Burning Monday: (Dane Monday 2)

by Liggio, Dennis

  He realized that he needed to rehearse what he was going to say again. He needed his words rock solid so she couldn’t find any fault with them or try to argue any of his points. She'd always argue over details, as if willfully ignoring the main concern. Melody was good at that; it was perhaps the only thing she was good at.

  Melody. He sighed.

  What had happened there? It was great at first. Everything had been amazing! Then it fell apart as easily as it had come together. Some nights things almost seemed good, just for a moment - a minute, a memory - then things seemed to collapse again. Their relationship was up and down, hot and cold, passionate and frightful, anything except comfortable.

  Jake had never wanted something so variable, so chaotic - not in this relationship or any other. It was tiring, it was draining. His stress and tension were mounting; his patience for her was disappearing. The fun was rare, but the frustration was common. It seemed rather obvious that theirs was a coupling that should not continue. It was breakup time.

  It had been four weeks since Jake met Melody at a party. It was a really wonderful night, the type you remember with a fond smile. There was drunken flirtation, a thrilling competition for her attention, and then an amazing tumble in the bedroom once he brought her home. That part had been fun. It was the next morning, under the stark light of soberness, that things began to sour. He learned that she had no place to go: no job, no home. He also learned that she didn't want to leave. She good naturedly said she was fine staying the day at his apartment while Jake went to work.

  He didn't have time to argue that first morning. That was the first and possibly worst mistake in the war of passive aggressiveness that followed. By letting her stay one day, he had set precedence. Admittedly, he expected to arrive home and find her gone; that's how things went in his life. The girl would be gone and so would most of his possessions. He'd have an apartment empty of furniture but full of regret. He'd decide to not invite strange women home anymore and his life would go on. That's how his life worked. So he was quite shocked to come home and find her sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal. That had been the start of her four week encampment.

  She wasn't even a gracious guest. She didn't clean up after herself, she didn't cook, she didn't offer any money for rent or groceries. He had never once witnessed her looking for a job or talking to friends on the phone. He didn't think Melody even left the apartment. What did she do all day? Why didn't she leave?

  Tonight Jake would put his foot down. This was the line which would not be crossed. This is where he was making his stand. He would order her out of the apartment. He tried not to think about how this reemergence of backbone was only four weeks late.

  A chilling wind whipped across the city streets, causing random bits of paper to swirl like dust devils. A storm was moving in and dark clouds were forming. The air was thick with moisture. Rush hour was ending and the crowded streets thinned out as the sun went down. But even after rush hour, the streets were still alive with noise: honking cars, sirens, conversations, the rumble of buses. The lifeblood of the city flowed through its streets no matter the time of day. END OF THE WORLD? It didn't feel like the end of the world to Jake. If anything, the apocalypse would be some relief to the incessant noise and activity of New Avalon.

  Rain began to fall. While the pace of pedestrians quickened, umbrellas came out, and a few unlucky pedestrians cursed at cars and buses which splashed water on them, the life of New Avalon continued all around Jake. The streets grew shabbier as he got closer to home. He lived in Asher on the northeast side of New Avalon. The area had seen better days, though not in Jake's twenty-two years of life. Nowadays it was a mix of old apartment buildings, tiny warehouses, a factory or two, and a smattering of ethnic markets. It wasn't the best part of town. Jake couldn't afford the best part of town; if he was honest with himself, he'd admit that he couldn't even afford a halfway decent part of town. He worked a crappy retail job, one step up from minimum wage only due to his luck at becoming a floor supervisor. And if asked, he would use the term “luck” very loosely. But he could afford to live in Avalon proper and have an apartment to himself in Asher. That's why he lived on the east side to begin with; it was cheap and there was a possibility of the areas getting better. Some of the east side had begun to come back through gentrification, particularly where it bordered the river or up near Glenntown, but Jake's block had not been so lucky yet.

  As Jake arrived at his building, one of the reasons for his greatly lowered rent was very apparent. His building was diagonally across the street from the Meow Brand Cat Food warehouse. Jake's apartment and bedroom window faced directly toward the enormous Meow Brand neon sign. At all times of the day, a glowing sign showed Meow Brand Cat Food in large dull red letters. The red neon was weak enough that his room stayed dark at night, at best giving a reddish tinge that barely came through the edges of the blinds. But that wasn't the problem. His rent was so cheap due to the second part of the sign. It animated with the Meow Brand slogan: nom Nom NOM! in three very bright phases. First, all three words were dark. Then the initial word lit up in bright white light. A moment later the second word lit, then a moment after that, third and brightest word lit up.

  During the daytime, the sign was not a problem. Sometimes he even left the curtains open, as if he was trying out the role of being a cat food fetishist. But at night, the light was unbearable and sleep impossible with the curtains open. The white words on the sign illuminated his bedroom like floodlights. Even with curtains closed, his sleep suffered. Luckily, after much searching, he found a set of blackout curtains that allowed him to actually sleep in something resembling peace.

  The sky was dark from the storm and the Meow sign bright, its white letters reflected in every puddle as Jake entered his building. He paused and checked his mail in the lobby: bills, bills, junk, and bills. The elevator was out of order (again), so he started the long journey up twelve flights of stairs. He paused meaningfully at his front door as he pulled out his key. “You can do this,” he said, trying to steel his nerves for what was to come next, leaving himself unprepared for what actually came next. He wasn't quite proud of what he was intending to do; he didn’t like throwing a homeless girl out of his apartment. But this was a crazy homeless girl that he picked up at a party. Surely there was some rule, some social exception, some friend-acceptable argument that made that okay.

  Unlocking the door, Jake found the lights off, the TV on, and the living room empty. Even though he had coached himself on having a strong and hopefully invincible calm, this stung him. His utility usage had gone up considerably since Melody had arrived, and he had talked to her about things that could be done to conserve energy. His calm partially wrecked, he lashed out. “At least turn the damn thing off when you’re not watching it!” he called across the apartment as he turned the lights on. Then he took a deep breath and tried to get back his determination.

  He expected a defensive response launched from across the apartment which would have been the opening salvo in another argument. He almost looked forward to that. An argument would make telling her to leave so much easier. He'd either have anger or the moral high ground, both of which would make sternly pointing at the door so much easier.

  Yet Jake received nothing in return. No shouts, no screams, no defensive retort. The lack of any response at all was very surprising. Melody seemed to be always up for a fight. Even when she slept, she somehow was always able to wake up to argue, as if she sensed when Jake was silently disagreeing with her. That was one of her talents. This silence was out of character. Jake suddenly had a very bad feeling. He then noticed a strange smell in the apartment. Some back-brained part of him instinctually tensed, even if he didn't consciously recognize the smell.

  “Hello?” he called. She wasn’t in the tiny dining area and the bathroom door was open. Could it be that she finally decided to leave on her own? That would be too good to be true. Of course, after his happy dance he'd have to find out if she had taken
any of his valuables. But if the TV was still there, he was fine, as he didn’t have much else of worth. So if she had left on her own, that would be a good thing.

  It was a comforting thought, but he didn't think it was true. A chill was crawling up his spine. Something felt off about the apartment. Home didn't feel like home. Safe didn't feel like safe.

  Opening the bedroom door, he could see the curtains were open. The bedroom lights were off, so the whole room was tinged red by the neon. The bright slogan sequence across the street was about to begin. Jake could barely make out a figure on the bed.

  “Oh, there you are-“ he started to say with relief. But he froze as the first white nom light came on from the sign across the street, lighting the room.

  Jake thought the figure on the bed was Melody. He was half right. She was on the bed, but there was also another figure crouched on the bed above her. The sheets appeared to be darkly stained. What was going on?

  The second Nom light blazed into existence across the street. Above Melody was crouched a madman surrounded by dark red. If there had been any idea in Jake's mind that he had walked in on an act of traitorous lust, it was immediately expelled. This room was filled with hate, not desire. The entire space was washed in violence.

  The madman turned towards Jake, a horrible smile on his face. The smile was toothy and could have been almost goofy if his mouth didn't contain sharp teeth covered with something dark. Jake took an involuntary step back, but his limbs were otherwise frozen with fear.

  The third light from the capitalized NOM lit the whole room like a floodlight. It illuminated blood on the wall, blood all over the bed, and blood on the madman who glared at Jake. The man was pale, his hair dark, and blood covered his teeth and hands. His eyes burned red with a rage of an intensity Jake had never witnessed.

  This look was only for a moment, before all three lights from the sign turned off at the end of their cycle, abruptly returning the room to a near darkness mitigated only by the dim red neon radiance. Jake couldn't see the man pounce at him. He couldn't have known that the madman was lunging toward him. But somehow, he reacted. Some instinct made him shift his weight, turning his body so that it was a glancing impact when the man jumped at him. Jake spun and hit the floor while the man receded back into the darkness of the bedroom.

  Adrenaline got Jake off the floor. He stumbled into the living room where there was light. The madman's blazing eyes looked at him from the dark bedroom, just barely glowing red. A voice like a screeching crow lanced out of the darkness. "Where is it? Where is it?"

  Jake ignored the question until he had grabbed the first wieldable weapon from the kitchen counter: a large wooden cutting board. "Where is what?"

  "Where is it?" screeched the voice, but this time it did not wait. A dark form leapt out of the blackness towards Jake.

  Instinct prevailed again and Jake jumped away from the kitchen as the madman slammed into the kitchen counter. Jake turned and swung the cutting board. With dismay, Jake watched the board break in half as it hit the man's shoulder.

  The madman turned and let out a screeching laugh. Jake stepped backward and slipped on the television remote which had been carelessly left on the floor. With an awkward twisting, Jake began to fall. At this same moment, the madman pounced across the room at Jake. Had he not been too busy falling, Jake would have been amazed at the distance the man could leap, as if he were a wild animal. Instead Jake fell backwards on the glass coffee table, shattering the glass and causing the table legs to crumple. This was in Jake's favor, as the feral madman sailed over him to slam into the wall on the other side of the room.

  The madman had created a large dent in the drywall, but did not stay down. On all fours, he turned, revealing his own blood trickling from his forehead. As he growled, spittle mixed with the blood on his exposed teeth. Jake was dazed from his fall, but frantically tried to push himself along the floor away from the madman, never taking his eyes off his foe. Broken glass cut his hands and arms, but he managed to bump up against the home entertainment system that the television was set upon.

  The madman trotted across the floor on all fours, surprisingly quick for a man. Using all his limbs to launch himself, he pounced upon Jake. His right hand grabbed at Jake's chest, grabbing a handful of Jake's shirt. Jake hissed in pain as he realized that the man's hands were covered with long claws, which had just gashed his chest in the grab.

  "Where is it? Where are you hiding it?" screeched the madman in a voice that stank of blood.

  "Where's what?" gasped Jake.

  "Where is it?" squawked the madman. "Where is it?" The face inched closer and Jake could see much more clearly how his foe's bloody teeth were all sharpened to very lethal points. Jake stared at the madman as he desperately reached behind him for a weapon... any weapon. The madman kept up his screeching. "Where is it?"

  Failing to find any real weapon, Jake's hands found the home entertainment system and the television's base. In desperation, he grabbed it and yanked forward. The still-on television slammed down on the madman's head. The television's glass shattered and there was a popping spark as it went dark. The madman dizzily fell off Jake and curled up on the floor. He began to howl in pain, almost like a dog.

  Somehow Jake made it to his feet. His chest stung, his bleeding arms felt cold, and his legs ached, but he somehow pulled himself to his feet. He took a step forward and nearly fell over, his balance slipping. But he kept it together, knowing he needed to get away before the howling madman on the floor recovered. He made it to the front door, but encountered the next problem in his frantic escape. His bloodied hands kept slipping off the handle. Panic kept him at it and somehow he got the door open so that he could stumble out into the hallway.

  There was a roar behind him as the madman returned to his feet. Jake turned and stumbled down the hall, more falling forward than the run he was hoping for. But that stumble was enough. A moment later, the madman pounced out of the apartment, thought this is where he made his own mistake. Dazed himself, the madman had hoped to tackle Jake but instead he missed and slammed into the wall across from the apartment door. The man once again howled like a hurt dog as Jake finally slipped and fell in front of a neighbor's door. Jake wanted to get back up, he wanted to run, but his fear and lack of blood was preventing him from doing anything but laying in weakness and agony. He was getting colder by the minute, his body slowly losing all its coordination.

  The door Jake fell against opened up as someone peered out, causing Jake to half fall into their apartment. Some vague part of him wanted to apologize for getting his blood on their door. That person was not alone in wanting to know what was going on. Two other doors on the hall opened up, their faces peering out, but their security chains on the doors kept on. They stared at the bloody mess that was Jake and then they looked down the hall to see the madman.

  That violent figure had been ready to pounce on Jake, continuing his assault and probably ending the fight with a bloody conclusion, but the man paused, looking from face to face of those at the open doors. Though Jake would have expected that such a madman would continue with his attack despite witnesses, the man changed his mind. Turning, he ran the opposite direction down the hall. With a leap, he crashed through the hall window that was past Jake's door. A moment later, there was just the newly loud sound of the rain and wind from the broken window.

  Someone helped Jake up, he didn't remember who. His neighbor, Mr. Aleksander, was brandishing a bat as he cautiously walked over to the broken window and looked out. He wore a look of pure confusion when he came back to Jake, the bat now dangling harmlessly at his side. "There's no fire escape on that window. I can't figure out what he was thinking..." Then he shrugged, shaking his head. His voice resumed its normal gruff tone. "Buncha animals in this town. You alright, kid? I called 911 when I first heard something. Glad you're okay." He looked down at Jake's bloody arms. "Mostly okay. Paramedics should be on their way, assuming they take Asher seriously for once."

 
; Jake nodded and then began to slowly walk towards his apartment. He still felt very cold and shaky, but panic was slowly draining out of him, so he felt like he could walk. Whether he should walk was another matter.

  "You sure you don't wanna sit down and wait for the ambulance?" said Mr. Aleksander, gently grabbing Jake's shoulder.

  "I... I need to know something," said Jake, and the seriousness of his expression made Mr. Aleksander let his shoulder go.

  "Well, I'll be here waiting for the cops," said the older man, pulling the bat up to rest on his shoulder. "If that guy comes back, he's got me to go through first."

  Jake nodded and limped into the apartment. The living room was a nightmare of destruction. Broken glass, broken TV, broken coffee table, and a broken cutting board. But the living room wasn't his concern. He limped to the bedroom, which was still lit only by the neon sign cycle.

  There was a moment of indecision before he turned on the light. He hoped he was wrong. He hoped that he had not seen what he thought he saw. He hoped he wouldn't see it now when he flipped the light switch. He hoped that there would be no blood, no Melody. He hoped it had all been a nightmare, a hallucination, or some horrid fantasy. He turned on the light.

  No such luck.

  There was so much dark red blood. The color throbbed over his vision immediately. All he could see was red at first - so much red, so much blood, so much of that horrible stink. It was all he could see for a few moments before his eyes and mind adjusted. Then he focused on the body. Melody's body. It was broken and torn, ravaged by the same claws Jake had felt raking his chest. He didn't check her pulse. There was too much blood, the body too mangled; he knew she was already dead. Had she been dead before he arrived, or had he witnessed her last moments of life as he ineffectually stood in the doorway?