Playing with Fire (Anthology of Horror)

by Chryse; Coral Russell; Brian Fatah Steele; CAV Laster; Nomar Knight; Robynn Gabel; Susan Evelyn Wymer

  3

  The maid service made no comment on the mess left in the condo nor asked any questions when Allen moved into another one across the hall. The predominately black and gray colors matched his mood for the next few days. Since nothing else freaky happened, he chalked it up to a bad case of delayed stress.

  Allen brightened up considerably when his wife, Laurie, called to talk. He started walking on air after she mentioned plans to bring the girls for a short visit.

  Allen had laid low when he first arrived in El Paso, but now, hooking up with old high school friends seemed like the perfect way to celebrate the completion of the apartments. Allen found out a good friend also moved back in town and opened a restaurant on the west side.

  Ruli was thrilled to hear about Allen's plan for a mini-reunion of their Entrepreneurship Club from High School and offered up his place for a beer tasting and tapas party. Ruli's International Kitchen consisted of twelve tables and a long bar. Behind the bar, Allen perused a collection of fine imported beers and wines.

  "What do you like?" asked Ruli.

  "You know, I really go for the dark, strong stuff," said Allen.

  "Then you're going to love this." Ruli reached behind the bar and popped the top on a bottle of Dixie Blackened Voodoo Lager. When he poured it into a clear glass mug it became a dark, swirling liquid topped with a coffee-colored head of foam.

  Allen tasted the beer. "Wow, you weren't kidding. I do love this!" He swung around and surveyed the rest of the small room.

  People started arriving and gathered in groups of four and five. Ruddy faces shone under the soft track lighting and laughter rose and fell in quick bursts. Allen lifted his mug in greeting to several friends as they passed by, a little wobbly on their feet. "Hey, I thought this was supposed to be a 'beer tasting,' not a 'beer drinking' party." Scattered laughter broke out again. He leaned back to Ruli and said, "This sure is different from the wine tastings my wife takes me to."

  Ruli slapped him on the back, "This was a great idea, man, thanks."

  ***

  Allen stumbled against the doorframe to the condo, clutching a six-pack of his new favorite beer. He chuckled to himself for no reason. After three swipes, he managed to fit the key in the lock and entered the condo. The twinkling orange and yellow lights of downtown El Paso lit the living room enough that he didn't even bother turning on a light. Allen put his package on the living room coffee table, took out a beer and picked his way past furniture to the patio.

  I'm back , he thought to himself. Once Laurie gets here with the girls, we'll sit down and talk this all out. It's my fault. I'll own up to everything. He missed his family, and right now getting them back was the most important thing.

  Coldness interrupted his thoughts. He frowned. His back was colder than his front, which was exposed to the cool night air. In alcohol-induced slow motion, he turned around.

  A young girl, of fifteen or sixteen, ran straight at him. Her arms reached out and her mouth was open in a silent scream, eyes wide with terror. Her hair was a long train of flames.

  Allen held up his hands in an attempt to slow her down. She passed by him as he grabbed at her clothes. Momentum almost carried Allen over the edge himself. He gripped the railing and stared into empty space. There was nothing there. Nothing at all.

  He stumbled back around and sat down. Holding up the beer bottle in his hand, he thought,

  At least I didn't waste my beer. He rubbed his face with his free hand, thinking, What if it had been one of his own daughters?

  ***

  Allen woke up on the couch with the T.V. blaring and the condo ablaze with light. He tried to prop himself up with his hands, but a sharp pain made him fall back onto his elbows. When he dragged himself to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, he noticed his left palm was bright red. It looked like a burn.

  Back in the living room, numb and hung-over, Allen turned the T.V. remote over and over in his hands. The local news team was interviewing a man dressed all in black, including a cowboy hat. The scene changed to night-vision. The scrolling caption under the video read, "Ghost Hunt - El Paso Downtown Library."

  The man in the cowboy hat was speaking directly to the camera when something clattered off camera behind him. He moved to investigate a book that apparently had fallen to the floor all by itself. As the camera cut back to the interview, Allen learned they were talking about ghost hunting and the man in black, Hector, ran ghost tours in El Paso. Allen leaned over the coffee table and jotted the number down on a scrap of paper in front of him.

  4

  Laurie agreed to bring the girls to his parents' house instead of meeting on neutral territory. His parents agreed to keep silent about the reasons for the separation. His mother even pulled him aside and gave Allen a bracelet to give to Laurie as a reconciliation gift. All went well during a home cooked lunch of green chile enchiladas, beans, rice, and tortillas. After Allen lavished affection and gifts on his daughters, he grabbed Laurie's hand and led her to the manicured back yard.

  "Everything is going to be all right," he said.

  "Really?" Laurie laughed softly. "You always could make me laugh."

  Allen took both her hands in his, "I mean it. I'm back on my feet. It's not Wall Street, but we can make a life here."

  "You want me to just up and leave my job? Allen, how can I trust that you won't let the pressure get to you again? You ran away and left everything behind."

  Allen looked into her warm brown eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I fell apart and gave up. I let you all down and I am sorry. It's whatever you want. I need some more time to get the condos leased. After that, the property will pretty much take care of itself and then I can move back and find a new job."

  "I don't know." Laurie pulled her hands out of his.

  "Everything is going to work out, I promise. I could stand you being angry with me, but I couldn't stand disappointing you."

  "You didn't disappoint me." When Allen tried to look away, Laurie took his face in her hands. "All the stuff doesn't matter to me. It never did. You got all wrapped up in the prestige, money, status, all the things that didn't have anything to do with us, as a family."

  "What can I do to make this right between us?"

  She kissed him gently. "Asking that question is a good start."

  "Since you're not interested in stuff, I guess I should give this back to Mom." Allen took out the silver bracelet inlaid with semi-precious stones.

  "Allen, where did you get this? It's gorgeous."

  "Well, I didn't think flowers were going to cut it, but if Mom doesn't see you wearing this, she's going to think I screwed up."

  She kissed him again as he fastened the bracelet on her wrist. "We wouldn't want to disappoint her."

  Allen tried to dissuade Laurie from going to the condo with him to collect his things. She asked why they couldn't just stay there, but he convinced her the condos were intended for businessmen, not families with children. He wasn't lying, but he didn't tell her the place creeped him out. Since he couldn't come up with any good reason for not showing her what he'd been working on all this time, they left the happy grandparents watching the kids and headed for the condos.

  Laurie loved the third condo Allen had moved to with its cool, pale, wood paneling and cabinets accented with teal, brown and white trim. She admired the embroidered cactus and palm tree throw-pillows and asked, "Did you decorate this yourself?"

  "Not exactly," he called out from the bedroom where he was stuffing clothes into a suitcase. "I came up with the color scheme and some ideas to give each condo an individual personality, but an interior designer put it all together.

  "Allen, they are beautiful."

  "Thanks, honey. That means a -" He was interrupted by her screaming. "Laurie!" he yelled, running to the living room. He stopped at the entryway where Laurie stood with her back pressed against the sliding glass door leading to the balcony. Her face was turned as far as the glass would allow and her eyes were squeeze
d shut. "Laurie?"

  A figure passed in front of him as the walls seeped away exposing the whole floor in a way Allen had never seen it. Rows of black sewing machines gleamed in a flickering orange light. People, mostly women, ran back and forth, panic-stricken. Some of them, already on fire, leapt out shattered windows while others plunged down the elevator shaft at the far end. Thick, black smoke rolled through the room. Allen started coughing. He collapsed to the floor, thinking, Stop, drop, and roll, before blackness thickened all around him.

  The blackness turned grey and he could hear his wife crying and yelling his name from far away. When he forced his eyes to open, Laurie's face bobbed up and down. His shoulders throbbed. She must have been shaking him for a while.

  "It's okay." His voice was rough and shaky.

  "No, it's not! I saw women, girls. And there was a fire. Was there a fire here?"

  "I don't know," he said. "But since this is the third condo that something strange has happened in, it's about time I found out."

  5

  Allen heard the chime of the elevator doors. As two men rounded the corner to enter his office, he recognized the man in black from the T.V. "Hector?"

  "Mr. Harris, nice to meet you," Hector said extending his hand.

  Allen shook Hector's hand.

  "And this is Marcos."

  "Hi, Marcos. Nice to meet you," Allen said shaking Marcos's hand.

  "Likewise."

  "Let's talk in here." Allen led them to his office and motioned for them to have a seat. He had splurged on the Equipale furniture that decorated the reception area and office. Every time someone new entered he couldn't help mentioning how the furniture was hand-made of estaca wood and tobacco-stained pigskin. No two pieces were exactly alike and the cushions had to be custom-made as well.

  Hector and Marcos nodded politely as he finished his explanation.

  Allen rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. "Now that you're here, I'm beginning to feel pretty silly about the whole thing."

  "Take your time," said Marcos.

  "We're not here to judge you, Mr. Harris," said Hector. "We're here to listen and help, if we can. If we can't, we'll tell you up front."

  "Good, good; it just sounds so crazy." Allen took a deep breath, offered drinks and drank some water himself before finally retelling all the events leading up to calling El Paso Ghost Hunters.

  "So the first time you saw part of their bodies?" said Marcos.

  "Yea, that was weird. Why would I only see about half of them?"

  "Have you been renovating?"

  "Yes, I hired a contractor who gutted the place. Why? Does that mean something?"

  "If you find out the floors were moved, lowered or raised, it might explain what you saw," said Marcos.

  "Oh, I get it. The ghosts or whatever…."

  "Apparitions," said Hector.

  "Oh, apparitions then. I guess they'd be walking in the building as they remembered it, not what we changed it to. That makes sense."

  "That's the theory, anyway," said Marcos.

  Hector asked, "Has anyone else experienced anything different or strange?"

  Allen snapped his fingers. "Now that you mention it, I think the construction crew complained about things being moved around, but nothing serious, and no one said anything about seeing ghosts."

  "I thought there might have been an accident here. Do you know anything?"

  "No, all I know is this used to be a shirtwaist factory. That's the term they used for a woman's shirt back in the early 1900s. My great-grandfather was the original owner. He also had a partner, but I'm pretty sure they closed the factory before 1920. They opened up a couple more businesses, but nothing this big."

  "We like to corroborate anything we experience during an investigation with the history of the building. Sometimes it means something; sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes, it's just a folk-tale that's been handed down."

  "I'm all for you doing a full investigation. I'd like to know whatever you find out."

  "Great. Here's what we plan to do, with your permission of course."

  "Sure. What did you have in mind?"

  "Three things. First, we'll do some research that might give us a clue as to what we're dealing with. Second, we'd like to do a full overnight investigation at your convenience. Third, after going over all the data, we'll sit down with you, and let you know the best course of action."

  Allen chewed his lip a couple of seconds before answering, "Well, I think I called the right people." He patted the top of his desk, and then stood up. "Let's do this." His shoulders relaxed as he offered his hand to both men. "When do you want to start?"

  "You tell us when," said Hector.

  "How about day after tomorrow? How long does this usually take?"

  "We'll start around ten and end about four or five in the morning, depending on the activity level."

  "Do you need me here?"

  "That's up to you."

  "I think I'll leave it to the professionals." Allen started walking them to the elevator. "It's all settled then." He punched the elevator button. "Guys, thank you, I never believed in this kind of thing. And those dreams or visions, I can't lie--they shake me up."

  "No problem," Hector reassured him. "We'll try to come up with some answers for you and help in any way we can."

  6

  Margarita wiped her brow with her sleeve as she bent over her sewing machine. The ninth floor hummed with the clatter of eighty needles biting fabric. She worked at the shirtwaist factory from sunup to sunset, six days a week. Her money went to her family, but her mother snuck a few pennies into her pocket, so she could spend Sunday afternoons downtown with her friend, Angelica.

  Her mother, an older version of Margarita, taught her how a proper young lady should behave. But all those lessons flew away on the wings of the pigeons circling San Jacinto Plaza when she first spotted John. She caught sight of his family leaving St. Patrick's Cathedral after Sunday service and marked how he took his mother's arm and guided her around the square.

  Every Sunday they circled closer and closer. The first time he held her gaze, she was walking around the plaza with her friend Angelica. His gaze was so intense, Margarita's heart took off running like when she was young and racing the other children from the barrio. Her step faltered as he tipped his hat and flashed a neatly folded piece of paper before deliberately tucking it in the planter in front of him. Her eyes widened at his boldness.

  She clung to her Angelica's arm as they neared the planter, pondering how she was going to extract the letter without anyone noticing. Angelica made fun of her brother and started laughing at her own joke. Facing her friend, Margarita fished behind her for the letter and slipped it into her sleeve.

  Her English was poor, but his Spanish was worse. His name was John.

  ***

  When Margarita saw John step out of the glass doors of the elevator at the shirtwaist factory one afternoon, she stopped breathing for five long seconds. Her co-worker, waiting for her to grab the materials and move on, elbowed her and said, "Aye, aye," when she followed Margarita's gaze.

  Margarita's bronzed skin turned red all the way down to the high collar of her shirt. She fought not to run back to her machine, but turned slowly and walked with measured steps. Her fingers fumbled as her mind raced - Why and how had he managed to be here, at the factory?

  She peered over her shoulder as he talked to the owners, Mr. Harris and Mr. Blanc. He bore a vague resemblance to Mr. Harris. With a start she realized who he must be and her heart spiraled downward.

  For a week she clung to sickness to avoid him. But eventually she had to return to work. She struggled to control her eyes from searching for him, instead keeping her head cast down at her feet as if the concentration was the only thing moving her forward.

  Days passed before their eyes met and when they did, his were full of honest questions. She glanced down as his hand slipped a note under the materials piled at the side of her machine. This note, l
onger than the others, asked after her health, had he done something wrong, how could he help, when would she return to the Plaza?

  The meetings on the bench started soon after. She tucked her foot with the broken sandal strap underneath her and wore her very best dress, even though it was the same one, every week. Seeing him in his Sunday suit, she didn't want her appearance to embarrass him. She realized his eyes never left hers or wandered past her face, and she relaxed.

  One day, he arose and left behind a tiny package wrapped in brown paper. She peeled the paper back, like opening the folds of a blanket to peek at a newborn, and beheld the most beautiful thing in the world.