Photo by Sebastian Isaac-Gooden

By Sebastian Isaac-Gooden

The door closed. Greg breathed a sigh of relief. He and Dan looked at each other and then around the apartment. The space, despite being an apartment, felt impossibly grand. Bookshelves and expertly lit photographs lined the walls. Smooth sculptures shone across the room, and a piano stood in the corner. Through a doorway, a kitchen gleamed in the warm lighting of the apartment. “There are worse places to be stuck in,” he muttered. This was the only upside of their predicament. They shouldn’t have had to run to the apartment, but it was the best place to be in their situation. People were looking for them, and this was the one place Greg was sure they wouldn’t find. 

Along with Dan, Greg walked through the doorway to the kitchen, and opened the fridge; it was packed with food for almost every meal possible. The freezer was much the same, stuffed with frozen food. Dan checked out the similarly stacked pantry while Greg left the kitchen and went down a second hallway that extended from the main room. This hallway led to two doors. He walked to the left and opened a sturdy door. 

As he walked into the room, a heavenly aroma crept up his nose. It felt like every scent of his childhood had converged and decided to move around the apartment. Eventually, Greg managed to break from the smell and look at the room. It was a bedroom, with a cozy feel. A queen-sized bed covered in pillows and blankets sat on the back wall of the room, with a balcony on its left side. A cool light shone through his window. A desk sat on the opposite side of the room, and on it lay a Nintendo Switch. He had so much to do, he could do something different every day. Greg turned around and opened the door. He looked across the hall and saw Dan. “Hey! Did you see the room? It’s like it was-” “It’s like it was made for me,” Dan finished.

Greg awoke the next morning feeling more rested than he had in years. The smell of pancakes had wafted past his doors and into his room. As he walked into the dining area, he saw Dan sitting with an imposing plate of food in front of him. “Damn, man. Did you make all of that?” Greg asked. “Yeah, bro. We have all the ingredients, and the best cookbook I’ve ever read,” Dan said with a grin. “There’s still batter in the kitchen if you want any.” Greg walked into the kitchen and poured the batter into the pan. He inhaled and smiled.

* * *

“There’s no way you’re getting through that list,” Dan scoffed. Greg shrugged. “It’s only one hundred movies, man.” He looked at the list. “IMDb’s got nothing on me. We gotta be here for a month, and I’ve already seen a bunch of ’em.” He looked up at the credits. 2001: A Space Odyssey had been interesting, and he had one less movie to finish. As much as Greg wanted to watch another movie, he knew he should go to sleep and start another in the morning.

Greg walked down the decorated hallway that led to his room. The light seemed to welcome him as he stepped into the room and noticed, for the first time, a liquor cabinet. It sat, in the room’s light, with glasses already prepared. Greg stopped for a moment. Had that been there before? He couldn’t be sure, but he had probably just missed it. Greg poured a glass of gin, tentatively put it to his lips, and swallowed it down. It was calming. He quickly downed the rest of his glass and poured himself another.

Greg awoke on his floor, staring at the glass in front of him. He groaned. His head felt crushed beneath a monstrous headache. He picked himself up and dragged himself to the bathroom. As he opened the door, he saw a glass on the bathroom counter, and a splash of vomit on the floor next to the toilet. He couldn’t remember what had happened, but the environment had told him enough. The bottle he had started was empty, as was a second bottle of wine, and his room was a mess. Was the piano being played? Between his roaring head and turbulent stomach, he managed to push the shower curtain back and take a shower. He breathed a sigh of relief as the shower head spat out warm water that hit the back of his head. 

Greg stumbled into the yawning doorway that led to the kitchen. “Is there any chance there’s a hangover cure in here?” He groaned. Dan raised an eyebrow. “When did you get alcohol?” he asked. “Is there anything, In the kitchen,” Greg repeated. Dan gestured to the Tylenol and the apple juice, asking Greg if he had taken them out the night before. Greg hadn’t left his room all night and told Dan such. A half-hour later, he felt fine, though the pained memory still hurt. He was able to watch Reservoir Dogs, the next movie he hadn’t seen on IMDb’s list, and he enjoyed it. He then used one of the various consoles around the apartment and played a few Wii Sports games with Dan. After that, he made pork belly and a salad to eat for two meals and watched more movies, before walking down the narrow hallway to his room. He opened the door and, the same as the previous night, saw the liquor cabinet glowing in the light. He remembered his headache from earlier and shuddered. The drink helped him forget the misery of what happened before, but he wasn’t sure the headache would be worth it again. He picked up the Nintendo Switch and looked into its screen’s dark mirror. It was the same screen he had seen at the end of his various mission briefings. The same screen he had seen when they had been betrayed on the mission, just before they’d had to flee. Quill didn’t know about the safe house, Greg thought. They had all been briefed on different locations so enemy forces couldn’t find them all. But if anyone could find it, it would be Quill. But these locations were picked because they were good at staying hidden, so- Greg looked at the glass of brandy in his hand. Maybe he wouldn’t drink as heavily tonight.

Greg woke up on his bed this time, unsure of how much time had passed, glass on his nightstand. He had a twinge of a headache, but it was nothing compared to the creature that had torn into his head the previous day. He smiled. The floorboards creaked as he stepped out of the funnel and into the dining space where, once again, Dan sat eating breakfast. (He must have been playing the piano earlier, Greg had heard notes being played.) He was up early so he could sit there, in prime position to judge others, Greg supposed. If Greg was drinking, that was his choice. “Hey, you okay? You seem off,” said Dan. “I’m fine,” was Greg’s flat reply. In reality, he was better than fine. He hadn’t felt this calm since before the mission, Dan be damned. Greg silently cursed at him. They were both adults, they could do what they wanted. He decided to skip breakfast and the movie, returning to the comforting abdomen of his room. He thought to himself that he should go for shots this time, though not so many that he would pass out. He picked up the bottle and the glass, poured himself a shot, and took a cool sip.

Greg was shaken by Dan’s pounding on his door. He stumbled across the painfully cold floor to open the door. The pipe under the kitchen sink had burst, and Dan seemed intent on fixing it. They made their way to the kitchen, past the jagged sculptures, and looked under the sink. The pipe was very deep into the apartment’s large sink, so Dan would have to stay and hold the flashlight. At least the lazy ass would have to do something. Greg grabbed the wrench, then crawled into the mouth below the sink. He saw that a valve had been loosened to the point where it fell off, but there were no scratches on it, almost as if it loosened itself. Suddenly, he heard it again. Sergei Rachmaninov’s ‘Isle of the Dead’ was playing on the piano. “Dan, do you hear that?” he asked. “I don’t- Wait, I think I-” The door closed, leaving Greg in darkness. It felt like the walls shifted. He had less room now, he was sure of it. He tried to push at the walls, but there was less space than ever. If only he’d stayed in his room and had another drink. He struggled against the walls more, and felt his arms crack.

Greg jolted awake. He was sitting at his chair, a glass of rum laid on the desk. He took a quick swig and hastily walked out into the living room. Dan was seated on the couch, watching The Shining. “You piece of shit.” hissed Greg. “You left me!” Dan turned around to speak, but he was cut off. “I was trying to fix the sink, and you just dropped the STUPID, BLOODY, flashlight! And leave me?!” Dan’s heart rate elevated as he raised an eyebrow. “What? I didn’t leave you, you fixed the sink and went back to your room. I haven’t seen you in days.” He seemed like he was being honest, but good liars always do. Dan was still casting judgment upon him. He had been so conceited the entire time they’d been there. He heard the piano playing again but ignored it. Dan was a liar, and that couldn’t go ignored. Dan took a few steps back. He took a deep breath, and slowly said “Look man, chill out and put, the flask down. You’re destroying yourself, man.” Greg looked down at his hands to see that, indeed, he was carrying a flask, as well as the wrench that he’d used on the sink. Dan, for all of his arrogance, was right. He would likely lose himself if he kept drinking. But if he did, they would have to leave. Dan had wanted to leave since the beginning. He couldn’t let that happen. Greg tightened his grip. Taking one last swig from the flask, Greg blacked out for the final time.

Dan woke up, to a burning sensation and with his head throbbing. He struggled to open his eyes, but couldn’t. He heard Greg’s thick voice “You never liked this place.” Despite his head, Dan managed to force his eyes open and saw the blood that had leaked from his head onto the ugly brown floor. Greg was tearing at the rope to get it as tight as he could. Dan looked into his eyes, but there was nothing behind them. He tried to talk but was met with the swift slam of the wrench into his leg, silencing him. Greg walked past the filthy carpets and furniture, sat down, and began to play the piano.