—DON’T HOLD YOUR HEAD SO LOW THAT YOU CAN’T SEE THE SKY

 

                                          CHAPTER ONE

                                                   Prunes

 

Pearl’s door was cracked a third of the way open when they wheeled the body down the hall. A black sheet covered Esther’s frame head to toe, nothing of her actual-self visible other than a vague outline of her shrunken body.

For the blink of a moment, Pearl had caught one of the EMT’s eye, a man-boy so young he could well be Pearl’s great grandson if she’d had one. He glanced at Pearl sheepishly with a look that said, I’m sorry, that said, I’ll be back soon and, I’m sorry again, but you’re likely next.

He might well be correct on that score. Pearl had become the oldest of the lot many months ago, though now, inexplicably, it was the younger ones who kept dying before her.

She would miss Esther dearly. Oh sure, she missed the others as well, but Esther was extra special. Esther, 85 years old, eight years younger than her. Esther her Gin Rummy partner. Esther who was always stealing prunes from the kitchen. Esther and her phantom gerbil, Mamie Eisenhower. Esther, mother of twins who’d each hung themselves only days apart.

A bubble burst in Pearl’s throat letting her know how much she would miss her best friend and when Pearl swallowed she thought she tasted prunes.

Pearl felt drunk with despair and old age, and now a new flange of loneliness to handle. Yes, the drunkenness of age often slurred her concentration more and more, eroding her once-keen ability to be alert and observant to the finest of details. Pearl sat at her desk and shook her head thinking, I’ve become a dumb, old bag of dust. Maybe a bit of a bitch, too.

And then a shadow, a flash. Only it was a person, Stanley appearing before her like a hologram shooting up from the floor.

“You little shit,” Pearl said. “You know I hate it when you do that. You could quite literally give me a heart attack.”

“Well, I’m certainly sorry, but Pearl, you know as well as anyone that a person has to be clandestine in a place like this. Survival depends on it!”

Stanley’s face was flushed, the tips of his pointy ears the shade of pink lemonade, cotton candy. Stanley was an odd-ball few in the care center liked, but Pearl rather enjoyed the strange ones, and she wasn’t picky about companions since they were so few and far in between.

Stanley stuck half his head out the door, checking both ends of the narrow hall, then closed the door softly before sitting on the side of Pearl’s mattress, the springs moaning as he did.

Stanley looked a bit like a chihuahua, what with those ears, sharp teeth and tiny hands for paws. Today he appeared agitated as well, though it wasn’t like Stanley to make her wait for him to spit out his news or suspicions.

“If you’re going to meditate, there’s a room here for that, but it’s not this one.”

Stanley leaned forward and the space they shared was so small that she knew he’d eaten something with Tabasco sauce and dill pickles. “Pearl, Pearl,” Stanley said, whispering so that it sounded more like Purr, Purr, “They aim to kill us all. Pick us off one by one.”

She didn’t mean to be rude but couldn’t stop herself from snorting. Stanley could be a hoot without even knowing it.

“I’m serious,” he whispered. “We've gotta make a run for it before they use the garrotes. Garrotes! My God!”

Stanley’s little dog teeth chattered, which momentarily made Pearl think of tap dancing, which then made her think of Laurel, of course.

“Who is They, Stanley?”

That question caused Stanley’s eyes to cross, going topsy-turvy before re-fixing themselves. “They is them. Them. The ones that aren’t us.”

“Young people, you mean?”

Stanley’s eyes twirled again. He was his own three-ring circus. “Maybe. Perhaps they’re a part of the plan, too. One can never know for certain unless one is on the other side, their side.”

Pearl decided to go with it. There was nothing else to do but let the loss of Esther seep in and break her further.

“And what do They look like?”

Stanley leaned in even closer as the sharp tang of dill pickles started to make Pearl’s eyes water.

“Do They have all their teeth? All their hair? Do They wear normal underwear instead of adult diapers?”

Stanley’s nostrils twitched like guppies dying on a dock. He was irritated. “It's The Smocks,” he whispered.

Pearl feigned surprise, fanning her housecoat. “So, the staff is going to murder us?”

Stanley straightened his back like an obedient cartoon hound and nodded with gusto. "They already are! I told you. One by one, they're wiping us out."

“Hmm. But don’t their salaries depend on us being around, paying room and board in this old log cabin?”

Stanley's arms flapped, palms up, and clapped them seal-like now. “You don’t understand, Pearl, everyone is younger than us. There are so many more of us out in the real world—millions, billions—than there are of them. They can kill and kill and kill, but they’ll never run out of potential victims. They’ll always be more of us. Old people are a cash cow.”

“But what’s this about garrotes?”

“We’re so plentiful that simply shooting or gassing us will get boring after a while. These are devious and demented assassins we're talking about."

 "We?"

"They’ll devise many sinister methods to exterminate our kind. Eradicate us in heinous ways."

"I hate heinous. Sounds too similar to anus."

"The point is, Pearl," Purr, "that too much of anything gets tedious after a while.”

“Even slaughter?”

Stanley beamed. “Now you’re catching on!”

This time Pearl did stifle her snort. Oh Stanley, he was correct about one thing: everyone was younger than us. Indeed, they were.