Level Zero by Dan McDowell (debian ebook reader .txt) 📗

I need to get out, but I’m bound to run into Joe again. I can’t. I don’t care how high the stakes are. I live in fear, knowing it will lead me to an uninteresting end. I’m not ready for that yet. Everyone deserves a second chance.

His insomnia would cure itself for short periods of rest until he awoke sleepwalking and wandering Level Eight in the overnight hours. He worked with diligence to escape his brushes with hysteria — trying to the best of his abilities to meander his weary mind. He remained unsettled one night as his mind wandered.

Not going to be any trips to Level Zero to clear the air with Joe. The entire Oak Hollow property, both above and below, take on different forms in the wee hours of the night, and it’s too unsettling. Joe’s done me wrong for too long. Something has to change, but first, I have to learn his pattern. I will no longer be a gaslit pawn.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

TODD ADAMS heard a clicking sound as the voices on the radio grew louder and the tunnel speakers echoed. Further symptoms of lithium withdrawal set in.

I’ve worked too many hours in my life for it to end like this. My head’s killing me. It’s like I’m swimming around as I walk.

The lights came back on, and the radio stopped. The creep’s stutter-stepping footsteps moved in the opposite direction. Feet clanked on a metal ladder, fading away.

There’s some daylight. Where are you going?

The brief glimmer came a quarter mile from where he laid. Todd reached for his shin, examining the gashes and abrasions from the weedeater.

Man, that hurts!

He wrenched himself up to gain momentum as his mind searched for a rationale for his unexpected capture.

I’m not prejudiced against the lessers, the homeless, or the indigent. I’m quite considerate. In fact, I’m nicer than 98% of the other useless people around this forsaken town. Who’s he to judge me?

Todd looked at his legs in the dim light as it exposed various aspects of his seven layers of skin.

I hope that’s not muscle jutting out. I can’t look at the scratches.

He stood and hobbled through the tunnel. As to the direction, North, South, East, West, it was unclear. If there was a burning orb in the sky to light the way and direct him, it served no purpose. Traversing through, others sat with their legs crossed, keeping to themselves. He stumbled across a familiar face.

What are the odds? It’s the same drunk I gave five dollars to at the pawn shop.

“Hey, I know you,” Todd said.

“Have a drink with me,” the man mumbled.

He pulled out two Flitz beers.

Is the tunnel some kind of underground society? A better way for them to do life away from the pressures of the rest?

The man’s red sleeping bag graced the mixed dirt and concrete floor, accompanied by an underwhelming garden lantern that barely glowed and a small charcoal grill.

A brewski with the character might be just the respite I need—anything to block thinking about the weedeater incident.

“So, you live here or something?” he asked.

The hobo cleared his throat. “I guess I do now. Been panhandling on the streets for a while. Government no longer paying me for my service in ‘Nam and times got tough with my old lady. The bag booted me out when the pension ran dry. Haha.”

There’s that misplaced laugh again.

The inebriated man rubbed the back of his middle-aged head in something of a nervous motion.

Todd shook his head. “Yeah? No money, no job, and a lot of giggles. Sounds like an expedited recipe for divorce to me.”

“No. I’m not sure about that. We were bad off… way before that. We had plenty of other problems… I shouldn’t have ever done this, but in the winter, I’d heat our unmentionables in the toaster oven. You know, to keep things interesting behind closed doors.” The character raised his bushy and unkempt eyebrows, looking to Todd for approval or disapproval.

Todd returned a blank stare.

What are you doing? What am I doing?

They each held a can in the air, popping them open in perfect synchronicity. The man stuck his hand out to shake Todd’s. Todd returned with a firm grip.

“Harvey Brown. You can call me Harv.”

“Todd. It’s nice to meet you… officially.”

Is it really? I don’t know. What else can I do?

Harvey clanked his can against Todd’s.

“To friendship,” Harvey said.

“To friendship… I haven’t had one of these since… college. Man, now I remember why,” Todd reflected aloud, wiping the stale beer from his lips as he gagged some of it up.

This stuff is for the hobos.

“You found anything else to drink around here?” Todd asked. “How about a way out?”

Harv grinned. “Well, you can go over there and stand under those pipes. Looks like they drip a trickle here or there.” His coarse laugh evidenced a buzz received from the stale Flitz.

“Before you go and while we’re a little tipsy, I want to relive a moment with you; from better days… it might make you appreciate men like me a little more. I know you ain’t seen a day on the front lines in your lifetime.”

“I should get on…”

“Just this once. I need a friend.”

Alright, then. Get on with it, man. Don’t waste my time.

“Sure… go ahead,” Todd said.

Harvey smiled. “Thanks… In ‘71, I enlisted in the army to help support my ex and the kid financially. It was just the right thing to do. I hadn’t left things as tidy back home as I should have. I was what you would call a non-traditional candidate. Imagine a forty-two-year-old in basic training—Fort Knox. It sure whipped me into shape quick, though. There was this ignorant idiot kid, Johnny Welch. I always had a soft spot for the punk. One night we got a little rowdy in the barracks when our lieutenant was away. The troops had loaded Creedence Clearwater Revival in the stereo, and it blared through the building, rattling the walls in protest to our impending deployment. The kid kept messing