Unhinged_by_Rick_Reed

Chapter 2-2

Ernie came home late. The poor guy was tired, so I tried not to get too bent out of shape when he failed to notice all the work I’d done that day or appreciate the fine dinner I’d prepared. When Ernie gets tired, it affects his mood—so we spent a quiet first night in our new home, watching the first season of Mad Men on DVD.

It wasn’t until we were in bed and I had swallowed Ernie’s load (hey, I am nothing if not selfless and giving), that I remembered to mention our new neighbor. I told him all about Paula as Ernie’s breathing deepened.

“She’s kind of like Ruth Gordon in Rosemary’s Baby? You know who I mean? The busybody? What’s her name? Minnie?”

But Ernie had already drifted off. I turned to my side, sorry to have lost him for another day and a little sad that he wasn’t really present for our evening together anyway. Why did work have to intrude so much on our real life?

Because you need to eat, sweetheart, that’s why. I swore I could hear Paula answer my thoughts, right in my own head. Good Lord!

I snuggled down beneath the comforter and closed my eyes. Maybe tomorrow I could take back the chipped Fiestaware plate she had brought the muffins on and get her to talk about the “gay boys” who had preceded the current ones. Paula did not strike me as reticent. Sooner or later, she’d have to spill; even from my limited knowledge of her, I doubt that she could help herself.

It was the middle of the night when something caused me to jerk awake. I immediately looked to the window, expecting to see another el train screeching by, but the tracks, at this late hour, were deserted.

In fact, the whole apartment was dead still. When you live in the middle of a big city like Chicago, the hum of noise—voices, cars, trains, buses—fade into the background. If they didn’t, I suppose we’d all go crazy.

That’s why it was so unnerving that at this very moment I could have heard the proverbial pin drop. It was that quiet. I looked over at Ernie, who, if he wasn’t snoring, was at least breathing loud enough for me to hear.

But Ernie wasn’t there.

Now, our new place was just one big room so I sat up in bed, looked toward our couch, no Ernie, our kitchen, no Ernie, and I finally directed my gaze to the bathroom, where the door stood open wide on utter darkness.

“Ernie?” I called, but no response came back. I slid my legs off the edge of the bed. Along with the silence, the cold was unnerving. The apartment was heated by steam radiators, the old Chicago reliable, and they had been clanking and clattering as we both drifted off to sleep. I shivered and noticed my breath came out in a puff of steam. I would have to call the landlord first thing.

But where was Ernie? I stood and found the clothes I had worn before bed. The sweats and sweatshirt lay on a chair. I slid into them and pulled some warm socks on my feet.

Just in case my lying eyes had deceived me, I made a quick tour of the studio. No, Ernie had not secreted himself behind the screen, nor was he under the bed, nor hiding behind the partially open bathroom door. He was not availing himself of a middle of the night shower in the dark.

I moved to our front door, peeking through the peephole to view only darkness. I opened the door and peered out into the gloom of the short hallway. The bare lightbulb, in a fixture on the wall, flickered off and on.

And everything was silent.

One gets used to hearing the el trains as they rumble by when one lives practically on top of the tracks, and almost stops hearing them.

Until the trains aren’t there anymore.

I thought I had been awake long enough for at least one train to have gone by, but there was nothing.

I closed the door and leaned against it, frowning. Where was Ernie?

In all our years together, I never had to worry about him cheating or doing anything on the sly. Had he gotten up when he thought I was asleep and headed out for some late-night revelry? The idea was so absurd it almost made me laugh.

Almost.

I had taken only a step or two back toward the center of the room when I noticed him sitting on the couch.

Not Ernie.

The little guy. Even though he was turned away from me, I could tell it was him from his small frame and his nearly skeletal form. He had a cell phone to his ear and appeared to be hunched in to himself.

He was talking rapidly, and as I moved closer, I started to pick up on what he said.

“You gotta help me out here, man.”

I stood still, right behind the couch, listening. I really think that I could have sat down on the couch right next to him and he wouldn’t have noticed.

“No, no, I can come to you. I don’t care…I’ll take even a little bit.” He laughed, and his voice was reedy, kind of raspy. It had a manic energy belied by his small and ill-nourished frame. I could see him c**k his head as he listened. “Come on, dude, I really need a taste. Just something to tide me over. I got the money.”

The hands gripping my shoulders made me scream. “Rick?” Ernie’s deep voice startled me. I whirled on him and could only imagine how wide my eyes must have been.

“Where were you?”

“Huh?” Ernie rubbed at his eyes, obviously still half asleep. His body looked sleek in the darkness, clad only in a pair of pinstriped boxers.

Even as I said it, reality began to trickle in. “Where were you? I looked all over.” Suddenly, I had an urge to cry. Was I going crazy?

As I suspected he would, Ernie turned his head lazily toward the bed and nodded. “I was right there. Asleep. Where else would I be?”

I pulled him close, burying my face in his warm, smooth chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. I breathed in his essence, what I called his man funk and that, with his thumping heart, comforted me.

He patted my head. “What happened? I woke up and you were just standing by the couch, staring.”

I pulled away from Ernie and looked back to our couch to find—no surprise—it was empty. No short men on cell phones. Just to reassure myself, I directed my gaze toward the front door, where the chain lock was still in place. My midnight visitor had not let himself out when I wasn’t looking.

Ernie ran his hands through my hair. “You were sleepwalking.”

“I guess.”

“Come back to bed?” Ernie took my hand and led me the short distance across the room, back to the comfort of our flannel sheets and down comforter. He kissed me deeply. “Good night, honey. Try to get some rest.”

He turned on his side, away from me, and in minutes, I could hear his deep, regular breathing indicating that he had returned to sleep. I envied him. I pulled the comforter up to my ears and tried to get comfortable, but sleep eluded me until grayish light washed our apartment with dull color, gradually defining the shapes in our home.

All night, I couldn’t get over the sensation that even though I couldn’t see him, the little man was still in the room, watching me.