He smelled something else-the chlorophyll in leaves, wet earth, and water. The smells reminded him of the sweet, fresh air of outdoor nights when Chloe and he used to catch fireflies and put them in a jar. Then, they'd sat side by side on the beach, watching the fireflies blink on and off and studying the stars. He'd never felt such companionship with anyone else since. Near death, he felt very close to Chloe now. The granola bar he clutched in his hand was the same as the ones they used to eat together as their snack in the afternoons. The granola bar had attracted an animal that scampered back and forth across his feet.
The first time the animal jumped on his shoe Maslow felt the weight of it and pins and needles in his feet. Pie grunted with terror and beat on his chest and hips with the fanny pack. The animal scampered away. But now it was back, scratching around in the dark. Maslow knew that as soon as he fell asleep, it would invade like a marauding army. It would chew its way into his fanny pack and eat his only food. If he was unconscious, it would eat him. In the slums rats gnawed on babies in their cribs. He'd seen the bites during his rotation in the ER. People had survived that, too. He hoped it wasn't a rat.
He could hear himself moaning and praying to God to save him. He dreamed of his old daddy, the one who used to sleep at home when he was little. He dreamed of his mommy before they lost Chloe, the mommy he had before her smile died. He'd never been her favorite. She used to call him 'Maslow the nose' because he could always tell when she'd changed perfumes, or ingredients in food. If an herb or spice was left out, he'd identify it. She seemed to like that about him. He had one real skill. But that was it.
His father had a big nose that he despised. Maslow didn't like thinking his own nose would grow as prominent as the one his father disliked so much. He'd been hurt by his mother's nickname. But she told him his nose was a good thing. 'Noses' were paid big money in perfume companies, at wineries, and all places where the palate counted.
'You have a palate, Maslow. If all else fails, you can smell for a living.' And she'd laughed, but not really in a mean way.
The laughter and the name had hurt Maslow anyway. He'd wondered where one could smell for a living in America. Later he found out the nose played a role in the history of psychoanalysis. It was first thought by Freud and his best friend, Wilhem Fleiss, that sniffing cocaine could cure hysteria.
Maslow was exercising his fingers and arms, and letting his mind wander around his sister's death, his mother's decline, his father's withdrawal from their lives. He heard the swish of someone walking through grass, the crunch of feet on stones. His heart started pounding loud as thunder again. Someone was coming. No one was calling his name, so it must be Allegra returning for him as he'd prayed she would.
He closed his eyes. 'Allegra?'
'Allegra.' His cry was only a whisper.
Nothing.
'Don't go.'
After a pause, he heard the harsh sound of metal grinding against stone. That ferrous smell. Then a worse smell. The smell of the lab, the autopsy room. Powerful. A sharp pinpoint of light stabbed at him from his feet in. He shut his eyes against it.
'Hey.' It was a girl voice. Sharp as a knife, but not familiar at all.
'Allegra, help me,' he said weakly.
'Jesus Christ, he's got fucking food!' Boy voice.
'And water!' Girl voice.
'Where did it come from? Hey, you!'
Someone kicked his feet, and the feet exploded with stabbing needles. Another kick, and tears poured out of his eyes.
The girl screamed, 'Ahhhh. Did you see that?'
'Turn on the flashlight. I can't see a fucking thing.'
'It's a rat.'
'Jesus. Will you shut up.' Someone crouched down and shone a powerful light on Maslow's wet, sand-crusted face.
'Help me.'
'Look at that. He's alive!' Boy voice.
'Shit, now he's seen us.'
Maslow couldn't believe it. They sounded like kids, little kids. He held out his hand to the person at his feet. 'I can't see a thing. Help me out.'
Sound of revulsion. 'Don't touch him. He's disgusting.'
Maslow was lying on his back, helpless as the two examined him from far enough away so that he could not grab them. He didn't want to debate the matter. 'I promise no one will know,' he said softly. 'Just let me out.'
'Kill him, David, and let's get out of here.' Another kick and explosion of pain.
'No. Don't do that,' Maslow ordered sharply. He was not going to let two kids murder him as if he were nothing but a kitten or a bird they'd caught.
'What's the matter with you, do it!' the girl said impatiently. 'I want to go home now. It's creepy here.'
No sound from the boy.
'Here, take my knife. Stab him in the throat.'
Maslow's breath came faster. The threat of the knife made him hyperventilate. 'Don't even think that. You'll go to jail for the rest of your lives.'
The girl blew air through her mouth.
'I don't know who you are or why you did this. Doesn't matter why. Just pull me out and take off. I won't tell anyone.'
'Uh-uh, too late. Go ahead, David, kill him. Two will make you a serial killer.'
'Shut up, Brandy.'
'Help me. Nothing will happen to you. I give my word.'
'Jesus. He has a
'What's going on?' A shout. 'Dr. Atkins!'
'Holy shit, who's that?'
'Jesus, it's that girl, spying on us.'
The flashlight went off.
'Go out and get her, David.'
'Shhh.'
'Dr. Atkins!' Maslow knew that voice. It was Allegra's.
Two of them were in here, and she was out there. What the hell was going on? Maslow held his breath, not knowing what was going on.
'Get help,' he called.
Silence. Maybe she was leaving.
He called out again. 'Allegra, get help.'
'Maslow?' Puzzled voice. 'What's going on?'
Then she came inside. And the two kids turned their attention to her.
Thirty-five
In April's first seconds of consciousness, she was hit with a blinding headache and didn't know where she was. Then she turned her head and saw the white ruffled curtains in the small windows of her bedroom and groaned. Her legs explored the confines of her narrow bed, and she remembered a few things. She was not in Mike's apartment in Forest Hills in a bed as big as a playground, where the kitchen, living room, and bathroom were bigger, newer, and higher than hers; there was air conditioning that cooled the whole place, and a terrace where she and Mike had sat many times over the summer, drinking beer, kissing and fondling each other, and watching the lights of Manhattan in the distance.
