Charming, Meg thought.
She showered and brushed her teeth. She was running late and if there was one thing her manager didn’t tolerate, it was tardiness. Not to mention Meg had caused quite a stir with her phone calls.
On her way out the door the phone rang.
She paused in the doorway, feeling faint and dizzy and not in the same way as in front of the bookstore. She tensed as she read the caller ID, then sighed with relief. It was the police station. She picked up. “Hello?”
“Ms. Foster?”
“Yes, this is she.”
“This is Officer Granger from the police department. We spoke last week after you’d received a threatening phone call.”
Not threatening, she almost said. But if it wasn’t threatening, then what was it? “Yes, I remember.”
“It was a headache on both ends but I was able to work with the phone company to trace the call.”
She imagined him adjusting his hat on the other end, rolling up his lasso. “That’s great news I guess. Who was it? Or is that classified?”
“No, it’s not classified, but I’m afraid I don’t have a name or individual. In fact I don’t have much to report at all.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was probably just a malfunction on their end. It’s got to be. I’ve never run into this problem before.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Well, Ms. Foster, the phone call didn’t show up on their records. I made them double-check, then triple-check, and then I had a look myself to make sure they weren’t pulling my arm. But they weren’t. As far as their records are concerned, no one called the bank at either of those times.”
“But that’s impossible. I was there. So were my coworkers. Someone else answered both times.”
“Yes, that’s the part that’s driving me nutty. But the records aren’t going to change. It’s got to be a glitch, that’s all. I take it you haven’t received any other calls since then?”
“No.” Not yet, she thought and scolded herself.
“Well, that’s good news. Whoever it was probably got the message. Maybe they walked by the bank and saw me in there, decided they should quit their little game. I can assure you if anything somehow changes with the phone records, you’ll be the first one to know. Got to be an error on their part.”
“Yes, I suppose.”
He chuckled. “Either that or the individual was calling from somewhere that couldn’t be traced.”
“What’s wrong?” Brian asked.
Meg had made them dinner with what she had readily available, pasta and homemade sauce, of the pronounceable variety, nothing like the place she’d gone to with Brian. She didn’t have fresh garlic or peppers and it tasted bland but she found she wasn’t all that hungry to begin with. “Nothing’s wrong,” she said, twirling vermicelli around and around her fork instead of eating.
“I haven’t known you very long but it’s easy to tell when you’re lying.”
“How’s that?”
“You won’t look me in the eye. You’ll look at the ceiling or at your shoes but you won’t make eye contact. It’s a classic sign.”
“Sorry I’m so predictable.”
“So come out with it. What’s got you down? I thought you were having a good week.”
“I am,” she said. She took a bite of pasta, washed it down with water. “I heard back from Officer Granger.” She went on to tell him about the untraceable call, the one that, for all intents and purposes, had not existed in the first place.
“So maybe it was a glitch. They haven’t called back yet. That’s got to be a good sign.”
She sighed. “I suppose. Let’s hope that’s the end of it. Maybe I dodged the crazy gene after all.”
He winced when she said it. Come to think of it, he’d made that expression a dozen or so times whenever she spoke ill of her mother. “Is everything okay?”
“Sure.” He chewed his spaghetti, tore off a piece of bread and dipped it in the sauce. “I just wish you wouldn’t call her crazy like that. Schizophrenia’s an illness. She was sick.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“And she’s your mother. Whether you like it or not.”
It came to her then that she hadn’t heard him once mention his mother. He’d gone on and on about his father and his exploits in the bookselling business, but not a word about Mrs. Peterson. She decided to change the subject. “I think Dwight likes you more than me,” she said, nodding toward the cat as he stretched himself on Brian’s chair.
Brian seemed to take the bait. “Can’t say I blame him.” He smiled and her hunger seemed to return. She felt better for a while.
It was Friday of that week that she discovered another envelope among her mail. At first she thought it was more junk, someone trying to sell her something. And in a sense it was exactly that.
R & R College Loan Associates.
She’d received plenty of low interest loans offers in the mail since she’d graduated but whenever she read the fine print, there was always a catch. For whatever reason, instead of tossing the letter into the trash she opened it and began to read.
On the surface, it seemed too good to be true. A lower interest rate, smaller monthly payments, and total loan forgiveness after twenty years. It couldn’t be, yet she read the entire letter twice and couldn’t find any catch.
There was a hotline at the bottom for more information.
She looked at her watch. She had fifteen minutes before she had to leave for work. Why not? she thought. Why did everything have to be too good to be true? Maybe some things in life really were as good as they seemed.
She picked up the phone and dialed the number.
A woman answered, apologized and said she’d be right with Meg.
Elevator music began to play in the background. It was monotonous, the kind of thing you didn’t even notice was playing half the time. There was a burst of static and she rolled her eyes, wishing she could just talk with someone already.
Five minutes later the woman answered again. “Hello? How can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m calling regarding a letter I received from your company? I’d like more information.”
“Certainly. Let’s get your loans pulled up here and have a look.” Meg rattled off her name, address and college. Static sounded again, like wind through the receiver or maybe something else. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. “Here we are,” the woman said. Her voice sounded distorted somehow. Perhaps Meg’s phone was on its last leg. “Yes, based on what you’re paying right now, we can certainly lower your payments, both in the short and long run.”
She listed off detail after detail and Meg began to pace around the kitchen, thinking of what she could do with an extra fifty or so dollars a month. She wouldn’t need to get another job. She could afford more groceries. She could drink better beer.
“Does this sound like something you’d be interested in, Ms. Foster?”
Meg paused, took a deep breath. “Yes. I think it does.”
“So glad to hear it. I’m going to send you our full paperwork packet and we’ll contact your current loan provider in the meantime.” The woman’s voice became more distorted. Meg had to strain to hear. “All we need from you right now is to sign the form we sent and mail it back at your earliest convenience.”
“Thanks so much,” Meg said. The static or interference or whatever it was rose again, blocking out the woman’s voice altogether save for a few syllables here and there. Meg couldn’t make out the words. “Hello? I’m sorry, you’re cutting out.” She waited a few more moments, thanked her again and hung up.
She was running behind now so she quickly signed her name, put the form into the envelope and stuck on a stamp.
She said goodbye to Dwight and began walking to work, dropping t
he envelope into the mailbox at the corner of her street.
A few moments later, for some odd reason, she had the urge to walk back and grab the letter, though it was impossible now. It was deep within the box, probably mixed with a hundred other envelopes. Though she could not say why, she felt as though she’d forgotten something important, some rule or boundary that she’d accidentally crossed. Or perhaps she was being foolish. And besides, why ruin a good thing?
She shook her head at how negative she could be and continued her walk to work.
Chapter Five
Three more days went by without incident.
On Monday Meg worked an extra two hours at the bank. She was tired and hungry but she could not turn down overtime. It was dark by the time she got out. Brian had to close the bookshop so he wouldn’t be out for another couple hours. She decided to get groceries, at least the essentials. And now that she’d be saving a few extra dollars, maybe she could switch to better brands, food that was not tasteless. A twinge of excitement ran through her on her way home.
The market was a mile from her apartment so she would head home first, feed Dwight, and take her car. She rarely used it when gas prices were so high but tonight she wouldn’t feel so guilty.
After five minutes of walking, she turned the corner onto her street. She could just make out the front door of her apartment.
It was open.
Her heart sped. She thought about calling the police or going downstairs to notify her landlord but perhaps it had been the wind. It was an old house after all.
She walked slowly toward the yard and stared at the open door as if it were a gaping mouth filled with teeth that were ready to bite down.
And then she remembered Dwight.
She jogged through the yard and up the stairs, stopping at her doorway. It was dark inside. She fumbled with her hand until she found the living room light switch and flipped it upward. It was dim at first, one of those energy efficient bulbs that were meant to save money, but light enough for her to see her couch and recliner and television all flipped on their sides. The coffee table had been tossed upside down, sending the remote control, a half-empty mug of tea and a few magazines onto the carpet.
She began to sweat and shiver at the same time.
Call the cops, she thought. Someone broke in and had themselves a dandy time. It’s not safe.
But burglars stole things. They didn’t bother making a racket, especially if there were clearly two units in the building they were ransacking.
Kids then. They’d busted open the front door and trashed everything. The beer was probably gone from her fridge.
She should call the cops and ask for Officer Granger. He’d be over in minutes.
The first thing he’d ask her was if she thought this was connected to the phone calls.
And her answer, without being certain, would be yes.
It was too convenient to be otherwise.
She stepped inside. She would find Dwight and leave. Simple as that.
She found the kitchen light switch and flipped it on. All her cabinets had been left open, their contents scattered along the floor. Boxes of cereal and crackers had been stomped on, crumbs lining the surface. All her plates and mugs were in pieces, glass shards everywhere she looked.
But that no longer bothered her once she saw the writing on the fridge.
It was not written in a marker or a pen. It was written in a red liquid that was far too dark to be ketchup or tomato soup, neither of which she had in her cabinets.
The words stared at her and she stifled a scream.
Pay up. You said yes.
Then she did scream. It was quick and shrill and it died in her throat when she became aware that she was not alone in the apartment.
There was a noise from down the hall, from in her bedroom. Someone was in there, the same person who’d called her, followed her and broken in. They walked through her room as if there was no rush. The sound of their footsteps was familiar. A scuttling sound she’d heard over the phone three times now. Twice at the bank and once three days before, when the woman from R & R associates had been speaking. Meg realized now it was not static in the background but bony footsteps that belonged to something she never wanted to lay eyes on.
The sound grew closer. They were going to kill her and write a message with her blood.
She backed away as she saw movement, a shadow in the hallway, moving closer.
Someone stepped out of her room. From here she could see no features and that somehow felt like a blessing. The figure began to walk forward, its steps like bones dragging against the floor.
Meg ran. She was halfway down the stairs when she tripped over her feet and fell to her knees. She heard movement from above as she rolled down the last few steps.
At the bottom, something moved from inside the closest bush. She jumped back, ready for another figure to emerge from the shadows.
It was small and it was quick. It came toward her and meowed.
She picked Dwight up, opened her car and tossed him into the passenger seat.
As she was turning onto the street, she saw her pursuer finish descending the stairs and stop in the middle of the front yard.
It was not a man or a woman because it had no discernible features, just smooth black skin like a starless night. It was the same figure she’d seen in the reflection of the empty shop’s window and perhaps in her front yard the night she’d gotten her scar.
It was walking toward her car.
She hit the gas, spun out for a few awful moments, and then sped down her street.
She didn’t dare look in her rearview mirror.
When Meg showed up at Books by the Dozen, she must have looked like a madwoman. She left Dwight in the car and ran into the shop, calling for Brian. After a few moments he came into the store from the back room, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Meg? What’s going on?”
She struggled to catch her breath as she locked the door behind her. The store around her spun from her vertigo and she imagined every book toppling over, burying her alive. “My apartment. Someone broke in.” She tried to catch her breath but the task seemed impossible.
“Did you call the cops?” He set his coffee down next to the register and walked over to her.
“No. I was going to but…I don’t think that’s such a great idea.”
“Why the hell not? It’s got to be the person who’s been calling you.”
“Yes, I think you’re right. But the cops aren’t going to be much help. Because I’m not so sure it’s a person anymore.”
“If it’s not a person…” Brian trailed off then. His eyes floated above and behind her, toward the front windows of the shop.
“Brian?” Meg watched his eyes, tried to see in their reflection.
It took every bit of effort to break her paralysis. She knew there was something outside, something awful that would send chills through her body. Perhaps if she didn’t look, didn’t feed into it, she could make it go away. Perhaps if she told herself it was all a bad dream or a side effect of her mother’s sickness, now passed down to her, it would disappear. She turned around and saw what Brian was looking at.
Out front, just beyond the door, stood a tall, shadowy figure. It put a black featureless hand against the glass. The fingers were impossibly long, more like tentacles. The spot where its mouth should have been dragged along the glass, as if licking with an unseen tongue. It tilted its smooth head, a studying gesture.
Meg’s stomach dropped. Her bladder became full and her legs felt weak. “We have to go.”
Brian was frozen, watching the thing as it watched them.
“Brian, we have to get out of here now.” She pulled at his hand but he didn’t budge.
Some part of her let forth a mental sigh despite the fear. Because Brian could see the figure. It was not just in he
r mind.
And if it wasn’t her imagination, then what did that say about her mother?
There was a loud thud against the window.
The thing was pounding its hands against the glass. Before she could say anything else, Brian was behind the desk grabbing his coat and keys. She followed him into the back room and toward the back door.
From the back room they could hear tapping against the front windows, an insistent knocking and scraping sound. Then they were in the back lot and running three blocks north on Main Street to where she’d parked her car.
Dwight meowed from the backseat. He was pacing back and forth, nearly falling off the edge every time Meg came to a stop. She winced each time she saw a police car. The last thing she wanted was to be pulled over right now. Speed and distance were the only things that made her feel even an ounce of safety.
“What was it?” Brian asked, still out of breath.
“I don’t know.” She tried keeping her eyes on the road in front of her but they eventually peered in other directions, searching for shadows that moved on their own accord. “But I think I may know someone who does.”
“Your mother.”
She nodded. The thought of going back home, of facing the woman she’d tried to forget for so long, made her chest heavy, but it seemed like her only plan of action right now. And even then, when she showed up at the psychiatric facility, even if she was somehow able to get her mother speaking again, how could she be sure there was a solution to any of this?
There were too many uncertainties, too many thoughts running through her head, making her feel exhausted and on edge at once. “Do you think you could watch Dwight for a while?”
“No. My father will watch him. He hates cats but he’ll have to make do. I’m coming with you.”
“Absolutely not. I’m sorry I got you mixed up in any of this.”
“Enough with the apologies. I saw them too, remember? That means neither of us can be sure I’d be safe on my own.”
She opened her mouth to protest but closed it just as quickly. Brian made a fair point. She had no way of knowing much about any of this. “If we drop Dwight off and leave tonight, we can make it there by late morning tomorrow. Are you sure?”
A Debt to be Paid Page 4