This is just the first draft, but I’m so proud of this part of Paradiso. It really sets the stage for everything that’s coming next, and I made a few breakthroughs while I wrote it that truly changed the whole novel.
I hope you enjoy!
Brick LaMasse’s night began exactly as it had for the last two weeks since the newlywed couple had moved in just above his employer-subsidized apartment: with the sounds of enthusiastically boisterous fucking coming through his ceiling. It had been jarring at first, naturally. He had toyed with the idea of complaining to the super, but he had come to appreciate the politely consistent lovemaking. It had become an alarm of sorts that he thankfully did not have to set.
With a smile at the muffled moaning above him, Brick grabbed his headphones from the small table behind the head of the bed and gently placed them over his ears before smoothly rising from his bunk. He was not entirely sure if this action was out of respect for the couple or prudishness on his part, but it was part of his routine nonetheless. As he stood, he lightly touched the button hidden under his bed, which then slid into the wall to become a functional, if not boring, brown settee next to his stationary side table, and he did a few standing stretches before heading over to his kitchenette to make some coffee. He had quite the collection of coffees from Earth, from his exotic Jamaican Blue Mountain to his everyday go-to Sumatra, so much so that he had a difficult time finding enough space for food in his cabinets.
“Gloria, please turn on the television to channel two.”
“Of course!” came the AI’s melodious voice through his headphones. She had been an excellent subscription choice when he had first arrived on Paradiso … what was it, three years prior? He had even paid a little extra to customize her voice to that of his mother’s by using audio recordings and video clips from when she was alive, so he always heard that slight southern twang his mother had tried to mask for years. He hoped that, if she was looking down at him, she was pleased with that gesture.
The small flat screen on the opposite wall flickered on, and the sweeping opening music of the nightly news overpowered the slight residual noise from his neighbors’ apartment. Once he had arrived on the space station, his boss had highly encouraged him to set a schedule for himself to adapt to the time difference from Earth — just a little more than 30 hours — and one of the little rituals he had adopted was to watch the evening news. He had come to view the anchors almost as friends, his greeters with information from the world of the day folk, and he had not missed a broadcast in years.
“Good evening, Paradiso! I’m Cleo Marks, and welcome to News Two at Eighteen.”
Brick glanced at the screen and saw that Cleo was wearing the green dress that brought out her eyes so beautifully. The news crew’s stylists had truly been knocking it out of the park lately. All of the anchors’ wardrobes were nothing short of perfection, and he made a mental note to send them a message saying so. While Cleo began reciting the various news stories of the day, Brick fiddled around his kitchenette, popping bread into his toaster and heating water for his French press. Chomping on his dry toast, he waited for the electric kettle to boil and peered through the open blinds of the window above his sink. He could not see the sky because of the slightly orange streetlight right by his window. That would be remedied soon. The news had become background noise at this point, so Brick went about the rest of his nightly rituals: cleaning up what little clutter there was, dusting, and running a quick cycle of shirts in his counter top washing machine. He prepared the French press with freshly ground Jamaican Mountain Blue coffee. How else was he supposed to celebrate his first day off after nearly two weeks straight of work?
Once the coffee was fully steeped, he poured it into a travel mug, donned the barn coat his mother had purchased for him years ago, grabbed his camera bag, and then headed out the door, leaving the television to play the rest of the evening broadcast. He pulled out the tablet in his coat pocket which was thankfully halfway charged.
“Gloria, play Erik Satie’s Gymnopedie No. 1,” he said quietly, hopefully not disturbing any of his neighbors.
“Gladly!”
The gentle piano brought another smile to his face. His mother played this song on repeat when he was growing up, annoying his teenage self. As an adult, Brick had grown to love the tune, listening to it at least once or twice a night.
“Hi, Brick!”
Callie’s voice startled him; he’d forgotten to turn on noise cancellation. When he spun around, she smiled sheepishly as she locked her own door behind her and shoved the keys into the front pocket of her leather jacket. He grinned and removed one of his earbuds.
“Sorry to scare you,” she said, tightening the strap on her leather messenger bag across her chest. She tucked her motorcycle helmet under her arm and cocked her head to the side. “I thought you said you were off tonight.”
She was a nurse at the same hospital where he was an engineer, and although he would not consider them as friends, he knew quite a lot about her. She was cordial to her neighbors but mostly kept to herself, which was easy considering her schedule, but she frequently talked to him about her mothers. He often saw her working on her meticulously pristine motorcycle in the parking garage below their building, a direct flaunt of her disregard for some of the building’s rules. She occasionally liked to take the bus, which is where they had officially met a few years ago and resulted in her trusting him enough to have him watch her overly social cat when she took a rare vacation. She even left him a birthday present hanging on his door last year.
Now that he thought about it, maybe they were friends.
“Oh, I-I am,” he replied as they turned the corner to the elevator bay. “I’m just taking a stroll, enjoying the night air, if you will.”
“And here I thought it might be because of the incessant boning,” she joked, patting him on the shoulder. “Well, have a good walk!”
Callie waved before pushing the stairwell door open and disappearing. They were on the fifteenth floor, so her descent would be a long one. Her dedication to fitness was a mystery to Brick. Even after a long fourteen-hour shift, she would come home, covered in sweat, after running her normal five miles. Brick couldn’t imagine running half a mile.
The outside air was refreshing, despite its artificiality. Paradiso did not have seasons, but it could get rather chilly at night, nearly 18 degrees Celsius. It reminded him of the winters of his native Mississippi, bringing a nostalgic smile to his face. He stopped at the corner of the sidewalk to stare in the endless expanse of space, a pleasant reminder of his insignificance. Something about knowing he was not a main character in the universe meant he could go about his day with little concern for bigger things or his place in history. He grinned as he pinpointed the tiny dot that was Earth, then stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, continuing on his way toward Silva Ward.
Brick could not remember exactly when he’d decided this particular ward was his favorite on Paradiso, but her certainly knew why it was. In the park just across the street from an Albertus office building, a single elder magnolia tree spread its branches across a gently sloped knoll. On occasion, it would drop a giant leaf or cream-colored petal to the ground. Yet another reminder of home. He caught site of the tree and its scarcely serviced swinging bench beneath it and, with barely noticeable glee, quickened his pace.
Boom!
Instinctively, Brick’s arms raised to cover his face as the explosion from the fourth floor of the office building plumed into relative darkness of the ward. But his attention was not on the blast. It was as if time slowed when he saw her, plummeting toward one of the cars parked in front of the dark all-glass building. Her body crashed into the roof of the car, completely demolishing it, and time suddenly caught up. He stayed completely still, in shock, barely aware of the blaring alarms and smoke pouring out of the now broken window. Taking an unsure step toward the wreckage, he squinted. Would he be able to handle what he might see? Dust and shredded paper, some still smoldering, began their slow descent to the ground, but Brick paid it no mind.
To his horror, the woman slowly pushed herself up with one arm, and he could see the other was bent backward. Struggling to stand, she looked back up from where she fell and then popped her arm back into the correct position, with little to no response to pain. Other than the broken arm, no part of her body was harmed. At least, not that he could see.
“Are-are you alright?” was all Brick could think to say. Of course she wasn’t. She had just fallen forty feet and crashed onto a parked vehicle.
The woman’s attention snapped to him, and something about her eyes sent a terrifying shiver down his spine, something … unnatural. The two of them stood there for just the briefest of moments, staring at each other, until the woman bolted into the darkness of an alley he had barely even noticed.
Brick was completely frozen. Absolutely no one was going to believe him.
a little more juju 