Dark and Empty Spaces

Sam slipped away from the hospital into the night of an early November blizzard. The wind sliced through his coat, and the icy snow stung his face. He flipped his collar and tucked his head, as if crashing through ghostly waves in the parking lot.

If only he could dash to his car. He forced his weak leg forward through drifts of snow. The pain radiated to his hip, but he pushed on to his car. His poor gate reminded him of his childhood. He was the first target in dodge ball and the last to be picked; The first to be found in a game of hide n seek after closed eyes counted to ten.

He ducked into his Subaru Impreza and fished his pocket for the keys. He blew on his hands, then cranked the engine to a roar. With a fogged windshield, he rocked the car until the tires stopped spinning in place. Straining his wet eyes and swiping the windshield, he followed fresh tire tracks in the snow to the road. Sam wanted to be home alone under the cover of darkness where no one could shine a light on him, where he could pretend to be invisible.

Sam put the Syracuse city lights in his rearview mirror. The fog on his windshield melted from the heater. Windswept snow across the country road forced a vice-grip on the wheel. The early storm of winter caught folks off guard.

A deer jumped from the snowy bank and darted past him. He jammed the brakes and slid sideways but still on the road. While his heart thumped hard, he looked in the rearview and watched a fawn following the doe into the woods on the other side.

"Why not," Sam said to himself. "Why not kill a mother doe. "Then I guess I could raise the fawn at home."

Sam spun his tires getting into the driveway with a motion light above the garage exposing a snowdrift on his path to the front door. Diving from the car, his weak leg nearly caved. He clung to the door, as the wind howled.


Scrambling forward, he unlocked the oak door. Sam knew he was about to cross a cold threshold. He shook the snow off his shoulders. He flipped on the light in the hall. He shook with a tremor inside searching for a way out. He had yet to fire up the furnace. He shuffled over to the fireplace in the living room, leaving puddles on the hardwood floor.



Sam's phone vibrated from his coat pocket. It was Lisa, on the night staff at the city rescue mission. He was the weekend director. They called him on the big decisions.

The text read: "Sam, we've had to turn people away from the mission back out into the storm. There're not enough beds, and you know the fire code restricts our numbers. Thought best to let you know, in case you have any ideas."

He plopped down on the couch. A picture in his mind formed. He could see homeless ones gathered around a burning barrel, taking turns warming their hands. Then Taylor stabbed his thoughts. She'd been a regular up until a month or so. She was pregnant, six months or more.

They'd lost track of Taylor. She had come close to having a haven like Vera House. Then her boyfriend shows with enough drug money for a weekly rental at a cheap motel. Sam pictured her in the alley, wet dirty blonde, fighting to stay warm, curled into a bloated ball of desperation.

Sam thumbed his cellphone with a message. "Have you seen Taylor, the abused pregnant girl?"

"Will do the rounds and find out."

Using his phone as a flashlight, Sam peeled back his coat and kicked off his wet shoes. He unfurled his soaked socks too. He stumbled over to where he had a kindling in the fireplace ready with split wood. He lit a match and then sat down, almost falling back on the couch. He rubbed his legs. Pain radiated from his hip. He dug into his pants pocket where he found a couple loose baby aspirins. He chewed away. Eyes closing in the firelight, his tensed body relaxed.

The phone rang! His heart skipped. It was the hospital!

"Hell...o"

"Sam, it's Sarah."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm...I'm okay. Just tired. My mother's spending the night with me in the hospital. Doctor told me...he told me I had to stop trying to have a baby."

"I know. Sorry. I shouldn't have..."

Sam, after I'm released tomorrow," She spoke in a weak, mousy voice. "I'm going home with mother. I need time away."

Sam sprang to the edge of the sofa. "What do you mean, time?"

"I just need space. I...I love you. But I need time away."

Sam protested. "But I can take care of you."

"So tired. I...I need to go now."

Sam plopped back. Closed his eyes. He listened to the crackle of the fire. Then the howling wind. His mind caved into sleep; the only place left to hide.