Most would consider Andrew Hulshult a failure. Day after day, Henry would return home from work and find Andrew lying languidly in the living room or sitting on top of the roof in an old, stained camping chair. To be frank, he simply didn’t do much. Laziness was something that pervaded his life, at least by outward appearances as Henry saw it. It had for years, since their days as teenagers. Henry was three years older, and they knew each other fairly well through Henry’s sister. She is dead. She had been dead for years now.
When Henry awoke that morning, he found his torso exceedingly sore. Any strain of his chest and side muscles made them scream with a hot ache. He deemed it a side effect of the long nights. Work, for him, had been a nightmare the last few weeks. He, along with a few others, had been working under a government contract. Things weren’t going as planned, making a nightmare of the whole thing. His team would have continued working if Leskin, their team lead, hadn’t started to worry they would keel over dead without at least a day of rest.
Initially it was odd for Henry to hardly see Andrew for the most recent two weeks. Before this, Andrew acted as a constant in his schedule. Anytime he returned home, Henry could expect Andrew to be there. That wasn’t the case, not or now, at least. Andrew was asleep when he left in the morning and asleep when he returned in the evening. Some small part of Henry hoped his absence might compel an inner part of Andrew, with his perceived independence, to strike out and find a part-time job. He doubted it, but there was still some hope. Initially it was odd for Henry to hardly see Andrew for the most recent two weeks. Before this Andrew acted as a constant in his schedule. Anytime he returned home Henry could expect Andrew to be there. That wasn’t the case, for now at least. Andrew was asleep when he left in the morning and asleep when he returned in the evening. Some small part of Henry hoped his absence might compel an inner part of Andrew, with his perceived independence, to strike out and at least find a part time job. He doubted it, but there was still some hope.
The apartment was old. From the outside, the entire structure seemed to sag, slowly sinking into the earth. An odd little appearance, he occasionally noted, of an ancient building with poor foundations. Its outer white paneling had started to fade yellow and split off in various places. The bottom level was a gas station, and not one particularly busy. There were only a handful of patrons this far out in the country that stopped by daily. Because of this lack of income, it was easy to convince the owner, a family friend, to let him rent the top unused level at a decent expense. Sure, the roof collected water, staining the ceiling tiles a light amber brown; the carpet was old, stained, and stank the spiky stench that bristled the hairs of the nose, but it was cheap.
He got out of bed, letting out a groan as pain shot up his side. In response, the floor let out a cry of its own as his weight shifted onto it. After slipping on a shirt and pants, Henry slipped out of his room. The alarm clock revealed the time to be around six in the morning. He had been waking up at four. Andrew still slept in the side room, a closet more like, honestly. Not wanting to wake him, Henry stepped quietly into the tiny living room. The apartment’s kitchen was basically in the same room as the living room and consisted of a small fridge, small sink, and an oven. A tiny bar with two stools is all that separated the kitchen from the rest of the apartment. It acted as the dining table and a countertop. Not long after moving in, he had purchased a small microwave which now took up one side of the counter. It ran on an extension cord plugged into a nearby outlet.
He flicked on the small adhesive light above the sink and got about filling a mug with cold water. While it spun in the microwave, he dug through the cabinets looking for instant coffee mix. He stirred the mix into the now boiling mug of water and started towards the living room couch. The couch was an old green thing, better suited as deemed it, a monster due to how its fabric had started to wear into thousands of strands jutting out, showing bits of wood underneath. Henry jumped slightly upon seeing a figure sitting on the couch. His nerves eased once he noticed the sickeningly slender figure of Andrew with a blanket.
“You’re up early.”
“I’ve been waking up early for the last few days or so,” his voice gravely.
Even in the dim light, Henry could see circles underneath Andrew’s eyes which combined with his poor complexion, made Henry worry about his health. He could take him to the doctor and lose a day of rest, but it’s better than letting him stay here and grow worse. Andrew struggled with making any real decisions on his own most of the time. He was the kind who preferred to be told what to do.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah. I just haven’t been able to sleep well.”
Staying away from the couch, Henry climbed onto one of the bar’s stools. He shifted his gaze between Andrew and the choking gloom visible outside one of the few apartment windows. Andrew was an odd-looking fellow. He was one of those types who rarely ever had to cut their hair. It always seemed to stay at a length boarding on being a buzz cut, but just long enough he had to worry about how it looked. His hair was sharply black and thick, even obscuring his scalp at a short length. His face started wide but grew narrow. He’s not ugly, but just one of those people you could never fully define their features in your mind, no matter how long you looked at them, whether due to their occasional oddities that broke the memory or the mundanity of how they looked being too dull to bother noting. He had a thin build and never seemed to gain weight no matter what. His bones visibly jutted out along his shoulder and collar, even poking through the thin fabric of his shirt. One of the few times Henry had seen him shirtless, his ribs were visible, though they were less defined and appeared as slight waves on the torso. It was as if between his bone and skin a thin layer of fluid had developed giving his body a slightly swollen look. Sometimes because of this, Henry worried about his health. It would not have been surprising if Andrew had some deformity deep down that may one day cut his life short. But, other than his seemingly phlegmatic attitude and downtrodden behavior, he spoke and acted normally. At least what Henry believed acting normal was for someone like Andrew.
“Nightmares?” Henry asked.
“I suppose you could say that. That’s about as real as they could be considered.” Andrew stood and began pacing. “You know I hate waiting. It’s miserable.”
“What are you waiting for so early in the morning?”
“Thomas will be by later today.”
“Why?” Henry took a sip of the coffee. It burned down his throat, chest, and stomach. That burning sensation lingered a bit too long in his chest. He coughed slightly.
“You’re late on rent. It was due a week ago.”
Henry’s face lightened. “Since when did you start keeping up with the rent cycle?”
“I just got used to the pattern.”
“You could have called or texted me about it.”
“I only remembered this morning.” Andrew was a terrible liar. When he lied, he would enunciate every word with an importance, like he was trying to hammer home a point as he did now. ‘Remembered’ was said with a shocking amount of grandeur.
“Have you heard from Harper?” Henry asked.
Andrew stepped past him and, after digging around the cabinets for a moment, started to fry eggs. “You know we don’t get along. She’s rude. Mean, really.”
Harper was a girl that Henry knew from his college days. She had fallen on rough times and contacted him hoping for a job or that he would vouch for her. He did, and she recently started working as Leskin’s secretary. It’s not a good job, but it’s better than nothing. Admittedly she had a strong personality, far too frank about things for most people to enjoy being around. He put her and Andrew into contact with one another in hopes that she might bring him around. Ignite a sense of resistance in him.
“She can be harsh,” Henry admitted.
“What’s the difference between mean and harsh?” Andrew asked. One of the eggs cried out, sending a speck of grease flying. Henry pushed his mug of coffee away after a second sip hurt worse than the first.
“Being mean holds cruelty behind it, doesn’t it?”
“Then she is definitely mean.”
“You might regret cutting her off like that. She may just want to help and that’s the only way she can.” Henry said, grasping.
“Here.” He slid a paper plate with two eggs in front of Henry. A small glass of milk quickly followed.
“You don’t know how to cook, do you?” Henry said.
“I learned.”
Henry smiled, glad that he might’ve learned something over the last few weeks. “Thank you.”
Andrew sat two turquoise pills next to the plate. Their outer gel layers shined. “Take these after.”
“Ibuprofen?”
“You look terrible.”
“I feel terrible. Thank you.” Henry tried his best to hide his excitement. For the first time in a while, Andrew managed to act like a person. Most days, he lived off the microwave sausage biscuits Henry would buy at the gas station below. Without them, Henry was sure Andrew would have starved.
Henry sipped the glass of milk. Its cool was comforting in the early morning initially. Soon, however, that pleasure settled into a dull, choking pain in his chest, like a rock was set on his heart. He coughed.
“Are you alright?” Andrew watched him closely, yet there was a noticeable lack of concern in his eyes. To him, it must’ve felt like nothing important had truly happened. Henry was starting to grow worried.
“I’m fine,” Henry said through slight gasps. “I just need more rest.”
“Thomas should come by around seven this evening.”
“Alright,” Henry said, finally able to catch his breath after one final wheeze.
“I’ll take care of your errands today.”
Henry’s eyes opened wide in shock. “How long has it been since you drove?”
“Not long.”
“Are you sure about this? I’ll write you out a list.”
“I can figure it all out.”
Henry shook his head. “No. Here, get me a sticky note.”
He quickly surmised a list of bills to pay and groceries to pick up. Initially that had been his plan for most of the day, running around town trying to get caught up. Thankfully, Andrew seemed to have developed a sense of responsibility. Henry passed the list.
“Be careful and call me if you have any issues.”
“Ok.”
“Any issues, alright?”
“Right.”
After they finished breakfast, Henry returned to bed. He struggled to sleep at first. Worry grew about Andrew, Harper, work, and the rent. He supported both of them and while he was paid decently, it was scarcely enough to support two grown men. Perhaps more concerning was Andrew’s newfound vigor. While a major positive step forward, Henry felt concerned about the change. He started to wonder where exactly at the end of this he would be left.
It was evening when he awoke, not by an alarm or the soft words of someone trying to ease him out of sleep. Instead, his mind was forced back to consciousness by a forceful pounding that shook the walls. He crawled out of bed this time, a fatigue so strong he struggled to stay standing. The fatigue combined with a sudden weariness, forced him to lean against the wall as he made his way into the wider apartment. The front door shook in a rhythm brought on by the fist slamming into it from the other side. Henry tried to yell out that he was coming but could only manage a croak. A slight cough escaped his lips that took his breath. He struggled over to the sink and stuck his head under the faucet, letting the cool water drip down his face and throat. After a few moments of this, he wiped his face as best he could and opened the door.
Thomas Warden, the landlord, was a brutish man. His hands were massive and scarred by age. The skin on them was thick, appearing more like two masses of calluses rather than the soft skin one typically expected. His face held a twinge of animosity that never seemed to go away. It was nestled beneath a shimmering bald head that was definitely waxed on a regular basis.
“Thomas.” Henry regarded as calmly as he could manage.
“I’ve been beating down this door for the past ten minutes,” Thomas said. His tone was harsh.
“Sorry. I think I’m sick with something. Something bad. I’ve slept just about all day.”
Thomas nodded thoughtfully. “Where’s the little guy? The one who used to linger around here.”
“Not sure. He went out this morning to do errands.”
A quick little grunt left Thomas’s throat. “Not surprising. He leaves early in the morning and doesn’t come back until eight. Sometimes, I’m closed, and the kid doesn’t show up.”
“I don’t understand. He doesn’t even have a car.”
“Somebody picks him up, I don’t know.” He pointed down below towards the front of the station. “I see him walk by there. I see him pass by from where I stand behind the counter.”
Henry frowned, suddenly worried. “I’ll ask him about it. Look, I’m sorry about the rent.” He reached over to where his coat hung beside the door and pulled his wallet out of his pocket. He couldn’t be bothered, so he simply took whatever cash he had and handed it to Thomas.
“Take whatever’s there. I think it’s a couple hundred. I’ll stop by the bank and get you the rest tomorrow. I’ve been so busy it just slipped my mind.”
Warden flipped through the cash, seemingly satisfied. “That’ll do then, I guess. Stay well and if you need a ride to the doctor’s, my wife can take you. To be honest, you’re looking pretty bad.”
“Right.” Henry let the door shut between them. He slipped into the bathroom and took a few long sips from the sink faucet. He splashed his face with water before looking in the mirror. His heart sank. He was pale and gaunt. His eyes bulged and were bloodshot. His lips were ghostly. He looked like death itself.
A tightness filled his chest. He turned and leaned against the sink, letting it support his weight as he slid onto the ground. In those final moments, he wondered if he had wasted those short twenty-five years of his life simply living for others.
Andrew waited thirty minutes exactly before entering the apartment. He watched the clock on his phone closely. As it grew close, he slipped inside and quickly found Henry lying on the bathroom floor. His body was still warm, but the pulse had ceased. Andrew frowned. Today had been earlier than usual.
As much as he refused to fully admit it, he had grown used to this ritual. This singular day he had lived a thousand times already. Each time different but always ending the same. Most often, Henry would die in an accident. Second to that was murder. Today, however, was the oddity in the grand scheme. Either sickness or natural causes by what Andrew could understand, but he was no medical professional. There would be no one to check either. At eight, the day would reset, and he would find himself back in bed early in the morning.
The apartment door shuttered. Andrew quickly left Henry and opened the door slightly. Warden’s tall figure met him.
“Here. Tell Henry I am giving him a week’s extension to pay the rent.” He looked past Andrew into the apartment. “Where is he?”
“He’s in bed,” Andrew said simply.
“Try and get him to go to a hospital. He has my number if you need any help.”
“Thank you.” Andrew said coldly. Normally, Warden wasn’t so kind to them.
He returned to Henry lying on the bathroom floor. He was a peaceful sight. Henry’s pallid bone-white hair appeared warm against the slight grey tile floor. He was curled on his side in a fetal position. His eyes were closed. By all means, he appeared to have passed easily. A better way to go when compared to some of the horrific times before.
Andrew sighed. He found eternity, at least his eternity, to be a waste. He quickly realized none of it mattered. There was no finality. As much of a tragedy Henry’s death was, it simply would be undone in twenty minutes time. In his life, Henry was left with the importance of a moment. Andrew had been robbed of that finality as far as he could understand it. He wished for it back. A small part of him hoped he wouldn’t wake up in the morning and that Henry would stay dead, as seemingly fated by the universe.
Andrew felt a somberness he hadn’t considered in some time. He sat down beside Henry to wait until the day was done. ◆
Chase Mitchell is a student at University of the Cumberlands. He studies history and literature and is planning on furthering his education for a master’s degree in either subject. Outside of college, he spends most of his time reading, playing guitar, or enjoying nature.
Pensworth 