Nocturnal: A Novel

turned right and vanished behind a corner. The boy slid out behind him, dragged by the pole. The last sight of him was his chain, pulled out of the room with a final, thin ring when it clanged against the open, white jail-cell door.

The other monsters walked out. One by one, they turned the corner and were gone. Goblin-Face was the last to leave. He turned and pushed the cell door shut behind him. It clanged home, the metallic sound echoing and fading as the mother’s screams went on and on.

Rex Gets in Trouble

Rex sat in the waiting room of St. Francis Hospital, a new cast on his broken right arm. The cast ran from above his elbow down to his hand, wrapping across his palm, leaving his thumb peeking out of a white hole. Stupid thing would be on for at least four weeks.

A feeling of pure dread hung in his chest and head, dragging his chin down almost to his sternum. The arm had been bad, real bad, but now Roberta was coming.

Alex Panos had nothing on Rex’s mother.

He sniffled back tears. They didn’t have money for this. They didn’t have insurance. But Alex had broken his arm … what was Rex supposed to do?

She came through the doors, saw him immediately and made a beeline right for him. Roberta: too skinny, nasty wiry hair that smelled like cigarettes, and that disgusting skin.

She stood in front of him. His chin tried to dig itself even deeper into his chest. She stared. He wanted to just die.

“So you were fighting again?”

Rex shook his head no, but even as he did it, he knew better.

“Don’t lie to me, boy. Look at your goddamn nose. You were fighting again.”

He felt the tears coming. He hated himself for crying. He hated her for making him cry. He hated Alex for all of it.

He hated his life.

“But they attacked me, Mom, and—”

“Don’t you call me that!” Roberta’s voice carried through the waiting room of St. Francis, drawing stares from the walking wounded awaiting treatment. She saw the glances, lowered her voice to a nasty hiss. “You just stop it right now, Rex. Do you have any idea what this is going to cost me?”

Rex shook his head again. The tears streamed down his face.

Roberta huffed and strode over to the billing desk. Rex tried to slink even deeper, but there was nowhere left to go. Roberta and the woman behind the counter exchanged words, then the woman handed Roberta a bill.

Roberta read it.

Then she turned to look at him, and the world grew colder.

Rex hid his face in his uncasted hand, tears wetting his palms. He rocked back and forth. He didn’t want to go with her, but he had no place else to go.

He had no one.

Sharrow Sends Bryan Home

Clauser.”

Someone shook his shoulder. Bryan tried to say something to the effect of leave me alone or I’ll kill you, but all that came out was a three-syllable mumble.

Another shake.

“Clauser!”

Captain Sharrow’s voice. Bryan blinked awake.

“Clauser, this isn’t the place for a nap.”

Damn … he had fallen asleep at his desk.

“Sorry, Captain.”

Jesse Sharrow glared down. His white hair and bushy white eyebrows framed his weathered scowl. Bryan started to stand up; his butt cleared only one inch of airspace before aching muscles and bones froze him in place, then promptly dropped him back down on the chair.

“Good God, man,” Sharrow said. “Wipe that drool off your chin, will you?”

Bryan touched his cheek: cold and slimy. Well, that was certainly a way to score points with your boss. He wiped away the spit.

Sharrow pointed to the stack of paper on Bryan’s desk. “Reprint that.”

Spots of drool had soaked into Bryan’s report.

“Sorry,” Bryan said.

“Go home, Clauser. You’re a dumb-ass coming in here like this, bringing your germs in with you. You want to put the whole department down?”

“I wasn’t planning on making out with anyone, Captain. Except for you, of course.”

“Blow it out your ass,” Sharrow said. “You’re so ugly you make my wife look hot. And that’s saying something.”

“It sure is.”

Sharrow snarled and pointed a finger a Bryan’s face. “Watch it, Clauser. Don’t talk bad about my wife.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Seriously, go home.”

“But, Cap, I still have paperwork for the shooting review board to—”

“Shut your piehole. Get out of here. In fact, don’t bother reprinting that report, just email it to me — I don’t want to touch anything that’s come anywhere near you. Be out of here in the next ten minutes.”

Sharrow turned and stormed off.

Bryan hadn’t taken a sick day in four years. But falling asleep at his desk, drooling on paperwork … maybe it was for the best if he cleared out. With both hands flat on the desk, he pushed himself to a standing position, every muscle screaming the biological equivalent of horrid obscenities.

A crumpled-up twenty-dollar bill landed on his desk.

Bryan looked up. Pookie had thrown it.

“Take a cab,” Pookie said. “I’m not driving you.”

“Don’t want a sick guy in your car?”

Pookie let out a pfft noise of disgust. “You’ve already been in my car. I’m not driving you because you said you’d make out with Sharrow and not me. I have feelings, you know.”

“Sorry about that.”

Pookie shook his head. “Men. You’re all pigs. Do I need to call you an ambulance instead of a cab?”

“No, I’m good.”

Bryan shuffled out of the office and headed for the elevator. The sooner he got to sleep — in an actual bed — the better.

Robin Gets the Call

A rare, quiet moment at home.

Robin was taking advantage of the time to sit on her couch and do nothing. Nothing but scratch the ear of her dog, Emma. Emma’s head rested on Robin’s lap.

Emma wasn’t supposed to be on the couch. She knew that, Robin knew that, yet neither of them was motivated enough to do anything about it. Robin was home so little these days she didn’t have it in her heart to scold the sixty-five-pound German shorthair pointer for wanting to be closer. Robin slowly swirled the dog’s floppy black ear. Emma moaned in happiness with a doggie equivalent of a cat’s purr.

As Robin’s responsibilities grew, so did her time at the morgue. Thankfully, her next-door-neighbor, Max