by Mark Lukens
After stowing his empty duffel bag in the closet, Ryan lay down on the bed, testing it out. It was comfortable; it didn’t squeak when he moved around. Not too lumpy. He lay on his back and slipped his hands underneath his head. He stared up at the ceiling of rough plaster that had a few hairline cracks here and there.
He would need to go to the store and get some supplies: toothbrush, soap, and shampoo for the bathroom. He would also need some deodorant, cologne, razors and shaving cream. He would also need to buy a few changes of clothes. Maybe a light jacket.
His eyes began to close as he made his plans to go to the stores.
He had almost drifted off to sleep when he was jerked awake.
The scratching noise at the window. A shrill screech, like a sharp piece of metal being dragged down the door of a car.
He stared at the branches that scraped against the window’s glass from the sudden breeze that moaned outside.
His eyes closed as he stared at the branches and he drifted off into …
4.
… pitch black.
He stood alone in the pure black darkness. He was afraid. He could hear footsteps from behind him, echoing in the dark. Someone was approaching.
He turned and saw a reddish-colored light mixed in with the darkness behind him. And someone was walking towards him, emerging from that light. It was a man.
As the man approached, Ryan could see him better, like his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. The man seemed to be in his late thirties. He had a shock of red hair on his head and he was dressed in a black suit and tie.
But even from this distance Ryan could tell there was something wrong with the man’s face and hands. His face was a roadmap of scars. Some of the scars wound down his face and snaked down into the white collar of his shirt and tie. But the worst scars were the thick slashes that ran from each corner of his mouth up to his earlobes, almost like his face was split in half. And his lips and the flesh around his mouth seemed to have been pulled away
(chewed away)
from his face, revealing too much of his teeth and gums. Because his teeth and gums were revealed from the missing flesh, it seemed like he was constantly giving Ryan a rictus smile; it gave the man an insane, clown-like appearance. A tortured clown.
The red-haired man’s scarred hands hung down beside him. Ryan could see that all of the man’s fingernails were gone, and the ends of his ruined fingers were dripping blood.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The red-haired man stopped approaching and stood in front of Ryan; he was only ten feet away. The man smiled at Ryan and the scars on each side of his face bunched up grotesquely.
Ryan backed up a step away from the man; he was beginning to panic. “Who … who are you?” Ryan asked as he struggled for breath.
“You know who I am,” the red-haired man whispered.
His ruined fingertips continued to drip blood down to the dark floor below.
“What happened to you?” Ryan whispered.
“You know that, too,” the man said.
Ryan couldn’t take it; he couldn’t stand in front of this monstrosity anymore. He turned and ran into the darkness and he was suddenly …
… drowning in dark, churning water. He tried to swim up to the surface of the water where he could see a dim light. In the strange way that dreams have, Ryan was both inside his body and outside of it; he watched himself swim up towards the light.
And he could see that when he lifted his face up to the light that his own eyes were gone – there were only two deep black holes where his eyes used to be.
5.
Ryan jumped awake in his bed. He sat bolt-upright, breathing hard, staring straight ahead at the dresser with the TV on top of it. It seemed to be late afternoon, but it wasn’t dark yet.
Thank God I didn’t wake up in the dark, he thought.
His hands went to his own eyes, almost like he was making sure they were still there as he remembered seeing himself swimming in the dark water, looking up to the surface with no eyes.
He tried to push away the pictures of the dream and he began to relax a little. His heart and breathing began to slow back down to a normal rate. Then he heard the scratching noise.
He turned and looked at the window.
The red-haired man from his dream was right outside the window among the tree branches – but he wasn’t on the branch, he seemed to be floating in the air. He stared at Ryan with his constant smile of exposed teeth and gums and the deep gashes that ran from his mouth to his ears were bunched up. He ran his ruined fingertips across the glass of the window and left bloody streaks behind.
Ryan backed away from the man in the window without even realizing what he was doing. He fell off the other side of the bed and crashed down to the wood floor. In a panic, he jumped up from the floor onto his knees and he crouched over the bed like someone praying at the side of their bed. He stared at the window.
But the red-haired man was gone.
There was nothing there, no bloody smears on the glass, only the branches scratching at the window.
6.
Downstairs, Victor and Tom sat at the small table in the kitchen. There were plates of half-eaten dinner in front of them. Carol stood at the sink, putting leftover dinner into Tupperware dishes.
They all looked up at the ceiling when they heard the thumping sound from upstairs when Ryan fell onto the floor.
Both Victor and Tom stopped chewing their food as they watched the ceiling for a long moment.
There were no other noises from up there.
Victor looked at Carol. “And you don’t think this one’s going to be trouble?” he asked her.
Carol looked at Victor. “I hope not.”
CHAPTER FOUR
1.
Ryan got up from the floor and hurried to the bathroom. He washed his face with cold water that shocked his flushed skin. His eyes kept darting up to the mirror; he almost expected to see the red-haired man’s ruined face floating right behind him in the reflection.
It was just a nightmare, he told himself. That’s all. It wasn’t real.
Ryan dried his face off with a “good towel” that Carol had hanging from decorative fake brass rings on the wall. He walked back out to his bedroom. He really wanted to take a shower and change into a different set of clothes. But he didn’t have another set of clothes – he still needed to go to the store.
He thought about the red-haired man again. There was something about the man, something … familiar.
No, Ryan didn’t want to believe that.
It was just a nightmare.
But the red-haired man could have something to do with the answers to my past, Ryan’s mind whispered. Maybe that’s why I’m here.
Ryan left the bathroom and went back to his bed. He sat down on the edge of it and stared at the window. He didn’t want to think about the red-haired man right now. He didn’t want to think about the nightmares.
He just watched the tree branches moving in the breeze outside the window. Leaves fluttering, sharp ends of small branches clawing at the glass.
After a half an hour Ryan stood up. He was calm now. He needed to go to the store. He needed a change of clothes.
And he needed to get out of this house for a while, drive somewhere, clear his mind some more.
Ryan walked to his bedroom door. He checked to make sure he had his car keys, wallet, and the wad of money in his pants pocket. Then he fished out the skeleton key and unlocked his door and went downstairs.
2.
Downstairs in the living room, Carol sat in her recliner and knitted. Victor and Tom each sat on a couch. They were both reading; Tom was reading the financial section of the newspaper, and Victor was reading a detective novel. This seemed like a nightly routine for them. They all looked up as Ryan came down the stairs.
When Ryan got to the bottom of the stairs, he saw a big orange cat. The cat stared up at Ryan like it had just seen a monster. The cat’s ears went as flat as airpla
ne wings and he hissed at Ryan before darting off down the hall to Carol’s bedroom.
Ryan watched the cat run for its life. He looked at Carol, Victor, and Tom who were all staring at him. He shrugged and gave them a lop-sided smile. “I guess the cat doesn’t like me much.”
“He usually likes everyone,” Victor said.
“Don’t give him a hard time, Victor,” Carol said. She looked at Ryan and gestured at the two men. “These are my other two tenants: Victor and Tom.”
Ryan smiled at them and walked over to shake their hands, but he stopped in his tracks when he realized that neither one had any interest in shaking his hand. “Pleased to meet you,” he said as he pulled his hand back.
“This is Ryan,” Carol said to Victor and Tom. “My new tenant. He’s renting out Bob’s old room.”
“You’re not from around here, are you?” Victor asked as he studied Ryan unabashedly.
“No,” Ryan answered.
“What brings you to Edrington?” Victor kept probing.
Ryan hesitated.
“You got family here?” Victor asked. “Friends?”
Ryan shrugged. He needed to give them some kind of answer. Even Carol had stopped knitting and waited for his response. Ryan surely couldn’t tell them that he’d woken up in a motel room with no memory of his life and that he’d found this address in his wallet.
“Work,” Ryan finally said. “I’m uh … looking for some work.”
Tom barked out a laugh and went back to reading his newspaper. “You came to the wrong town if you’re looking for work.”
Victor’s eyes never left Ryan. “I think you’re looking for something other than work.” Victor paused, waiting for a reaction from Ryan that he didn’t get. “Or more like you’re running from something.”
Ryan’s heart skipped a beat. Did Victor know something about Ryan’s past? Was he testing him in some way? Was Victor the reason Ryan was here? Ryan couldn’t be sure, and he couldn’t risk questioning Victor about it in front of Carol. He would have to wait it out and see what happened.
Carol tossed her knitting aside and got to her feet. “That’s enough from you, Victor.”
“What?” Victor said with feigned shock. “I was only trying to make conversation.” Victor glanced over at Tom for help, but Tom still had his nose buried in the newspaper.
Carol walked over to Ryan and she surprised him by gently taking his arm and leading him towards the dining room. “I think you’ve had enough of the Inquisition for one day. Are you hungry?”
Tom put his newspaper down. “He missed dinner time. Those are the rules.”
Carol stopped walking and she turned to Tom with fierce eyes. “Well, I’m making an exception this time.”
Tom looked wounded. “Okay, Carol. You don’t have to snap at me.”
Carol looked back at Ryan and she gave him a razor-thin smile. Ryan was sure Carol meant the smile to be comforting – but it wasn’t.
“Come on into the kitchen with me,” she said.
3.
In the kitchen, Ryan sat at the small wood table that seated four. The décor was cozy-country, with old blue plates set on a high shelf all around the room. There were wood cabinets, the wood table, a wood floor – a lot of wood in the kitchen. Even though most of the kitchen still looked like it belonged to the turn of the century, the appliances had been updated to modern times. And Carol stood in front of one of those modern appliances, the microwave oven, and waited as a plate of food heated up.
“I’m sorry about Victor and Tom,” Carol said as she watched the plate of food rotate inside the microwave. “They’ll warm up to you, they’re just being overprotective. They’re always that way with new tenants.”
“It’s okay,” Ryan said from the table. “How long have you been renting rooms out?”
The microwave oven dinged and Carol opened the door and pulled out a heaping plate of food. She brought it to the table and set it in front of Ryan. “About ten years now. I started renting rooms after my husband died.” She turned away to grab some silverware for Ryan.
Ryan wished he hadn’t asked her now.
She brought a knife, fork, and paper towel back to Ryan. “We never had any children, and when he was gone, the house just seemed so … empty.”
Ryan nodded. Carol didn’t seem sad about it; she said everything matter-of-factly, like she had learned to deal with this long ago. She walked back to the refrigerator. “What do you want to drink?” she asked over her shoulder.
Ryan stared down at the knife and fork Carol had just laid down beside his plate of food. He picked up the knife and stared at it; it was a steak knife with a serrated edge. And it fascinated him for a moment. He turned it slightly in his hand and he let the overhead kitchen light wink off the blade.
“Uh … whatever you have,” Ryan finally answered Carol, but his voice sounded so far away to his own ears.
He set the knife down and looked at the plate of food. Some kind of meat smothered in brown gravy with mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables on the side. His stomach grumbled and he realized that he was very hungry. He wondered how long it had been since he had eaten. The last thing he remembered eating were the crackers and candy bars from the motel vending machines.
“I’ve got iced tea,” Carol said from the refrigerator. “Milk. Water. Orange juice.”
Ryan looked at Carol. “I haven’t had orange juice in a long time,” he said, but he wasn’t sure if this was true or not because he couldn’t remember his past. But it seemed true to him in a way that he couldn’t explain.
Carol poured a glass of orange juice and brought it to the table.
“Thanks,” Ryan said and he picked up the glass of juice. He had meant to just take a sip, but he ended up drinking almost all of it down. He was suddenly so thirsty and it tasted so good.
Carol sat down in one of the chairs at the table and she watched him carefully. Ryan noticed that she was staring at him and he smiled. He took a bite of the food and, much like the orange juice, he found it hard to stop eating the food once he started.
Ryan shoveled food into his mouth and then stopped when he realized that Carol was still staring at him. He smiled at her and swallowed a lump of food. “Sorry. I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”
“That’s quite all right,” she said and smiled, but her smile was tight and it didn’t touch her eyes. “I like to see a hungry man eat.”
Ryan ate the rest of the food.
Carol glanced at the archway that led out to the dining room like there might be someone spying on them, and then she looked back at Ryan as he wiped gravy from his mouth with the paper towel. “If you’re really looking for work, I know Buddy McRae is hiring.”
Ryan nodded. “Yeah, that would be great.”
“He’s building a new plaza on the north side of town. You ever do any construction work?”
Ryan couldn’t really answer that. He didn’t know what he’d done before last night. But he shrugged. “A little, I guess. I’m a quick learner.”
Carol jumped to her feet and hurried to a kitchen drawer. She took out a piece of paper and a pen. She jotted something down and brought the paper to Ryan. “I know Buddy very well. I’ll call him in a little while and let him know you’ll be coming by tomorrow morning.”
Ryan looked down at the directions Carol had written on the piece of paper. He looked up at her. “Thanks. You don’t have to go to all of this trouble.”
“Oh, nonsense,” Carol said and smiled at him. “I want to help.”
4.
After Ryan finished his dinner, he tried to help Carol clean up the kitchen but she wouldn’t let him. He thanked her again for the dinner and told her that he was going to a store. He went back out to the living room and braced himself, ready for another onslaught of interrogation from the two old men, but they weren’t in the living room. He left out the front door and went to his car.
He drove back down south on the county road to a Super Wal-Mart he’d
seen on his way into town; he figured they should have everything he needed there.
He roamed the aisles through the supermarket section first. He grabbed some toothpaste and a toothbrush, a comb, deodorant, some cheap cologne and aftershave, some shaving cream and razors.
In the clothing section, he picked out three sets of clothes – pants and shirts. He grabbed a pair of sweat pants to sleep in and a pack of socks and boxer briefs. He also selected a light jacket in case it got chilly at night.
That should be enough to get me by, he thought.
For how long? his mind whispered.
How long was he going to be here? Until his memory came back? Until whoever was following him caught up to him? Until the red-haired monstrosity from his nightmares came to –
Ryan pushed these thoughts away as he rolled his shopping cart to the checkout lanes. It was dark outside the plate glass windows of the store – later than he thought.
He sighed as he waited in line and made himself calm down. He just needed to take things one day at a time, let his mind relax and see what memories came back to him.
5.
Hours after Ryan left the Super Wal-Mart, it was closing time at Charlie’s Pub.
Amber cleaned up the bar as Charlie tried to get the last of the drunks to stagger on home. Amber wiped down the bar, restocked the glasses, checked the liquor levels and recorded them in a log. She gathered up the two bags of garbage and took them to the dumpster out back.
As soon as she stepped outside the back door, the night wind toyed with her dark hair. She walked through the darker area of the parking lot (Charlie refused to spend the money on lights in this back parking area which was mostly for employees) to the dumpster that sat in the far corner; right now the dumpster was just a dark shape in the night.