The Devil in Silver

Dorry took off her glasses and pulled at the right sleeve of her nightdress. She buffed the lenses while they watched her. When she put them back on, the damn things looked even cloudier than before.

“You may be wondering why I summoned you all here tonight,” Dorry said.

Loochie said, “It’s morning.”

“And you didn’t summon us. We showed up,” Pepper said.

Dorry raised one hand, the pointer finger standing straight. “I’m going for a little atmosphere here.”

Coffee, less prone to bursting bubbles, said, “We’re here to talk about Sam. And Sammy.”

Dorry closed her eyes for a moment. “And about Marcus, and Bernadette, and Gustavo, and on and on.”

They sat quietly, even as the rest of the lounge filled with conversation.

“We’re here to talk about what’s to be done. And the best way to do it,” Dorry said.

Loochie bit into her apple, and to the other three, the crunch sounded louder than the television nearby.

Dorry said, “Making phone calls hasn’t brought in the cavalry.” She looked at Coffee and tilted her head slightly. “I’m sorry, Coffee, that’s no reflection on you.”

Coffee shook his head. “I just haven’t reached him yet. But thanks to Pepper I’ve been able to make a lot more calls. And I finally got the number for the White House switchboard.”

Pepper and Dorry and Loochie watched Coffee quietly. He leaned forward in his seat; he grinned at them with such enthusiasm that no one wanted to be snide.

Pepper said, “What if we made a plan for what we might do just in case the Big Boss is … delayed in helping us? Just to have a backup.”

Coffee nodded. “I guess that would be smart.”

Dorry said, “So what’s the first big problem we face?”

“The Devil is trying to kill us,” Loochie said.

“That’s our final problem,” Dorry said. “We can’t face that man until we’re ready.”

Pepper opened his mouth and closed it. Opened and closed it. On the third try he actually produced sound, words. “We all have to get off these medications. That’s first. You can’t fight if you can’t think straight.”

Loochie said, “If we did that I might stop …” She didn’t finish the sentence, but one hand rose and touched the side of her knit cap.

“… I might stop doing harm to myself,” she finished.

Dorry rapped the tabletop, right in front of Coffee. “And you might do better with the people you reach if you sounded a little more …”

Coffee stiffened. “I’m always polite and direct.”

Loochie said, “Really? ’Cause a lot of the times it sounds like you’re just yelling into those phones. Maybe you think you’re really saying something, but a lot of times it just sounds like noise.”

Dorry lowered her eyes. “I’d have to agree.”

Coffee brought one hand to his throat. “Really? That’s what I sound like?” He looked to Pepper but what could Pepper say? He hadn’t actually heard any of Coffee’s calls. But from Loochie’s description they sounded bonkers.

Coffee dropped his head. “Maybe that’s why they never call me back.”

He sounded so despondent that Pepper wanted to give the small bald dude a hug.

“And I …” Dorry began. “I’d just like to get one night of true rest. I don’t think I’ve had a natural sleep in”—she pointed at Loochie—“since before this girl was even alive.”

To sleep, to be less self-destructive, to communicate clearly with the world. Those all sounded like reasonable dreams to Pepper. But what came after that? Once they all cleared their minds of the pharmaceutical junk and found themselves, in a word, potent again. Then what?

“I almost made it to the silver door,” Pepper told them.

The others looked at him patiently. It seemed as though all the other people in the room, and even the sunlight warming the lounge, moved at a different speed than the four people at this table now. With the mere mention of the silver door, time left them behind.

Coffee shook his head. “No, you did not.”

“You didn’t see me. I touched the door handle. That’s why they put me in restraints.”

Coffee sighed. “It does not matter. You’ll never get inside its room. They’d never let you.”

“Well, then,” Loochie said. “What if we let it out?”

But, as Dorry pointed out, first things first. The problem of the pills and how to avoid the punishments Pepper had already experienced. The staff had worse than that at their disposal, too. There were so many ways to punish patients! No more bath soap, not for weeks, until even the patients on the other end of New Hyde’s grounds would complain about your odor. You could be exiled to your room, no television privileges. Denied family visitation. And, of course, the date of your release could be pushed back indefinitely.