by A. J. Norris
“Hey,” he said from the couch. The latest in The Fast and the Furious franchise lit the flat-screen with a dizzying car chase that sent Stephanie toppling into the armchair. “How was the event?”
“You know, the usual.” She unzipped her ankle boots and nearly wept in relief when they hit the floor.
“I have no idea, actually. You never ask me to come.”
She cringed. “It’s work, Joe. You’d be bored.”
“You could at least ask.” He stared at the TV, eyebrows knitted.
And you could at least pretend I’m more interesting than Vin Diesel while you’re talking to me. “Fine,” Stephanie sighed. She hauled herself out of the chair. “I’m going to bed. I have to write this up tomorrow.”
A loud ding arose from the clutch. Joe cast a pointed look at the clock on the cable box, while Stephanie prayed her face did not divulge her suspicion of the text messenger’s identity.
“Probably Melanie Sinclair with something else to add to the story. That woman can talk.”
Joe shifted uneasily and crossed his arms. “Was he there?”
She paused at the hallway but didn’t turn around. “No,” she said. Thickened with tension and freighted with lies, the atmosphere grew oppressive. She escaped to the bedroom but left her phone alone until she had changed into her most comfortable pajamas and submerged herself beneath the covers.
Aleksandr: Thank you.
For what? The entire situation had been a disaster since the season’s opening night. One—or both—of them was headed for a world of hurt.
You gave him hope.
She shut off her phone.
“And here he goes again,” said the Earthquakes’ commentator. “Aleksandr Volynsky has been playing with fire ever since he got here, and this superstar shows no sign of letting up no matter where his team sits in the standings. His opponents are in for it this season, as he’s proven once more with another Gordie Howe hat trick.”
Aleksandr skated to the sin bin with five for fighting, his stick held high. The small but loyal contingent of Earthquakes fans roared. Faces painted, they joggled handmade signs up and down. Beer sloshed from plastic cups as they high-fived each other. No doubt the backs of their Earthquakes jerseys bore the Volynsky name patch and number. Stephanie, watching from home, touched her fingertips to her mouth and smiled, a nervous reaction bearing no trace of amusement.
She understood playing with fire all too well.
The End
About the Author
Jennifer Loring has been, among other things, a DJ, an insurance claims assistant, and an editor. Her short fiction has been published widely both online and in print; she has worked with Crystal Lake Publishing, DarkFuse, and Digital Fiction Publishing, among many others. Longer work most notably includes the contemporary/sports romance series The Firebird Trilogy and the psychological horror novella Conduits. She lives in Philadelphia, PA with her husband, their turtle, and two basset hounds.
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/JenniferTLoring
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https://twitter.com/JenniferTLoring
Website:
http://jennifertloring.com/
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1493991.Jennifer_Loring
Saint or Sinner
By A.J. Norris
Chapter One
People said Eliana had a morbid fascination with death. Some thought her favorite holiday was Halloween. She preferred the day after—The Day of the Dead, All Saint’s Day. It was also the day he came back.
Blowing out a breath, she stared at the mansion before her, wondering why she’d agreed to meet a couple of friends at a haunted house on Halloween night. She wouldn’t exactly call them friends; they were two girls that allowed her to drive them to select social events. Okay, maybe she was being paranoid because she always thought people didn’t like her. They were nice enough girls.
She climbed the wide porch steps of the Victorian mansion. The windows glowed orange from the inside, and fake spider webs covered the evergreen shrubs in front. Spooky recorded sounds of creaky doors and monster laughter emanated from the house through the open door. The girls she came with, Simone and Bethany, giggled their way inside, leaving her by herself.
Halfway up the steps, Doyle and his mindless drone Jenkins chatted quietly, seemingly ignoring her approach. Had they not noticed her? She held her breath, praying they kept their attention focused elsewhere. Ellie passed by them with her head down and her shoulders slumped. Maybe if she didn’t make eye contact they wouldn’t bother saying anything.
As she passed them on the way to the door, Jenkins called out, “Hey, Ellie.”
She stopped then cursed herself for it. “Hello.” Despite their constant sarcastic remarks, she liked boys—just not these ones, especially Jenkins.
“You going in?”
“No,” she said.
“Then why are you here? You’re such a freak.” Doyle and Jenkins snickered.
“Of course I’m going in. I’m here, aren’t I?” Why did they insist on asking her stupid questions? She resumed trotting up the steps.
“Nice costume,” Doyle told her. She wasn’t wearing one. “Try wearing one without the ugly mask next time.” Behind her, the teenage boys high-fived each other. Ellie didn’t think she was homely, although she pulled some of her hair across the lower half of her face. Damn them. Steeling herself, she handed the guy manning the door her ten-dollar admission fee.
Once inside, she swiped at the tears under her eyes. Oh, God. Her friends waved her over. One of the few things she liked about Si and Beth was their intolerance for Doyle and Jenkins. She smiled crookedly and followed them past a sign that read ‘Your Nightmare Starts Here’ with an arrow pointing up the stairs.
“Let’s hold hands,” Si said, grabbing her hand. Ellie held Beth’s. The flashing strobe lights intensified the farther they climbed. Heavy metal music pumped through a sound system, vibrating her chest. They trailed another group of girls into the first room at the top of the stairs.
Two large men in beat-up, old-school hockey masks carried a limp lifelike body and locked the head and wrists into a guillotine. The blade dropped down, slicing the dummy’s head off. Fake blood oozed out. The rubber head bounced and rolled across the floor. One of the dudes chased after it. After he kicked the head a few times, Ellie giggled. He lifted his mask, and as he neared her, she recognized the player. He winked and her cheeks warmed. Bowie.
His sea green eyes always saw her…At least she hoped this was true. She’d had a crush on him since grade school. He was practically the only guy in school that didn’t ignore or tease her on a regular basis. He was a grade ahead of her, eighteen, and a senior. A smile flickered across his face. Si nudged her, so she waved. Hey…God, he was hot even fumbling for the stupid head.
The girls shuffled out of the room, but Ellie’s eyes lingered on Bowie. Si yanked her along. “You can stare at him later,” she shouted in her ear over the music. Ellie flushed and a cold sweat dampened her shirt. Even though no one could see the red developing in her cheeks, she wanted to hide.
In the center of the next room, a single bare bulb shone a spotlight on a gurney with a girl strapped to it. Duct tape covered her mouth. She wore a bloodied hospital gown. Ellie gaped and shivered when the girl’s glassy eyes made contact with hers. She screamed beneath the tape and shook her head frantically. The floor was slick with dark splotches and shoe tracks led away from the stainless-steel table. Red-splattered sheets hung from the walls. For one single moment, Ellie saw herself as the girl on the table with everyone watching her like she was the patient in a game of doctor gone horribly wrong. She wavered on her feet and clutched Beth and Si’s hands tighter.
This is fake, Ellie told herself, except the jagged slashes crisscrossing her legs looked real. She questioned whether a crime was being committed and stepped toward the girl, wanting to protect her.
“Where are yo
u going?” Si hissed.
She glanced back at her friend for a second. “Something’s not riiiigh—” Her feet came out from underneath her. She landed on her back. Dark liquid seeped into her clothing. The light went out and hands grabbed her under the arms. “No!” She struggled against whoever was holding her. Another scream left her throat.
“It’s us! It’s us!” Si yelled. A strobe light kicked on, revealing Doyle and Jenkins over by the light switch. Their movements seemed jerky in the quick flashes. They laughed. Her eyes misted over. She so didn’t want to cry in front of them. Ellie shrugged away from her friends and fled the room.
Chapter Two
Ellie jogged down the stairs, holding her breath. Crisp October air smacked her in the face when she ran outside. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, bent over at the waist. Putting a hand up to her mouth, she willed the vomit perched at the back of her throat to return from where it came.
Too late.
She groaned while her stomach evacuated its contents: a Burger King Jr. Whopper and fries.
Sure, she shouldn’t leave Si and Beth stranded, but she dashed for her car anyway.
Ellie laid her forehead on the steering wheel, wondering if she’d brought Doyle and Jenkin’s antics on herself. That, somehow, she was responsible for other people’s actions. Someone tapped on the window. Si stood there with her head tilted, looking through the glass. “Are you leaving? Were you just gonna leave us here?” Ellie shook her head, although she’d thought about it. She hit the door unlock button and they climbed into the car.
“You guys can stay. I wanna get outta here.”
“Why’d you bail?” Beth asked from the backseat.
Ellie looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Uh, because I totally spazzed.”
“So? Everyone does at these places. It’s not a big deal.”
“Maybe not for you.”
Beth smirked. “Si, we staying or going?”
“Staying. We can get a ride home from someone.”
“Sorry,” Beth said. “Do you mind…” She pulled the handle and pushed the door open.
“Uh-uh. I’ll probably just drive around for a bit.”
“All right, see ya at school Monday.”
Relief washed over Ellie as the girls walked back toward the house. She rolled her window down for some fresh air. She took a deep breath and checked the dashboard clock. 9:15 p.m. Too early to go home. Her parents would worry she wasn’t social enough. She checked her rearview mirror before pulling away from the curb.
Someone approached her car from behind. Even though the only light shining was from the moon, she knew it was Bowie. She recognized his form and the way he walked. Her heart beat a little faster. He stopped at the truck parked behind her. And from her side mirror, she watched him get in. Where was he going? Was his shift over at the haunted house?
A hulking shape emerged from the dark shadows cast by the trees that lined the street and approached Bowie’s vehicle. The truck’s dome light illuminated a man shoving himself into the cab. “Move over, I’m driving!” the stranger barked.
“What do you want?” Bowie asked.
The man’s response was muffled, but he moved over, allowing him to get behind the wheel. Who the hell was this guy? Was Bowie in trouble?
Ellie thought about the time after one of his baseball games last spring; he’d hit a home run that night. She had purposely parked her car next to his. After the game, she waited for him. He had the game ball in his hand when he emerged from the school, his dark hair still wet from the showers. She smiled at him. “Hey, nice hit,” she said.
“Yeah, thanks…you like baseball?” he asked, making her blush. The only reason she came to the games was to see him, so she shrugged instead of lying. “It’s just that I see you at every game.”
“Not the away ones,” she blurted.
His penetrating eyes focused on her for a moment. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Well, here,” he said, holding the ball out to her.
“No, I couldn’t take—”
“I’ve got more.” As he handed over the ball, his fingertips brushed her palm. Her heart leapt. Her hand tingled. A clear picture flashed inside her mind of him lying across the bench seat of his truck. She snapped her hand back. Bowie smirked then jumped into his pickup and sped away. Even though she didn’t understand what had happened between them or the vision, it still haunted her.
The truck’s engine roared to life and she waited for them to drive past before starting her car. She told herself she should go home instead of following Bowie and some dude she’d never seen before. However, she couldn’t ignore the prickly feeling running up her spine. The vision she experienced and her nagging intuition told her something wasn’t right. She didn’t fully understand why, but she had to follow the truck.
She chased after them, speeding through a changing yellow light. Ellie allowed another car to get between her and Bowie’s truck. She tailed them but she didn’t want it to seem as if that was her intention. They took the interstate on-ramp and traveled south. When the truck exited and went down an unpaved dead-end road, Ellie hung back and parked along the residential road perpendicular to where the truck had turned. She took out her phone and used the GPS to figure out where she was and where Bowie may have gone. She wasn’t familiar with this end of town.
The screen showed that the road he’d headed down ended at a water treatment reservoir. Several square pools showed on Google Earth. Ellie flopped her head back on the seat. She sighed and decided to wait. Thirty-five anxiety-filled minutes passed while she checked her email and played a round of Soda Crush before she lost all her lives. Go home, you shouldn’t be here, she told herself more than once.
Footsteps crushing road gravel grew louder. With the headlights off, she couldn’t see who was coming toward her. Her heart pounded. She swallowed hard. A black SUV pulled up and whipped in front of her car, illuminating the man who had gotten into Bowie’s truck earlier. His hands were shoved into his pockets. He jumped into the waiting car and it drove off. Where was Bowie?
Once again, she debated whether she should go home. According to her phone, the treatment area was at least a mile down the unlit road. This was nuts. But where was Bowie? She waited another ten minutes except there was no sign of him or his pickup. Maybe he needed help or the police or…something. Oh, God. Ellie started her car and turned onto the dead-end lane.
She flipped on her brights. The road seemed to get longer the farther she went. Rocks pinged off the undercarriage of her Mazda. Eventually, she arrived at the end of the road. A fence surrounded the treatment plant and the gate had been pushed open. Four murky pools formed a large square with footpaths intersecting it. A tall lamppost rose above in the center.
Creeping along, she scanned the surface of the ponds. The water, although dark, was smooth. A spike of fear jabbed her gut. Oh…God. She found Bowie’s truck parked in the driveway in front of an operations shack off to the side. The tiny building had one spotlight shining. This was a stupid, stupid idea. However, no one seemed to be around; she had to at least check the truck. She tried not envisioning the worst.
The window was open on the driver’s side. “Bowie?” she said through her cracked passenger window. No one responded. “Bowie, it’s me…Ellie,” she said tentatively. She glanced around before getting out of her car. Leaving the door open and the engine running, she hurried around the rear of her car to the truck with her cell in hand. The full-sized pickup had larger tires and required her to get closer to see inside. She tramped through a dark puddle at the side of the truck. Liquid seeped out the bottom of the rusty closed door and dripped onto the ground. “Uh!” Ellie slapped her hands over her mouth.
Dread filled her soul. Knowing what she might find, Ellie opened the door. Creeeeak. “Shhh.” Who was she shushing? The door?
Lying on the bench seat was Bowie, his feet still on the passenger side floor. This was the vision from all those months ago. Blood covered his nec
k. “Oh, no. God.” Ellie’s stomach bottomed out. She leaned in and he made a sound like a shallow wheezy inhale. She jumped and scooted backward into her car. He was alive. “OhmyGod.” His hand twitched and his eyes fluttered open.
“E-Ellie…” he whispered before his body went lax again.
The blood drained out of her head. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. She just stared gape-mouthed. Do something, she told herself. But what, call 9-1-1? Yes. Her hands and fingers shook while she dialed. The phone rang and rang. “Come on! Why don’t they answer?”
“9-1-1. What is your emergency?” the dispatcher said.
“I’m, I’m, um…at—where am I? A water treatment…” A sign hung over the cinderblock building’s door. “Westbury Water Treatment Facility…I need an ambulance!”
“Calm down, ma’am. What’s your name?”
“Ellie.” She crept toward the truck, afraid of getting too close.
“Okay, Ellie—”
“Hurry, he’s dying?”
“Who’s dying?”
“Bowie, my friend, someone—oh God, hurry!”
“Ma’am, I need you to calm down and tell me what happened.”
“I need an ambulance! Didn’t you hear me?”
“Police and EMS are on their way. Stay with your friend and tell me what happened.”
“I dunno. I’m scared.”
“I know you are. I’ll stay on the phone with you until the police arrive. What happened?”
Ellie sniffled. “It looks like someone slit his throat. Oh God.”
Headlights shone from up the road leading to the treatment plant. Sirens didn’t blare nor were there flashing blue-and-red lights. The SUV had returned. “Oh, no. No, no, no.”