The Man of Smoke - Final (Smoke and Ice)

The elevator doors opened, David felt like a soldier storming the beach at Normandy, or clambering over the trenches at Flanders, this was it, the one last jaunt before he was home free!

He was trying not to think about what might happen if the creature could leave the hospital again, I mean it wasn’t always here was it? It was what caused the accident when it waved to him on the street and distracted him, so why wouldn’t it be able to leave?

He felt that maybe it wouldn’t want to, that all the death and suffering here would be enough for it and it would just let him go on and leave him alone for however long the rest of his life might be. He felt and he hoped and he prayed this, because he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life fleeing this spectre, waiting for it to lay its hands on him and destroy him, just like in his dreams, and just like it did to Norman.

David looked cautiously out into the lobby, it was empty except for the receptionist and a few patients and visitors, and there was no sign of it anywhere. The front door seemed so close and yet so far, like a dream where the door just keeps stretching further and further away from you as the monster catches up. He wheeled himself out of the elevator and crossed the lobby slowly; sweat prickling on his forehead and sticking his gown to his back.

His arms were aching and cramping from using the wheelchair so much and his injuries were all throbbing in protest from all this exertion and panic. His neck began to ache to as he spun his head from side to side, being ready for any sign of the spectre pursuing him.

The receptionist looked at him slightly confused as he passed the desk, thinking that he didn’t look in any fit state to be going anywhere alone, never mind outside, but she figured it wasn’t her problem. He made it to the automatic doors and they slid open like the gates of heaven, the cold air from outside blasting him refreshing in the face, making him feel more alive than he had in a long time.
He closed his eyes and gasped in a lungful of the filthy city air. It was unclean, it was unprocessed, it was cold and stinking and heavy with exhaust fumes and pollution and it was bloody beautiful. Remembering that he was fleeing something, he looked quickly over his shoulder for his pursuer, but there was no sign of him (it?) anywhere. Had he escaped? He leaned back in his chair and smiled widely, his first in a long time.

Now, in tense Hollywood thriller movies, or in dark and terrifying horror films, we would be led to believe that David fled the hospital and his dad was standing there waiting for him, holding the door open and screaming for David to hurry. The creature would be right behind him, it’s putrid breath freezing the back of his neck as he gunned the wheelchair forward so hard that his hands blistered and bled.

He would launch himself from the wheelchair into the car and the engine would stall once, twice, before spluttering to life and rocketing them away as the beast stood in the middle of the rode behind them, eating their exhaust fumes and screaming in abstract and otherworldy rage.

But of course, we all know real life is not like Hollywood, and in actuality, David just sat there in his chair, shivering, waiting for his father to arrive while watching the sliding doors of the hospital entrance with at first fear, but then eventually just staring in a blank trance of boredom. Some nurses, and of course, Dr. Proctor came out and tried to get him to come back inside, but he outright refused, telling them he was going home and to bring his stuff outside.

Normally they would never allow this and would drag him back inside if they needed to, but David was irate and almost seemed like he feared for his life, and he had been making a remarkable recovery, and maybe going home for a while would help to repair him in the less obvious ways, and maybe stop him acting like a lunatic, as the doctor said when talking to the nurses out of earshot.

Above, on the third floor, the stranger watched standing in the visitor’s room, one hand resting on the glass. When David’s dad finally arrived he moved away from the window, a grin on his face. As he left the room he patted the head of a small baby girl bouncing up and down joyously on her mother’s knee.

The baby stopped laughing and burst into inconsolable tears.. An icy hand print stayed on the window for a few minutes before melting into stagnant water and running onto the carpet, leaving a spot that would always reek of rotting meat.

David saw his dad pull up, and was pleased to see that he still hadn’t got a new car, and was still driving the old rust bucket that he remembered from when he lived at home. It coughed and spluttered as it pulled up on the parking bay right outside the hospital, where David sat with his belongings, a few nurses, and Dr Proctor, who muttered ‘Nice car’ under his breath.

His dad climbed out of the car and in his previous fear and desire to escape, David had completely forgot about the years of anger and silence between the two, and he was worried that they would end up in a screaming match and his dad would drive away again and the cycle would repeat itself pointlessly. He didn’t need to worry.

His dad walked up to him, looked down at him in his wheelchair, and muttered, “You look like death warmed up.” David smiled and quipped back, “Nice comb over.”
“Baldness runs in the family, you won’t be laughing in a few years.”
They both laughed, and to David’s surprise his dad got down on one knee and hugged him roughly.
“It’s good to see you David.” He tried to blink the tears from his eyes, and hoped that when he spoke his voice wasn’t trembling.
“You too, dad.”

The handful of nurses looked away, smiling, some blinking back tears too. Dr Proctor was smoking and looking up at the tinted windows of the third floor visiting room, feeling like he was being watched, when the feeling suddenly disappeared and he looked back down. He saw David and his dad hugging and he rolled his eyes and continued puffing.

David was helped into the car by his father, and one of the nurses gave them a fold up wheelchair that he could borrow and use at home until he could walk properly again. They told him about how he would have to come back every week for physiotherapy and checkups and blah blah blah, David really wasn’t listening, he just wanted to see the hospital disappearing from view through the back window of the old rust bucket.

His father thanked the nurses and the doctor for their help (the nurses said ‘It was our pleasure, don’t mention it’, the doctor said, ‘I live to give.’) and climbed into the car. He glanced over at David who was gazing out the window at the hospital, his face blank except for a faint smile of relief.

He turned the ignition and realised that his breath was clouding in front of him and the car was freezing inside, despite the warm weather outside. He thought he really must be getting old, and again was glad to be seeing David again and to be on seemingly good terms with his only son again. He turned the heating on and rubbed his hands together to warm them up. He checked the rear view mirror before moving off and-

There was someone in the back seat, a strange man in a suit. He spun around to look, his neck muscles standing out in chords and his bones creaking slightly. Of course, there was no one there, the seat was empty.

He really was getting old; maybe he should ask his doctor to put him on different medication, this stuff seemed to be messing with his head, maybe he shouldn't be driving. As he pulled out of the hospital he remembered something about what he had 'seen' that chilled him to the bone. The man didn’t seem to have any eyes; there were just empty black sockets, these bottomless holes of darkness, instead. Why would he imagine something like that?

In the backseat, a small patch of ice slowly melted into stagnant water and soaked into the fabric of the worn old seat as they drove home.