Midnight Shift

Midnight Shift (5) - Loose Ends Tied Up Don't Really Help

Steve dreamed of the cockroaches.

Nibbling away at his face, crawling all over his mangled, torn body, synchronized to the trashy technical tune of an old 60's jazz song, they crawled inside and out. Steve wanted to scream but they had taken his tongue and filled his throat; they had done the unforgivable - they had entered him, and he had let them. They continued to crawl around and filled his mouth with pain, pain, pure pain - the pain of a fear that would stay in his deteriorated mind forevermore.

He woke up in a flash, eyes wide open. Surprised that there was no scream to hold in, he slowly looked at his surroundings. His pants felt soiled, his face was sweaty, and his back shrieked out a crescendo of insane pain. He felt the wound with his left hand slowly and noticed it had stopped bleeding. Each step forward felt like a sledgehammer to his face and Steve wanted nothing but to be in his crusty apartment, watching The Simpsons on his miniature television and snacking on a medium sized pack of Lay's.

Steve fantasized for a moment about where else he wanted to be when his mind's eye darted into the imaginary Lay's packet and found it to be full of blood. He looked at the imaginary television and saw nothing but Petey's dead corpse smiling at him. Petey pulled a cig out of his right nostril and proceeded to light it up.

He pinched himself in the arm - hard - and rubbed his head. The drugs' after-effects were wreaking havoc on his bruised body and he suddenly remembered the events of the past few hours. Hospital ward - no. That was a dream. Petey had supposedly freed a prisoner who ended up killing him and the doctor and then went for Steve. The prisoner was as good as dead, but why did it all happen?

He stumbled back towards the bathroom, hoping to find anything that hinted as to why Petey freed 027. His mind was screaming for more drugs and Steve found himself walking in the wrong direction for a moment.

Steve pulled out a knife and made an incision in his right forearm without blinking. His tactic worked and the orchestral symphony of pain of the wound on his back was replaced by a tiny little violin warbling its itchy problems in his right arm.

Overkill, his mind told him. You're just killing yourself slowly. Just sit down and accept your fate.

Steve unceremoniously replied out loud. 'Shut the fuck up.'

What do I know, it said. I'm just the fucking voice of reason. I don't really MEAN anything.

Steve clawed at his hair and headed inside the bathroom. Perhaps Petey's body could reveal something. Or at least he hoped so. The walk was slow and painful once again but Steve was way past even bothering to soften up on his wound.

Five minutes and over countless heavy breaths later, he had braced himself outside the bathroom door. He walked into the stall with Petey's rotting corpse in it.

The disgusting image might have made the bile rise in his throat a few hours back, but there was no time for that. He had to get to the bottom of this - and if he died, at least his curiousity would be sated. He shuffled around in Petey's overcoat pockets. In one he found the rest of his cigs (which he reclaimed with a 'Thank you very much, asshole') and in another a nest of cockroaches, but nothing out of the ordinary. The fact that ripped intestines and nests of roaches had now become the definition of ordinary in Steve's mind made him chuckle.

Then he noticed the hands.

Both Petey's hands were scrunched up though there was obviously nothing in either. It was as if he was trying to... preserve something.

Steve pried Petey's left hand's fingers open. On his palm was a smudged message written in blood which Steve could barely make out.

It read 'Steve. Doc did.'

Steve raised a bruised eyebrow. Doc did what?

He opened the other hand slowly. The writing was even messier.

'Key 027 cell.'

Steve mulled this over. There was some sort of key in Cell 027? Or had Petey been talking about the key to Cell 027? Or maybe its late inhabitant?

He slowly began the long trek back to the cells.

--

The prisoners were now mostly fast asleep, which was surprising seeing as they had just witnessed one of their cellmates get stabbed to death by Steve himself. Steve moved over to 027 and looked around inside.

After what you could call a thorough search after a few pints of beer, Steve ended up with nothing. For starters, the lights automatically went out at 1:30 am because the guards were usually done by then. Except for Steve and Petey, though. Always. Sucking in the anger directed at his pitiful luck, he added 'Find a flashlight' to his mental to do list.

He thought about what he had found. A few come stains on the bed, some drops of blood, and pretty much nothing else.

Steve was almost about to give up when he noticed the keys still hanging from the cell door's lock. It was the precinct doctor's keyring, but it only had the doctor's identification card, the cell keys, and another pair that Steve couldn't quite figure out.

He pocketed the keyring and moved on.

--

Back at the doctor's office, Steve found the body on the floor and the rope gone. The first thing he noticed was his Beretta on the floor. He picked it up, half surprised and half shocked, and tossed it back on the ground when cockroaches crawled out of the hollow grip.

Steve kicked the gun away and turned his attention to the body on the floor, checking the hands first for clues similar to those he had found in the bathroom. Nothing. The doctor's shirt had disappeared and the other missing keys poked out of his massive stomach. But that didn't matter. Not anymore.

What mattered was the sequence of cuts on the doctor's chest.

In rather small letters, smudged all over with dried blood, they spelled out: 'I'm watching you Steve.'