Chapter 1: The Chill of Autumn

As autumn descended, the air grew brisk. Rainy nights saw vibrant red and gold leaves tumble onto metal roofs and the ground. David often found himself shutting the windows to fend off the cold, while the cat mewed from the dormer, gazing out at the night sky and the glimmering streetlights reflecting off the aged roof. Mornings revealed sodden leaves scattered across the grass and sidewalks, remnants of the street sweepers' efforts to clear the streets.

David would descend from his modest duplex apartment, passing the shared bathroom on the second floor, and exit through a side door dressed in hiking boots, jeans, a sweater, a peacoat, and a blue watch cap.

The Rathskeller lay along his route to the hospital, and he frequently paused there for breakfast after strolling under the maples and oaks that illuminated the murky October mornings with their glistening foliage. The bustling refectory was always filled with warmth, the kitchen's heat mingling with the students, fogging the high windows. This haze contrasted with the dark-stained wooden panels and the white gothic ceiling, giving the place an almost cathedral-like ambiance.

Groups of students huddled together, enjoying hearty breakfasts of German sausages, potatoes, and eggs or pancakes drizzled with maple syrup, washed down with steaming cups of coffee served by waitresses working to finance their education. The Rathskeller was a haven for the medical students, who scribbled notes into spiral-bound notebooks while flipping through hefty medical tomes. Some even penned stories and poems, laced with both hope and despair.

Occasionally, he would spot a student nursing a beer, likely a resident of the dormitory who had forsaken the cafeteria, where meals were included but alcohol was not. The medical staff, however, avoided the temptation of drinking on duty.

The young men and women frequenting the Rathskeller were serious and focused. The affordable prices allowed them to enjoy good meals, engage in conversation, and study before settling for the hospital's often subpar food during their shifts.

David was employed as an orderly while training to be a medical technician. The morning's warmth, delicious aromas, and the fresh scents of co-eds and nurses enveloped him, offering a brief respite from the impending onslaught of antiseptic, blood, and other hospital odors.

As the melancholy of autumn settled in, he traversed the broad paths lining the small park between the Rathskeller and the hospital. The park, usually bustling with patients soaking in the morning sun, now felt desolate, maintained meticulously by the grounds crew, devoid of trees. Golden and crimson leaves had vanished, leaving only the drab walls of the modern hospital and the high windows of the old stone medical college, filled with vacant classrooms glowing in the early light. David was intimately familiar with the medical school and the morgue in the basement, where he often transported bodies through underground tunnels connecting the hospital and the school. These tunnels, reserved for medical personnel, served as pathways for moving the deceased to the freezer room before their final transfer to the old surgical theatre for autopsy, if necessary.

Entering the hospital, David passed through an airlock-like entrance, a threshold marking his shift from day to a dispassionate survival mode. He had initially noted this transition when he started working there, recognizing that upon leaving, he would re-engage with life, though never quite as fully as before entering. Gradually, he realized he had become so emotionally detached that there was no turning back. By autumn, he felt numb, except when hiking.

He often chose to ascend the eight flights of stairs to his floor, as the elevators were usually overcrowded, stopping at every level to accommodate the comings and goings of staff and patients. Being young and fit, he viewed the stairs as a daily opportunity to keep his legs strong and his lungs working.

October was particularly hectic during his first year at the hospital, leaving little time for trips back home to hike the hills above his childhood town. After selling his car, making the sixty-mile journey became increasingly challenging. He resorted to taking long weekends, packing his backpack, and riding buses down High Street to the mall at the city's edge. Before dawn, he would traverse the quiet city, passing shuttered shops and homes, the soft glow of morning light revealing people preparing breakfast for the day ahead. From there, he would hitch rides to the hills, eventually dropped off at a state park entrance, where he would hike to one of the lakes to camp.

It was during one evening shift that he met Nora, a voluptuous redhead in her twenties, like many of the hospital staff. She was a traveling nurse returning from Hamburg, drawn to the hospital where many nursing students chose to remain after graduation due to good pay and familiar surroundings, alongside students like David, who worked to cover their tuition and expenses.

After a couple of weeks on the floor, Nora and David decided to go hiking together. She assured him of her stamina for a ten-mile trek and expressed excitement about camping, hinting at plans to keep warm. On Friday morning, she drove to his duplex, and they loaded up his camping gear, while David ensured his cat had enough food and water for the weekend.

Their journey took them down State Route 23, past Circleville and Chillicothe, to the Scioto Trails State Forest. They first stopped at the fire tower, then at Stewart Lake, finding the campsites flooded before settling at Caldwell Lake in a primitive camping area. They purchased dry wood at the ranger station, covering it with a tarp to shield it from the light rain that promised sunshine over the next two days. Their campsite offered a picturesque view of the lake, just a quarter-mile from the trail leading back over the mountain to the fire tower, four miles through the hills.

Setting up camp, they brewed coffee and prepared sandwiches in an iron skillet. After their meal, they retreated to the tent, sheltering from the rain while sharing stories about work, family, travels, and plans for the following day. As darkness enveloped them, the air grew colder, prompting them to climb into their sleeping bags, zipping them together for warmth.

This park represented an escape for David, a refuge from the chaos of his stepfather's struggles and the turmoil of his past. He had spent countless weekends here and found solace in the familiarity it offered, especially as the grim realities of hospital life began to weigh on him. As he shared the experience with Nora, he hoped to lessen the emotional numbness he felt creeping in.

That night, Nora's presence was a balm, rekindling his spirit as they hiked over the hills and climbed the fire tower the next day. Inside the lookout cabin, they discovered the door was broken. David shared a pint of Puerto Rican rum and coke with Nora, the warmth of the alcohol countering the chilly winds outside. They exchanged kisses between sips, the rum igniting a passionate connection.

While they enjoyed the breathtaking view over the golden and crimson hills, a ranger emerged, climbing the tower. She was striking, with wind-kissed cheeks and thick black hair braided down her shoulders. David noticed Nora's excitement and trepidation as she approached the ranger, offering her rum and coke. After a brief conversation about the broken lock and the scenery, the three settled together to admire the landscape, the atmosphere between the women crackling with energy.

As twilight approached, David considered the trek back to camp. He took another swig of rum, suggesting they return to their campsite. Meanwhile, he observed the growing intimacy between the two women, feeling a mixture of surprise and intrusion. When they moved to the bunk in the tower, he turned his gaze to the distant hills, feeling increasingly like an outsider in their world.

He remained there, lost in thought, when he sensed Nora's hand on his shoulder, her kiss on his head. She reminded him it was time to leave. Numbness returned as he followed her down, fatigue washing over him. The ranger, still present, offered them a ride back to camp. Feeling depleted, David sat between the two women in the truck, watching them exchange glances and laughter. Once dropped off at camp, David looked around for the ranger, but she had vanished, leaving him feeling lonelier than he would have felt alone.

That evening, Nora and David enjoyed fresh fish from the lake, complemented by a bottle of white wine she retrieved from her car. The fish had a robust flavor, and the wine's crispness enhanced the meal, dispelling David's earlier emptiness. He began to feel a flicker of joy and started making plans for the future. With the rain gone, they could sleep beneath the stars and leave early for home, inching closer to normalcy.

Nora expressed a desire to make love under the stars, but David's feelings of coldness and distance returned.

"Are you upset we didn't invite you, sweetie?" she asked.

"I'm not sure how I feel," he replied.

"Is this your first time experiencing that?" she inquired.

"Yes."

"You know, when two women make love and invite a man, it's usually out of pity. Their focus is on each other, not him."

"What makes it different with a man?" he asked.

"With a man, there's less equality, more fear, and vulnerability—an awareness that he can hurt you, leave something behind, and take something away."

"I would never hurt you."

"I know you believe that, but men can be dangerous in that belief. With her, I felt safer and softer. I don't want you to feel that softness."

Under the clear sky, he held her close, feeling her reach for him. They shared a connection, and the loneliness melted away.

The next morning, they drove back to his apartment in silence. Nora stayed with him through Christmas, occasionally returning to her own place for personal matters.