Touching Strangers

by Stacey Madden

  He arrived at Dundas station, dumped a handful of changeinto the fare box, and found a relatively secluded spot on the otherwise crowded platform. He glanced up at the telescreen, sawthe word flu, and immediately looked away. He watched micescurry around under the tracks instead.

  The train arrived within a minute, rolling to a slow stop.Aaron boarded. The car was fairly crowded, but his eyes weredrawn to a pale brunette dressed all in black, and the empty seatbeside her. For a couple of seconds he thought it was Samantha,but no. As he approached, he saw that this young woman was abit slimmer than his girlfriend, she had a slight dusting of freckleson her face and arms, and the roots of her black hair wereauburn. Besides those small superficial differences, however, theydid look unnervingly similar. They even smelled alike, henoticed, once he’d sat down.

  The next station is College; College station.

  The girl turned her head briefly in his direction, and whenhe returned the gesture, she quickly looked back down at hershoes. He grabbed the mask around his neck and pulled, breakingthe elastic. He considered stuffing it in his backpack, but insteadhe let it drop, then slid it under his seat with his foot.

  The girl might’ve laughed. He wanted to believe that shehad. He wanted her to find him the funniest, most helpless, mostcharming guy in the world. He wanted her to reach over withher freckled hand, touch his face, look him straight in the face,lean forward, and kiss him on the mouth.

  The train started to brake as it pulled into the next station,and the momentum pressed the girl’s shoulders and thighs againstAaron’s. Once they’d come to a full-stop, her body jolted backinto place, but she was closer than before. Their legs continuedto touch. People got off the train and other people got on.

  The next station is Wellesley; Wellesley station.

  Aaron tried to relax. He was overheating. He could feel hispulse in the glands in his throat. He inhaled deeply and exhaledslowly, allowing his arms and hands to rest limply at his sides.

  The girl adjusted in her seat, uncrossed her legs. Theybumped shoulders again. Now their upper arms were touching.

  Aaron looked up, attempted to read some ads, but couldn’tfocus. His scalp tingled. Without allowing himself to think, heincreased the pressure of his arm on the girl’s, to what he hopedwas a barely noticeable degree. He was almost certain she pressedback.

  The next station is Bloor-Yonge; Bloor-Yonge station.

  This was it. The next stop was where he had to change lines.Who was this person he was touching on the subway? What washer name and where was she born? What was she afraid of? Whoand what did she love? How many people had she known who’ddied, and what made her scream? What made her cry? Wherewas she going and what would she do when she got there?

  The cold backs of their hands were touching now. Theywere almost leaning into each other’s sides, and her head was tilted, ever so slightly, towards his. Aaron let his index finger movealong her skin. She lifted her pinkie and rested it on his.

  That was enough for him. He took her hand in his, interlocking each of their fingers, and she was the one who squeezed.

  They continued to stare straight ahead, mannequin-like, asthe train squealed into the station. They didn’t speak or turn toface each other. They simply sat, hands clasped tightly, and letthe intimacy wail.

  Arriving at Bloor-Yonge; Bloor-Yonge station.

  Something became detached. It took Aaron a second tonotice that they were no longer holding hands. The girl checkedto make sure something was in her bag, zipped it up, and stood.She was taller than he’d expected, and there was a tattoo on theside of her neck, the side that had faced away from him. Hecouldn’t make out what it was.

  The train stopped and the doors opened. Aaron stood andswung his backpack over his right shoulder. He and the girl didnot look at each other; did not even acknowledge one another.She exited the train before him. As he walked slowly along theplatform, he watched her black hair float until she blended inwith the crowd and became somebody else, somebody he w ouldn’t recognize if he ever saw her again.

  *

  Zack plopped down on the grass and admired his handiwork.The carpet with Martha Haggerty’s body rolled up in it was completely buried, though now there was a protruding mound of earththat hadn’t been there before. He tore up some spears of grass andsprinkled them on top of the grave. Dogs and cats and raccoonswould come back here to shit and piss, and before anyone knewit, Martha’s body would be eaten by worms, end of story.

  He lifted his haunches, farted, and sighed deeply. The digging had taken a lot out of him. There’d been a couple ofmoments where he thought he might pass out again, but he’dgrunted and growled and willed himself conscious. Sickness anddeath were weaknesses, he felt. They could be overcome byrage. The only thing more deadly than disease was violence. Thewoman in the ground next to him was proof enough of that.

  Not that he’d meant to kill Martha. He’d actually liked theold cougar. He’d even thought about jumping her bones a fewtimes, but always felt too baked after their smoke sessions tomake a move.

  “I’m gonna miss you, Miss H,” he said, stumbling to his feet.He wiped the grass stains off his knees and took one last glanceup at that pale bitch’s window. The curtains were shut, but heknew she’d seen him. He picked up the shovel and let it scrapealong the pavement as he dragged it inside. Maybe the soundwould make her peek out again. He knew she spied on people.Fucking voyeur. He wondered how she’d like it if he turned thetables and made an exhibitionist out of her. Filled her frombehind while her boyfriend watched from the corner, duct-tapedto a chair. He could even make a video, put it on the Internet.Who was gonna stop him? He had a gun, motherfucker!

  He took the elevator to his apartment on the sixth floor. Thesweet, rotten stench of gore smacked him as soon as he walkedinside. Bits of Martha’s face and brains were spattered on thefridge. He dropped the shovel and stumbled to the sink to vomitbile. Chugged half a can of Diet Coke to burn away the taste.

  The weapon was where he’d left it: on the couch. He didn’tknow how many bullets it had left, but even an unloaded weaponwas enough. Nobody would know the difference. He was a ninjawith this silent killer. He was invincible. He was a god.

  *

  Luca opened his burning eyes. “Sam?”

  No answer. He propped himself up on one elbow andblinked. He could hear the faint drizzle of a running showerdown the hall in the bathroom. The woman was obsessed. Therewas something seriously wrong with her. Her behaviour towardhim had changed, too. She’d been bitchy, stand-offish, evenrepulsed at times. She must be bi-polar. Possibly psychotic. Hedidn’t want to be here anymore. He needed to get home to hisown bed. Either her spell had worn off, or this sickness finallyhad him thinking clearly.

  He brushed aside the covers and managed to sit up, bonescracking, muscles aching, fever smoldering. When he placed hissock-covered feet on the floor, it felt like he’d stepped on hotcoals. Every step sent a whip lash of pins and needles up hiscalves. The journey from the bedroom to the front door, a distance of about twenty feet, took him a total of three minutes tocomplete. He felt elderly. He made up his mind, as he began theprocess of unlocking the multi-bolted door, to call an ambulancefrom his own apartment. He could only imagine Samantha’s hysterics at the sight of paramedics, and wanted no part of it.

  He pulled open the door, and standing in the hall, sweatyand sallow-skinned, was the troll who’d sneezed on him in theelevator, pointing a massive gun at his chest.

  He snorted and spat at Luca’s feet. “Back inside, hombre.”

  *

  Aaron was almost home.

  The train pulled into Main subway station just before 8:00P.M. According to the schedule on the wall, the bus thatwould’ve taken him within metres of his building’s doorstep wasn’t scheduled to arrive for another twenty minutes. Walkingwould be faster. He tightened his backpack’s shoulder straps andexited the station, squintin
g into the cotton candy sky. Trafficwas mostly finished for the day. He crossed at a red light andpulled out his phone, tried the landline first. When nobodypicked up, he tried Samantha’s cell. “I don’t care about whathappened,” he rehearsed in his head. “Tell me what you want.”

  The phone rang seven times. No answer. It didn’t matter. Hewas making good time. He was already at the bridge over the railroad tracks. He thought about taking the teapot out of his bag andlaunching it into the air, watching it shatter against the rails or anoncoming train, but he couldn’t stop thinking home, home, home.

  The uncertainty of what he’d find there compelled him f orward.

  *

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Zack snarled.

  Luca backed inside the apartment. He couldn’t take his eyes off the gun.

  Zack was inside now, though he’d left the door open behindhim. Luca could try to make a run for it, if he picked the rightmoment, but Samantha was still in the shower. Was he the kindof guy who could leave her here with a gun-toting madman?The truth was he didn’t know.

  “Answer me, dickwad.”

  “I, uh . . . I was just visiting.”

  Zack narrowed his eyes. A thin stream of blood dripped fromthe left socket. “Where’s the faggot and his sexy-ass girlfriend?”

  Luca continued to back away. He bumped hard into a tableand almost tumbled over. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  “Tell me where they’re hiding and maybe I won’t.”

  They stared at each other a moment: two sick animals in adesperate showdown. Luca opened his mouth to speak, lurchedforward, and vomited. Between retches he could hear Zacklaughing in his face.

  “You got it too, huh? Sheee-it.”

  Luca raised his head weakly to see Zack raising the butt ofthe gun above his head. Before he could lift his hands he felt asharp pain at the top of his skull, and everything went white.

  *

  Samantha heard voices. She moved the shower curtain asideand craned her neck to listen. There was a loud thud and thevoices stopped. As much as she wanted it to be Aaron, heroicallyarriving home and punching out his rival to win back his girlfriend’s hand, she knew Zack was in the apartment. She knew itby the smell. Not the smell of Zack’s filth, or the stench of flu,but by the palpable odour of fear. There was dread in the air, likea cancer. A smell that said, something bad is going to happen andthere’s nothing you can do to stop it.

  She left the shower running and stepped gingerly onto thebath mat. The only articles of clothing she had inside the bathroom were her mangy white bath robe and googly-eye slippers. Shedressed herself as quietly as she could manage and pressed her earto the door. Zack was walking around in the apartment . . . looking for her.

  “Come on out, girly,” he growled. It sounded like he was inher bedroom. “I know you’re in here!”

  She was trapped. Why hadn’t she brought her phone into thebathroom with her? Her heart throttled her insides. Her templeswere about to explode. Was there anything she could do? Therewas a desperation inside her like fever: survive. Never in her lifedid she want to live more than she did now. She looked throughthe medicine cabinet and in the cupboards under the sink, searching for anything she could use as a weapon. The best she couldfind was an old stainless steel showerhead. She gripped it tightlyand sat with her arms around her knees on the toilet seat.

  It was only a matter of time, she knew, before he checked the bathroom.

  The thought of sending Zack a friend request on Facebookjust a few days ago made her physically ill. What did she have onthere, on her profile, that he might’ve learned? She didn’t evenknow. She’d been stupid. Reckless. Not just with Zack, but withLuca too. She’d done this to herself. Maybe she deserved to die.

  From the other side of the door came the sound ofapproaching footsteps, followed by three slow raps—not on thedoor, but on the door handle. Metal on metal.

  “Look out, cutie,” Zack said. “I’m coming in.”

  *

  The building was in sight. Aaron could see his living roomwindow from the street. He quickened his pace. The neighbourhood seemed deserted. Every house was dark, except the onewith the large front porch. As he got closer he saw there was agirl with a skip rope sitting on the porch’s steps. She smiled andwaved at him. He’d seen her before. It was only days ago, but itfelt like weeks. Longer. He smiled and waved back.

  “You took your mask off,” the girl said.

  Aaron touched his face. “I guess I did.”

  “Are you all better?”

  He paused and slowed his pace. He didn’t know the answer.Finally he shrugged. “I just don’t need it anymore.”

  The girl considered this for a moment, then nodded. Sheseemed to accept it. “Have a nice day!” she called after him, ashe rushed toward home.

  He burst through the doors and pressed the Up button onthe elevator. Too impatient to wait for it, he made for the stairsand bounded two steps at a time until he reached the fourth floor.Half out of breath, he turned the corner and made his way downthe hall. When he saw that the door to his apartment was open,he stopped cold.

  The sight was so foreign. This door was never open. Ever. Heand Samantha always made sure it was closed and locked withinseconds of entry or exit. It could mean only one thing—thatscruffy oaf was still here. He clenched his jaw and walked inside.

  The first thing he saw was a body, face-down on the floor.He froze. An icy flood of panic shot through his bloodstream. Samantha. Where was she? Was she hurt?

  He was about to call her name but was stopped by the soundof another voice.

  “Look out, cutie. I’m coming in.”

  He crept along the wall and peered around the corner to thebathroom. A bald-headed troll in a blood-soaked t-shirt raised agun over his head and brought the butt-end down against thedoorknob.

  Someone screamed from inside. Samantha. “Fuck you!” sheyelled. “I hate you!”

  Aaron had to think. He took out his phone, dialled 9-1-1,then placed it in his pocket and pulled the teapot out of his backpack. He figured he had once chance at this. The only advantagehe had was the element of surprise.

  The troll slammed the gun down on the knob again, and thistime it fell to the floor. As he stepped back to kick the door in,Aaron took a deep breath, charged forward, and swung theteapot as hard as he could over the madman’s head.

  “FOCK!”

  Both men stumbled forward. The contents of Aaron’s backpack spilled across the floor. There was a bloody gash on theback of the troll’s head, and from his knees, he turned to look athis assailant.

  “You!” Zack roared.

  Aaron tried to scramble to his feet, but slipped on a can ofLysol and fell backwards. Next thing he knew, Zack was on topof him, showering him with sweat and spittle.

  “You little faggot!”

  His hands were on Aaron’s throat. He couldn’t breathe. Theonly thing he could think to do was go for the balls. He broughthis knee up swiftly between Zack’s legs. There was a sound likea gurgle, and Zack fell to his side, easing his grip on Aaron’s neck.It bought Aaron enough time to look up and see Samanthaswoop out of the bathroom and grab something from the floor,before Zack lunged at him once again. Aaron tried to moveaside, but Zack’s left shoulder caught him in the chest.Something inside him cracked. He felt short of breath, like someone had thrown a dart at his lungs.

  Zack was on top of him again. His face was purple andblotchy and his neck was covered in pustules. He lifted a clawedhand in the air, and as he held it there, Aaron saw two blackenedfingernails, torn and dangling from his swollen hands like flakesof rotten flesh.

  He blinked once and readied himself for the knock-out blow.

  “Aaarrrgghhh!”

  When he opened his eyes he saw Samantha emptying a spraycan of Lysol into Zack’s mouth and eyes. He fell backwards,gasping and choking and
spitting foam, but she didn’t stop. Sheshoved the nozzle into his mouth and filled his throat with disinfectant.

  Aaron crawled to the wall and tried to catch his breath. Hepulled his phone out of his pocket. A voice was making soundson the other end. He spoke his address clearly into the receiverand ended the call.

  Samantha kept her finger pressed on the spray can’s nozzleuntil it emitted a thin, hollow hiss. A wet, bubbling froth randown Zack’s face and onto the floor. He wasn’t moving.

  Samantha stood up, threw the can across the apartment, and screamed.

  When she turned to Aaron her eyes were wet with tears. Shedropped to the floor and crawled to his side. He lifted his armand held her while she sobbed. The position made his chest hurteven more, but he accepted the pain. It was nothing, really.There were worse things in the world.

  In the distance they could hear the sirens approaching.

  “What took you so long?” Samantha sniveled into Aaron’s armpit.

  He held her tightly against his body. “What did you do to your hair?”

  *

  Paramedics Roderick Sony and his partner Jaan were the firstto arrive at the Wardian Trust Arms. The police cruisers and firetrucks weren’t far behind. They all saw some crazy things thatday, not the least of which was the body of a woman with halfof her face missing, rolled up in a rug and shoddily buried in amound of earth behind a parking lot. That kind of stuff willhaunt you. Make you question things.

  But Roderick saw something else that day, too. Somethingthat gave him pause.

  As they pulled up to the building, he saw, through theambulance’s windshield, three figures emerge from the building.

  The first was a female in a white housecoat. She was very palewith short, messy dark hair. She had oversized rain boots on herfeet and a surgical mask on her face. She held the front door openfor the others—two males, one blond and thin, the other dark andscruffy-looking, both of them clearly injured. They held their armsaround one another’s shoulders, helping each other walk.