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12 The sun was just beginning to set on the western horizon, its long, red rays flushing the Victorian facade of City Hall. Under the usual overcast sky, the cream and ocher building with its multitude of spires appeared somewhat garish and sickly, but in the full, rich light of the setting sun, the walls seemed to glow from within, projecting an ethereal, otherworldly appearance. It was as if the entire structure had somehow been projected through a doorway in reality; a fairy tale palace that had somehow gotten lost on the wrong side of happy ever after. He’d stared at it, perplexed, knowing that it was just a trick of the light, waiting for the moment to pass and the sun to wink out and show him the dreary elephant of a structure that it truly was, but the car behind him had honked after the light had changed, and he’d had to move along. It wasn’t the first time it had happened since he’d been here. On the first day following his convalescence, when he’d initially reported to his new ‘job’ at the university, he’d taken a wrong turn on his way home. It had been dark then, daylight savings time not quite gone into effect, and he’d found himself entering Tower Grove. The single spire, from which he presumed the place had gotten its name, jutted into the night sky lit by yellow lamps from below. He’d stared in wonder at the disembodied castle turret, the tower from which Rapunzel’s locks must have poured forth as she bade her prince to climb up to her, and completely missed the entrance to the freeway in front of it. In a daze, he’d driven all the way to Gravois before turning back towards his house in Soulard, his heart skipping a half-beat when he passed Russell Boulevard. He’d put that mental wandering down to overdoing it too much on his first day. Damn being Denby, he thought, feeling the stubble on his chin as he rubbed his face. He’d gone too far this time; it was as if the life had been drained away from him more with each day he’d continued the charade. Outside, the stadium speakers murmured on, accompanied by a tinny little sing-songy ditty played on an electronic organ. He ground his teeth and grabbed up the little brown bottle that had been sitting on his nightstand. Good thing they’d given him these to help him get to sleep, or he’d be even worse off than he was, he thought as he fished in the stand’s cabinet bottom for the neck of the bottle of Jack Daniels. The seal on it had been broken awhile ago. He tipped it up to his lips and chased down the pills, then stuck it back in its place for the next time.
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