Eternal Dues

Henry locks half a dozen doors and draws a dozen curtains closed. He raises his wrist to the horizon painted on the wall before him and looks to his analogue watch. Unable to read his present he pulls his phone out his pocket. Ignoring four unread messages from his mother, he reads 9:23PM. His first autonomous shift started four hours and twenty three minutes ago, it feels longer. He checks for the pager on his belt, the work phone in his left pocket and the master key for all 200 units around his neck. He took the job to spend time with his remaining grandparent. He fears his grandfather won’t be able to tenant his unit in the by-and-by for it is independent living. Grandpa Arthur wishes to die there.

Henry takes a seat before his mother’s father who squints to recognise his own blood through black rim glasses.

“So when do you start working here my boy?” Grandpa Arthur inquires in a mumble.

“It's my first shift tonight. I served your dinner."

Arthur shrugs in contempt with a frown stretching the edge of his lips to his jaw.

“This pager can go off at any time until my shifts over in”…

Henry checks his phone.

…”eleven and a half hours. Could be a life or death situation... or a false alarm. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep.”

Henry’s South Pacific blue eyes dart around the room from a dusty jigsaw to a buzzing green reading lamp. Ultimately he fixates on a war medal, chest height on the wall of portraits. This stark reminder humbles Henry for the pager is nothing to waking up in war, a truly feeble comparison.

“Your mother made some tea earlier for Irene and myself, you’ll meet her soon enough. Finish it off if you like” offers Arthur.

Henrys refuses the offer whilst his gaze continues around the room to get to know his grandfather through material possession. He ponders Arthur’s many decades of life and how every decision has led to this point. Uncomfortable in a body working against its host, he questions 'Are humans meant to live this long?' Arthur reaches down to the side of his chair, past the foot lever to handle a box.

“Henry.” Arthur speaks in earnest.

Henry's intuition sends him a feeling that he’s being watched by a thousand eyes. The hairs on his neck reach for the door behind him. The heat seems to rise out from his body while the cold crawls under his skin. Henry's eyes stop darting and fixate for a second time. As he leans in toward his grandfather the lighting grows dark as the air thickens like cream. Arthur extends out his skeletal arms to gift a brown paper box with his paper skin hands.

“This box…” Arthur mutters.

With his divine curiosity Henry fixates on the box, impatient for Arthurs next word as gospel. A loud ringing fills the room like an air raid siren, braking the trance-like state. Henrys body heat returns and his neck hairs lay dormant. The pager. Henry struggles to unclip the pager from his belt in an instant of panic. He stops the ringing and reads the information. ‘Unit 195 – Irene Wellington’. Henry looks to Arthur and tells him it’s his friend Irene.

“Take the box!” Arthur desperately pleads reaching out.

Henry dismisses the plead and sprints out of the unit to the main building, calling Irene on the work phone to no avail. He equips himself with the first aid kit and AED. He finds himself taking shallow breaths and composes himself with a deep one. Standing in front of the map of the village he looks in circles trying to find the unit before locating it on the fourth lap. He sprints to the golf cart and turns the key without a sound. It’s his first time driving it. The dash lights up, he flicks the switch to ‘Drive’ and plants his foot. The acceleration is met with resistance. The charging cord is still plugged in, it busts out the wall and drags along the ground holding onto the cart. Henry takes a moment to read the buttons and flicks the switch from turtle to rabbit and makes his way to Irene at an increasing pace.

The door is locked, with three rings of the bell the master key unlocks the door. Irene's flat on her back. He shouts her name and claps to no response. He removes his phone from his pocket to call emergency services at the same time his mother calls. He mistakenly accepts.

“Not now!”

Henry proceeds to dial emergency services and puts the phone on speaker. Henry fixates on the body for a moment prior to giving the ambulance the required information.

"Is she breathing?" The ambulance asks.

He puts his ear to Irene’s mouth to check her breathing.

“What are you doing!” Irene’s shriek goes up his ear canal like a speedboat.

Relief washes over him as he sits her up and strides his way to get her a glass of water. The sink is filled with dishes painted in mold. He takes note of the unit, dead flies kneel before a can of bug spray, a leaking fridge stains its surroundings yellow, nail clippings and hairs of every shade carpet the floor.

“Why are you still here didn’t you open the box?” Interrogates Irene.

“I was about to when you fell and set the pager off... Do you have any clean glasses?” Henry retorts.

Henry’s relief disperses quick for his neck hairs rise as the temperature plummets. Like a possession from a beast of the darkest corner in hell Irene screams.

“Your mother. GO!”

Henry was trained not to leave before the ambulance arrives but every instinct agrees with Irene's command. Disregarding the golf cart he takes off like a lion hunting its prey. Exhausted and curious he arrives at Arthurs unit.

“You're too late!” Chuckles Arthur.

His black rim glasses are smashed on the floor. Henry identifies himself.

“What. No Henry, you came back for the box right? Before going to Irene... you came back for the box?” Arthur asks with a desolate desperation.

“No.” Henry replies simply.

Arthur clutches his chest and screams the life out of his lungs. Henry rushes to his side swallowing the air of grief. Sirens bounce off the walls while flashing red and blue lights cling to them. The Ambulance sets off in an alternate direction, Henry drops with cowardice lower than he's ever dropped before. The box is gone.