Lights Out by Nate Southard Read Free Book Online Page A

clean, though. I ever catch some queer disease off you, your skull will be a greasy smear before I have my first appointment with the doc. We have an understanding?”
    Maggot nodded. He kept his eyes on the wall in front of him, refusing to look away for any reason. More than anything, he did not want to see those piggish eyes, the ugly smile.
    “C’mon,” Nicholas said. “We gotta get you to the morgue.”
    Maggot followed the officer by sound, his eyes glued to the corridor’s concrete floor. The clicks and clacks of Nicholas’ polished shoes told him where to go.
    “This is your fourth time in the infirmary in two weeks,” the guard said. His voice took on a different tone when he wasn’t raping Maggot. More playful, but just as hateful. And he always acted as though he had not just pounded Maggot’s ass like he was trying to bury a tent stake. “You ask me; it sounds like you’re just trying to cut work detail.”
    “My stomach hurts sometimes.”
    “Boo-hoo. You know the drill; everyone works. No exceptions.”
    “I know.”
    “I don’t give a damn how many tummy aches you have.”
    “I know.”
    “That’s good to hear. Now, am I going to have to walk you to work detail late again anytime soon?”
    “I do not know. My stomach hurts sometimes.”
    Nicholas stopped short, and Maggot followed his example. He kept his eyes down, examining his worn shoes. A hole marked the top of his right sneaker. As he watched, he wiggled his big toe. It looked like he was waving hello to himself, and he almost smiled, but then Officer Nicholas placed an open palm on his chest.
    “Are you being cute with me, Maggot? I’m not sure I can handle cute right now.”
    “No.”
    “I’m sorry? I couldn’t really make that out?”
    “No.”
    “No, what?”
    “No, sir. I am not being cute.”
    “Happy to hear it.” The officer’s hand slid upward to touch Maggot’s cheek, a gesture that was both tender and terrible. “We’ve got a good thing going, you and me. I don’t want you to go fucking it up by getting me mad. Now, are you going to be okay?”
    Maggot shook his head, looked back down at his shoes. He gave his toe another wiggle, and again he fought off a smile.
    “I am okay,” he said.
    “Mags.”
    “I want to go to work now.”
    He heard another sigh, this one longer, annoyed. One of his hands curl into a fist, his nails digging into the skin of his palm, and he forced it open again, demanded his muscles relax as they were told.
    “Good, let’s go,” Officer Nicholas said.
    The clacking of shoes rang out again, and Maggot followed the sound down the corridor. He followed Nicholas around one corner, two, never raising his eyes. Instead, he examined the dirty floor as it flowed past, and he thought about what he had in common with it.
    The footsteps rounded a corner and suddenly stopped. Maggot heard the guard let out a rushed, “Oh, fuck,” and then the footsteps were running away, and the swinging doors that sealed off the morgue were flying open.
    “Jesus Christ!” came the guard’s voice, sharp with fear.
    Maggot looked up, and he saw the morgue doors sway back and forth on their hinges. He saw nothing past them but the shining metal cabinets on the opposite wall. It looked no different than normal, but then he realized there was no guard standing outside the doors.
    Slowly, he approached. As the doors swung open and shut, open and shut, he heard snatches of sound, Officer Nicholas yelling into his radio.
    “...The morgue...
    “...Bodies...
    “...Right away!”
    He reached out to touch the doors as their swinging slowed to a stop. Gently, he pushed them open. He stepped through into the cool, sterile room where he worked five days out of every week, helping Dr. Wilson in any way he could. He liked the doctor, who treated him well and insisted on calling him Jim, which just happened to be Maggot’s real name.
    But Dr. Wilson did not greet him by his real name this time. The man did not say