ba-"

"Aww c'mon, you hardly started."

"Alright, alright." Doug shook his head, grinning. He took the beer from
Mac.

"So, this kid, yeah? He was going to die anyway?"

"Uh huh. He had a disease, no one with it lives beyond the age of 10."

"See, now maybe I understand why you helped him to die then. It's a sticky
issue."

"Sure is. The way I saw it, he was in so much pain and he was so near the
end anyway..."

"Yeah. It sucks that you lost your license for that."

"Yeah, but it's like, where's the line between mercy and murder?" Charlie
pointed out.

"Good point, good point." Bill seemed quite hot on the debate. "And we can't
know what it's like, y'know. Unless we're the ones dying."

"Which we're not."

Doug felt the need to change the subject - it was all still quite raw in his
mind.
"So you think there's any work around here for a disgraced ex-doctor?"

"Oy, I doubt it."

"Depends. What do you want to do?"

"I don't know. Anything that keeps some money coming in I suppose."

"Well, okay. What are you interested in?"

"Huh?"

"You ever done anything apart from being a doctor?"

"Nope. I'm a one trick pony."

"Jeez. You could have thought of that before throwing away your career! You
like sports?"

"Sure."

"High school are looking for a football coach, maybe teach anatomy too. You
could do that."

"Yeah...I could do the teaching thing maybe. But I'm no footballer."

"Nothin' to it, buddy. You don't have to play to coach."

Doug drained his third pint.
"I don't know."

"Well, 'scuse me for saying, but I don't think you're in no position to be
picky. Go out there, see what they say."

"Yeah..." The beer was mellowing him and he vaguely thought that maybe he
should have left by this point. But he was comfortable and these guys were
the only friends he had right now, so he was staying for just a bit longer.
"Next round's on me," he said, slurring a little as he pushed some bills
forward. Mac had disappeared down the other end of the bar, and instead a
woman took his money and poured out another three pints. She was a lot
younger than Mac, probably his daughter. She had the same nose and chin as
him. Her hair was light brown, but highlighted at the ends so it looked like
a dusky blonde in the dim light of the bar. She put the beers down in front
of them and smiled, moving away to the next order.

"Heheheh..." Charlie chuckled, watching her go. "That's Marie, Mac's
step-daughter. She's a peach, huh?"

"Yeah." Doug watched her go too.

"You attached?" Bill asked him.

Doug paused for thought briefly. "I'd say nope."

"That makes three of us bachelor boys out on the town then. All them ladies
better watch out tonight!"

"Ah, you're forgetting my Cassie, Bill. I can't be going round doing what I
want with whoever anymore."

"Ah yeah. You hear this, Dougie-boy? Charlie got a girlfriend and he's gonna
propose to her next week on her birthday. Got the ring yet?"

"Yeah, I took out that savings money my Pa left me and I bought this..." He
pulled out a small, velvety case from his shirt pocket and showed them the
ring. It was small, a very thin band of silver, on top of which rested a
tiny chip of glass, in the shape of a diamond.

"S'beautiful."

"Thanks. She's gonna be so happy when I show her, it's gonna make her say
yes straight away." The young man blushed, although it could just have been
the heat. He closed the box up and put it back in his pocket, patting it
safely.

"Okay, so that makes two of us bachelors. Wanna do something about it, eh?"
He elbowed Doug and grinned, raising one eyebrow.

"Aw I don't know...I'm feeling kinda tired..."

"That'll be the beer working, get him another! I'm tellin' you, I gotta get
laid tonight. And it sounds like you need it too, buddy. That's a sad story
you got and you need to get over it quick. There's this other bar, little
way up the road, you guaranteed to pick someone up there. Whaddya say?"

"Yeah, what the hell." Doug finished the last few drops of beer in his glass
and stood up. Charlie stayed sitting.

"I'm staying here, fellas. Gonna have one more then get back home."

"Yeah, you be a good boy now Charlie." Bill winked at him.

"Nice meeting ya, Doug. See ya 'round sometime?"

"Sure. See ya, Charlie."





Doug came to the next morning and rolled over, straight into another, warm
form beside him. Grunting, he reached for his head to try and stop the
throbbing. As he tried to dig through the layers of sleep to remember where
he was, he pushed himself up on his elbows and glanced to his right. Next to
him lay a woman, on her front. Her short, dark hair lay on her head pointing
in all directions, her face turned away from him. The single sheet covered
the lower half of her body, but her back lay exposed, revealing a tattoo
than ran from the small of her back right up to the crest of her shoulders,
portraying a dragon breathing flames. Doug rubbed his left eye, which was
waking up slower than the right, and moved further away until he was sitting
on the edge of the bed. Staying seated for a few moments in order for his
head to adjust, he stood up and picked his jeans off the floor, putting them
on slowly. As he reached for his shirt, which hung over the back of a wicker
chair, the girl in the bed made a noise and rubbed her nose with one hand
before returning to the sound of heavy breathing. Her arm flopped over the
edge of the bed. Doug took his wallet from the table by the bed and glanced
around - nothing else he'd had with him. Taking one quick last look at his
conquest, he swiftly moved the sheet to cover her up to the shoulders, and
left the room quietly. He found himself in a hallway, dark and lit by a
single bare bulb. He followed the worn tracks in the carpet, down a narrow
staircase and eventually found another door that lead to a street. It was
still dark outside, but the thin strips of the early-morning sunbeams were
reaching over the horizon as Doug stepped out onto the street and tried to
get his bearings. Seeing a street sign he dimly recognised from last night,
he followed its directions and found himself on the main street. Walking
slowly, so as not to disrupt the fragile balance of his headache, he headed
in the direction of Happy Henry's.



to be continued

©Triggersaurus 2001