He dunked his crimson rag into the bucket of red water and wrung it out until it was pink, then went back to scrubbing the mess inside the lift. The walls were already clean, the samples sent out for analysis. While he worked, he grumbled to himself in a mockery of Brevard’s voice: “Take samples, Darcy. Clean this up, Darcy. Fetch me a coffee, Darcy.” He didn’t understand how fetching coffee and mopping up blood had become part of his job description. What he missed were the uneventful night shifts; he couldn’t wait for things to get back to normal. Amazing what can begin to feel normal. He almost couldn’t smell the copper in the air anymore, and the metallic taste was gone from his tongue. It was like those daily doses in the paper cups, the bland food every day, even the infernal buzzing from the elevator with its doors jammed open. All these things to get used to until they disappeared. Things that faded into dull aches like memories from a former life.Darcy didn’t remember much of his old life, but he knew he was good at this job.
