Night People

What price would you pay to escape oppression, persecution, and tragedy? 

Written by Samuel Rodgerson.

Edited and performed by Montgomery Holloway.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:07

Presenting Night People by Samuel Rogerson. The bell on the cafe door rang as I walked in, and I remembered how much I'd loved it there. Once. We all used to come in. Our first hang there was the morning after Fresh's. I wasn't used to the city yet. I was hanging out my ass with glittering confetti still in my curls. I'd met all the boys a week before at Charlie Brown's. Couldn't tell you how we bonded in one night, other than maybe secretly fancying each other. But whatever it was, I didn't leave their side. And from then it became a weekly habit. A bitch and a gaggle over tea cakes and tea. We talk about the fights and the men and the fun, crying while laughing through it all. We were probably too loud, but our cozy corner held us strong. I loved it there. I loved the place. I loved our little sanctuary corner. And I love my boys. Ian was the first to get sick. We all got the call from his brad saying he was going into hospital because of his cough. But it probably wasn't too bad. Then he never left. His perfectly torned arms becoming withered until they were nothing but cold sticks. His velvet honey voice reduced to a rasp like a broken flute. His funeral was a week after he died. There was only ten of us. Next was Ted. Around November, he'd stopped coming as much to the cafe. No, we'd not been right the last few times. We knew. And we could see it in each other's eyes, but I guess we either didn't have the heart or the balls to say. Then one day, after constant letters, miscalls, and knocking on doors, we finally got a letter from his mum. We write to regretfully inform you of our dear son Edward's passing. Our kindest wishes. That was it. Don't know where the bastard thing had come from. I cried non-stop for another week after that. I could have timed Kevs perfectly. He made sure to keep coming to the cafe. But slowly but surely the habit became every other week. Then a month. Then nothing. I knew though. I knew where he'd be once his drag stink got cancelled, and the ward I found him in became our new cafe. We still got coffee, and I fed him his lemon turnover after he lost the strength to lift his arms. I didn't mind, though. That's when I first saw Ian. I was away with my own thoughts while visiting Kev. And I saw. Just for a second, but I was certain I saw Ian walking past the ward window. I ran out of the room to see him, but there was no trace. I chalked it up to being tired and the grief. But I couldn't help but think he looked good. Healthy. I saw him again once or twice in the same way. Just out of sight. Passing the window, but no sign of him when I went to look. Kev died while I slept next to him. I didn't know until I woke. He still looked beautiful. His funeral was a who's who of the London nightlife. Denim divis and drag queens sprinkled about the rain soaked service. And there at the back. I saw Ted. Almost glowing under a half-raised umbrella. He was exactly how I saw him. Slicked back hair, clean shaven, smiling. But it was wrong. His smile was wrong. I can't explain it any more than that. And finally, Kev slapped on the front of Charlie Brown's. I saw a poster that said. The Grand Return of Generator. I found her in a dressing room all made up just like she used to be. Marilyn wig, red sea quin dress and crimson lips. She was glowing. Afterwards, I got her at the bar for answers. She explained that she knew about the others. That they were there. That I didn't make it up. She said there was this doctor at the hospital who's been helping all the other boys there with this disease. That he had a special treatment that would take away the pain and stop us from dying. She made it sound like a miracle. But I knew. I knew it was wrong. So I asked her if I could meet him to ask more about this treatment. And there I was. In our corner. At our table. Same tea cake smell. Same feeling of home. Only it was just me now. The ringing of the bell signaled his arrival, and the place seemed to fall weirdly quiet as though the world had just had a bag thrown over its head. Save for the rain pattering against the window, and his footsteps that echoed like in a church. I didn't look back to see. I couldn't. I waited until he sat down in front of me. A grey cotton suit hugged a toned frame. Every inch of his angular face was carved in lines, though not just from age but experience, which radiated from his inescapable gaze. What struck me most about him was that despite the lines, he still exuded youth. His skin had a like a shine, smooth, almost like porcelain. He reached out a hand. Hello. You must be healthy. I'm Dr. Stoke. His voice was light and yet also deep. After a few moments of me ignoring it, he retracted. I must say it is a pleasure to meet you. Jenna has told me a lot about it's Kevin to you. I snapped. Of course. My apologies. There was silence for a few moments before he started again. So I imagine you have a lot of questions, seeing how we're here. Yeah. You could say that. Well, where would you like to start? What have you done to them? I wasn't wasting time with this one. I'm sorry. What have you done to my boys? Because they aren't my boys anymore. As I'm sure Kevin would have explained. I provider sp they died. You know that, right? They died. I helped bury them when no family would. I watched all three of them die in their beds. I spent months holding their hands while life leaked out of them. Every single thing that made them so wonderful gone in the blink of an eye. I could feel my arm shaking under my jumper. My throat tightening. I know, Alfie, said Dr. Stoke. I know. You know, fuck all, I snapped again, the tears bubbling. Those were my boys, my family, and then you just come out of nowhere and do what to them. Stoke sat still, calmly absorbing my rage. I saved them, Alfie. Bollocks. It's the truth. Alfie. I have been a doctor for a very, very long time. I've seen innumerable diseases come and go. Claim countless lives despite the best efforts of the most brilliant minds and the bravest of souls. But this one. So precise. So specific. I couldn't stand by and do nothing. So to that end, I have been giving your boys as well as the others at that hospital a second chance. A second life. No more disease. No more shunning. No more pain. In exchange for what? Well, there is a price as with anything. One they all paid. Willingly. I wanted to leap across the table and claw his eyes out, but I was rooted to my seat. Stolt went in. I can offer it to you too, Alfie. Sooner or later, it will come to you. I'm careful. That shot out at me faster than I was proud of. Oh, I'm not talking about that. You're right. You are careful. Clean. No, I mean something that's been with you all for a long time. It's the ache. The burning oppressive ache tucked deep within. A gaping wound called loneliness that will consume all you frightened little boys eventually. He's killing half of you already. I was trembling. How could he know?

unknown 10:26

How?

SPEAKER_00 10:28

He leant in closer. I can take that away. You never have to be alone again, Alfie. That's all I offer. I took a slow, deep gulp. Readying myself to speak. And the payment. He took a moment, then said, just yourself. It's tempting. But no. Not for me. Stoke said nothing, only squinting a little, gauging my thinking. Are you sure? Oh, very, I said. I'm certain, in fact. Just as certain as I know who and what you are. He tilted his head back with that tight-lipped grin. What you are isn't difficult. Watch too much hammer horror as a kid. No. Who you are is what matters. You're not just Dr. Stoke. You're my dad. And Ian's. And Ted's mum. And Kev's brothers. You're the counsellors and priests and social workers. You're all the grown-ups who have ever told us no. Who prey on our sadness and desperation to convince us to become something else because who we are isn't good enough. It's what you did to them. And you won't do it to me because I'm going to stop you. Stoke was now sat back, his posture relaxed. That smug grin on his face widened. Well, at least I source my food responsibly. Usually it takes months to get past the consent issue. But you lot are so afraid there's no fight left. But tell me, Alfred, how much have I actually changed? We both hide in plain sight away from the masses despite having always been there. We both know the judgment and persecution of those acting in the name of righteousness. And we both know the sweet freedom the night brings. All I have altered is the illusion of caring. Every muscle in my body was tense with a crippling anger, tears rolling down my face, stinging like needles. I will stop you. Stoke stared into my eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath. You are certainly welcome to try, my boy. The offer is still on the table. But I think it's important you understand this. Even if you do stop me and my work, you'll have changed nothing. I've walked this earth long enough to know this hope you all have is nothing but a waste. Oh, of course, things might get better. More people may start to tolerate you. Like you, even. They may grant you rights. Perhaps they may even find a cure for this disease. But just like me, Alfred, no matter how many centuries pass, somewhere out there, you and your kind will always be someone's idea of a monster. Stoke stood up and looked out, leaving me there alone. I sat for what felt like hours, knowing fully that my mind was made up, that I knew what I had to do, and that once I went to leave, there was no going back. Eventually, I got up. This is the news of Tim. A famine has engulfed the Proteric Ward at St. Abraham's Hospital in London. The place is believed to have started in the early house of this morning with several dozen known fatalities. Among the first to be identified with 21-year-old Alfred Buxton.