Night Work by Hamilton Steve

Author:Hamilton, Steve [Hamilton, Steve]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2007-09-18T07:00:00+00:00

ELEVEN

Another night passed. A thing more useless to me than ever. Gone were the nights when I’d actually lie down in my bed and sleep, when I’d recharge my batteries and maybe even have a nice dream or two. When Laurel was killed, I spent twenty nights in a row sitting in a chair, a coat or a blanket or whatever else happened to be within reach wrapped around my shoulders, no matter how hot the room was, until the sun came up again. Or walking the dark streets of Kingston, usually finding myself uptown, somehow drawn to the old buildings and more than once to St. Joseph’s Church. On one side of the building there are statues, a whole scene laid out, the Holy Mother appearing to the children at Fatima, with an iron fence around the statues with a timeworn bench for people to kneel on. I’d never seen anyone praying, but then I was usually there at two or three in the morning. I’d lean over with my elbows on the top of the fence and I’d look at Mary, the three children, the two sheep. I wouldn’t know why I was there, but a few nights later I’d be back.

I don’t know if I truly learned how to sleep again, but two years later, I could at least spend a whole night in my bed without seeing Laurel’s face or trying to run to her, running the way you do in a dream, like it’s something your body is trying to invent on the spot. Two years and now here I was, my truce with sleep officially broken, although now instead of walking the streets at night I got to do things like fighting for my life in my own doorway and then spending the next few hours looking for a tie just to prove I didn’t use it to strangle someone.

Eventually, the body gives out and you go into a strange limbo, somewhere between asleep and awake. I knew that place well. I was there when the sound came to me, a sound that was too familiar …

Knocking. I sat up straight, looked around the place, at the disaster. Whoever it was knocked on the door again. I got up and opened it.

It was Detective Shea.

“If you’re going to come here every morning,” I said, “you gotta start bringing coffee.”

“What happened to you?”

I was wondering if he really wanted the full double-column list, but then I realized he was probably talking about my face. “Just a random assault on the street,” I said. “Doesn’t even crack the Top Five this week.”

“Somebody attacked you? Was it someone you know?”

“If I tell you who, you’ll have to go charge him. It’s the last thing he needs right now.”

“Under the circumstances, I think I should really know what happened, Joe.”

“I’ll tell you when this whole thing is over. I promise.”

“You’re seriously not going to tell me.”

“I assume you had some reason to come see me, Detective?”

“I just wanted to see how you’re doing,” he said, with a sigh of exasperation.

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