The Long Sunset

My car starts and my heart breaks. I guess I’m going to kill Lorenzo today after all.

I did the math all night; at least, as best as a handful of college would allow. Even if his shuttle was beyond something that he tinkered with in his spare time, it would be a miracle if it carried the both of us half-way to the nearest spaceport.

But this is Lorenzo we’re talking about, I told myself a million times as the heat stretched the night like taffy. The man’s sleep talk is filled with equations that would snap anyone else’s brains in half.

But even then, I needed to consider other angles...

Pulling out onto the cracked and pothole-laden asphalt, I try to consider other, other angles.

Like what? the mental darkness balks. That Lorenzo will just give you the keys?

Maybe he would. A distant maybe, sure. But the way things are, maybe Lorenzo’s heart would bleed just enough for my sake.

Yeah…with the way things are…

I take a look around my neighborhood.

Baked beneath the summer, things look even worse than they usually do. The concrete sweats out the stench of boiled urine, garbage slowly melting within the wavy heat haze. Strays- both animal and human- lay in any available shadow, every breath a terrible weight. Buildings bleed loud music, endless primal wails, and laughter made loud by chemical euphoria.

I switch on the radio. Every station I can find is playing classical music.

Then something crashes on the sidewalk from above, the metallic impact making a nearby bum stir only a little bit. I squint; an air conditioner, now a dented pile of scrap.

I look forward just in time to crush the breaks and spare a life by a mere inch.

Kid. Maybe late teens, if even that. Eyes wide and lost in a cocktail of drugs and heat as we stare each other down a bit. An air conditioner in his arms, his comrades also carrying such payloads as they sprint across the sizzling pavement. It takes a gunshot to get him moving again.

I catch the affair in my rearview mirror. Bullets stab at the air conditioner thieves, missing every time. The shooters walk into the middle of the road to attempt better shots, not even flinching at the bricks thrown in retaliation. Someone screams. Then another. Eventually, the groans and wheezes of my poor car drown out the melody of massacre.

I knew it. One way or another, today’s the last day I’m going to see this damn city.

Nobody’s on the road to the countryside. Not that they’re ever usually on it, technically. Rubber tires came with inner city territory, higher pay grades carrying eco-friendly vehicles on a hover systems. I can’t quite remember which models Lorenzo design; the A/C sputtered out yesterday and I think even my thoughts are sweating.

Maybe the heat will get to Lorenzo first. He said something about his A/C going on the blink the other day. Maybe I won’t have to…

The radio can’t decide between classical music and static. I press PLAY on my taped up phone and regret it the very moment Johnny Angel’s cocktail of psychedelic rock riffs and laid-back hip-hot beats flow through. I don’t have the heart to press PAUSE. That and I can’t think of anything else I’d like to listen to on my last day on this godforsaken rock…

“Get the keys and get the hell out.” I mutter before I flinch on reflex. Then I realize I’m a total idiot. Who was going to hear me? God?

Johnny Angel continues to serenade me with tunes that seemed better suited in cocktail parties in penthouses surrounded by neon. Or maybe surrounded by stars. Up there.

I squint up to the orange sky. Not nearly night enough to make out the glittering dots of the luxury satellites.

The distant thud pounds the earth, shaking scrapes and squeaks from my car as I grip the wheel and apologize to every saint I know. I look around, tears mingling with sweat…

In the distance, a line of exhaust slowly shoots upwards. Off-world shuttle. Probably to Satellite Elysium or Satellite Nirvana. Or maybe Satellite Eden. (Did they ever get that one up and running? Goddamn heat…)

So many people already on those floating resorts, I wouldn’t be surprised if they started falling out’ve the sky. I once traded cigarettes with a guy who worked the supply ships. Apparently, they also have to worry about them crashing into each other.

“God willing.” the guy said, quickly looking around for eavesdroppers. Guilt washed over him half-way through the cigarette and he felt the need to add “Some’ve ‘em are nice, though. Rich folks.”

Those old words echo hard enough to crack my chest.

I look in the rearview mirror; first at the city- now a putrid black blur in the distance- and then at my suitcase.

Hopefully there’s some nice rich folks that’ll let me aboard a satellite. Not that I worked for any besides...

Poor Lorenzo...

Crystal Meadows front gate’s wide open by the time I creak through, guards nowhere to be seen. I have half a mind to thank God for that. No cars in any of the smooth driveways, the lights within all the mansions dark or obscured by curtains woven by Italian weavers or something to that indulgent effect.

Lorenzo lives in an old brownstone behind a high brick wall with ivy, sandwiched between a movie producer’s tudor-style pad and modern mansion designed by its architect occupant. I peer through the wrought iron fence; it doesn’t look like his lab’s roof is open, so maybe the ship was still there…

The car groans as I get out. It dawns on me that I’ll probably never see it again. I almost laugh when I consider shooting it, like a cowboy’s horse that needs to be put out of its misery. Instead, I pat its hood and thank it for carrying my lanky ass for the better part of eight years.

I buzz the intercom. Nothing. I buzz again. Maybe the heat did get to him…

“Hello?”

Dammit.

"Hey, Lorenzo. It's Lucy."

The intercom screen flickers on; I'm able to hide the suitcase in time. Born with a weak body whittled away by intertwined health problems, Lorenzo all but dehydrated in the heat. He rubbed his eyes, even more surprised that I still stood there when he opened them again.

"Lucy...what are you doing here?"

I shrug and try to smile. "8 AM. Usual shift."

"Should've called you, I guess. You didn't need to clean or anything today. I have the droids to..."

My fears melt his words into static. I could've sworn that I planned for this...

"...come in anyway?" he asks. A pause. He looks downwards. "Er, just for a bit..."

I'm at the fountain in the front yard by the time I realized that I still had the suitcase in my hands. The ground shakes again, and for a moment, I'm terrified that Lorenzo's pet project launched.

Gotta get out of here.

When I walk into Lorenzo's home, itself a clockwork quilt stitched together by his mechanical magic, Johnny Angel greets me through the speakers. Better than classical music, I suppose.

A kitchen droid totters out with a tray that another launching tremor almost knocks out of its hands. I catch it in time.

Chocolate cake.

Are you kidding me, Lorenzo? You don't even need to know enough first aid to take out a splinter to imagine what this would do to your poor kidneys...

A camera whirs by me. I look it in the robotic eye and Lorenzo calls out through the PA. "Hey, uh, would you mind bringing that up? And my meds too? I think the heat's screwing up the droids..."

His voice is wobbling. Is he high? Drunk? That might be good. Maybe he won't feel a thing if I...

God, I didn't even know how was I going to kill him. I mean, I could probably snap him over my thigh alone or...

I pick up the pills from the medication dispenser unit and realize that maybe I wouldn't need to do a single thing to Lorenzo to kill him. The heat must've screwed up the unit enough to give him a dose big enough to put an elephant into a coma.

As I take his cake and pills to the sunroom, I ponder if I can actually do this.

I look at the cake. That alone would probably send him towards a diabetic coma. I turn it into an insult about how he doesn't appreciate how I drag myself here everyday to take care of him...

"Been listening to this album all morning." he muses through the PA. "Been meaning to actually sit down and listen to Johnny Angel...You weren't kidding about how good he is."

I smile. Real shame, though. Considering that Johnny OD-ed the other day, he wasn't going to release any new stuff sometime soon...

In the sunroom, Johnny's ballad clashes with the sound of some movie queued up on his big screen. I recognize the title; Lorenzo's been meaning to watch that too. The room itself is a sea of wrappers for all sorts of things Lorenzo shouldn't have...

He wheels around in his chair and smiles. "Thank you Lucy. Er, you can help yourself to some cake if you'd like. Oh, and I have strawberry wine too. You like that, right?"

He knows I do.

What's he up to?

He wheels over, wrappers getting caught in his wheelchair spokes. "One more thing..."

Kill him and get the-

He pulls out the keys and smiles sadly.

"Uh, I think I have it running...The ship, I mean."

If not for the heat, I'd still be sweating. What was his game?

He looks upwards, melancholic. "You need to be in decent health to be allowed onto any of the satellites...Uh...I'm not sure if the ship could make it up there, though...I'm sorry. I've been meaning to..."

He smiles, edges of his eyes wet.

"Thank you, Lucy. For everything."

Dammit Lorenzo. The med droid didn't malfunction, did it?

My thoughts leak from my mouth. "I don't think they'd except me either...Not rich enough..."

And it's probably crowded anyway.

As our glasses clink and some 1940's comedy plays out on the TV, Lorenzo mentions that he's been meaning to take up ballroom dancing too. So I pick him up and dance.

It's so hot, I swear that I could hear the fountain out front bubbling. But our laughter and Johnny Angel drowns it out. Before we know it, it’s the only sound in the world.

I look up. Somewhere, the off-world stations are filled to the brim with people slowly gorging themselves on finite supplies and breathing up all the air. Maybe trying to slow complete depletion with years-long naps in stasis. Or maybe they’re watching us right now. Praying for us. Playing the sort of music the radio’s been puking for days on end.

The sunlight stings my eyes too much and I look back at Lorenzo. There’s a crackling sound next to me.

Suddenly, it hits me. The Titanic. That’s probably the reason they’ve been playing classical music on the radio.

Even through the smoke, I see Lorenzo's smile.

They had a string quartet playing as it sank. To calm people.

Lorenzo’s shoulder starts smoldering, but he doesn’t notice.

What else were they gonna play anyhow? Radio personalities crying? A countdown to the solar flare finally hitting us?

The world starts turning bright orange. We laugh and dance and cry and laugh some more. The music crackles quiet, but we still hear it.

Brighter orange. Lorenzo’s almost an outline.

We hold each other, wine haze and dehydration sending us floating above the clouds.

Fade to hot white.