by A. R. Wise
She glanced in through the front window, past the patchy bushes, at her empty cubicle. Claire’s seat faced the window, but Nancy could only see the side of her coworker from this vantage, the rest was covered by the fabric wall of the cubicle.
The phone rang and the incessant buzzing was loud enough to hear even with the door closed. She watched as Claire shifted to click the button on the computer that would answer the call. Nancy took another long drag and looked away from the building, toward the small downtown area of Widowsfield. It was quiet, with only a few cars pulled up to the Salt and Pepper diner on the corner and a UPS truck parked in front of the Anderson Used Book Store. The Widowsfield Emergency Services building shared a parking lot with a local credit union, but there rarely ever seemed to be anyone at the lonely bank.
She closed her eyes and dwelled in her own thoughts for a moment. It had been a long few weeks, and there was no end in sight. She was stuck in a workaday world, at a job she hated, with a mountain of bills waiting at home and no prospect of relief. She felt like crying.
The cigarette was burned to the filter far too quickly. Her excuse for a break, minutes after getting to work, was over. She glanced at the clock on the bank’s sign at the entrance of the parking lot.
3:14
She looked for Darryl’s Chevy and then flicked her cigarette butt onto the hood before flipping off the car. A swirl of smoke wafted in front of her face and she waved it away only to see more smoke appear, as if her arm’s movement had cast a spell bringing with it a grey mist. She looked down and saw the thick smoke filling the parking lot, like water moving slowly through the town.
“What the fuck?”
She kicked at it, and the mist wafted up where it sullied the air. A flash of green light erupted near her and an electric zap cascaded up the gutter on the side of the building. Dogs started to bark as the fog swept through the streets. Then a massive black shadow was cast over the ground as something flew by above, blotting out the sun for a second. She tried to look up, but the fog surged skyward to block her view.
The dogs started to growl, and she saw black shadows zip through the fog in the parking lot. The movement caused the mist to ripple before a green wave of light flashed from within.
Nancy quickly opened the door and ran inside as the fog snuck in by her feet. She kicked at it as if it were a corporeal entity. It dissipated around her leg as she pulled the door closed.
Someone was groaning nearby. It was a wet gurgle, as if someone was choking. She saw Claire in her chair, rolled into the center of the space between their cubicles, staring at her. It took a minute for Nancy’s brain to register what she was seeing. It seemed impossible, and she blinked several times before accepting that it was real.
Claire’s body was partially sunk into the chair and her headset was pressed into her head. The microphone stuck out of her throat and the head band jutted from her ear as if someone had plunged the headset into her, but there was no blood to be seen. Her arm was trapped in the armrest of the chair, and her left leg was below the seat while her right was above. She was twisted, and when she tried to speak only a gurgle came forth. Spittle dripped down her chin as her eyes darted back and forth, terror seizing her as she struggled to get free.
Nancy screamed and backed away.
That’s when she saw the creature outside. It was the size of a child, but with the head of a dog. The monstrosity clawed at the glass door with hands that looked neither human nor canine, but a bloody, pulpy mix of both. The creature snapped its jaws against the glass, spreading its lips wide to bare vicious white teeth. It seemed to be trying to bite her through the glass.
“Somebody help,” said Nancy just before the windows broke all around her. Green electricity cracked through the room as the humanoid dogs rushed in from all sides. She tried to fight them off, but they held her down as their maws ripped at her clothes and flesh. They tore at her, shaking their heads back and forth, nipping at one another to secure a spot for the kill. Their nude, childlike bodies writhed over one another as their grotesque heads gnawed at her bones. She should’ve been dead, but nothing could end the pain. The fog swirled around her and lifted her head to force her to watch. The green electricity zapped in her ears, stinging and burning, as the creatures ripped her apart. She could see her bones, her intestines, her heart, and her lungs. She watched as the monsters fought over her meat.
The fog wouldn’t let her die. The mist was capable of trapping her spirit, and she was conscious even though her body ceased to live. The flashing green fog kept her alive and forced her to witness every agonizing moment until the creatures plucked out her eyes. Then she was forced to listen.
16 Years Later
March 9th, 2012
Alma stared at her apartment complex from the safety of her car. The yellow lights in the parking lot cast a hazy hue over the scene, as if a polluted mist had descended upon her life.
“Are you here?” she asked as she chewed on her thumbnail. “Did you find out where I live, you son of a bitch?”
She could see her apartment door, on the middle floor of the three-story building. Each section of the apartments was connected to the next by a concrete, railed landing with stairs that zigzagged down. From her vantage she could see her nondescript door as June bugs and moths fluttered around her porch light.
Was her father hiding in the shadows? Was he waiting for her?
She reached for her purse and got her cell phone. She flipped over to her page of contacts and thought about which of them might be able to help her. Several of her friends were out of town, and others didn’t answer her call. She kept trying, even selecting people she hadn’t spoken to in years. The few people that answered all had excuses as to why they were unavailable.
Alma led a reclusive life, only venturing out to go to work and the occasional concert. She wasn’t socially adept, preferring the comfort of a late night movie alone than a party. She didn’t make friends easily, and when she did they usually tired of trying to convince her to come out. Alma always had an excuse why she was staying home for the night, and eventually the new friend would stop calling.
There was always Paul.
She looked at his icon on the phone. He had a wide, beaming smile and a stoner’s eyes. “Fuck it.” She tapped his icon and waited, half hoping he wouldn’t answer.
“Yo,” he answered with a lethargic greeting.
“Paul?”
“Alma? Holy shit.” She heard covers rustle and assumed he was in bed. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“Paul,” she sighed, regretting this already. “I need your help.”
“You got it, babe. What’s up?”
Alma had a mixed reaction to his voice. His lounging baritone, each syllable drawn out as if he savored them equally, caused an equal amount of disgust and adoration in her. While their past convinced her to hate him, she couldn’t help but love him a little.
“I need a place to stay.”
He didn’t answer.
“Paul?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure. I heard you. Just, you know, thinking about it.” He sighed and she could hear him scratching at his scalp like he always did when conflicted.
“Never mind.” Alma was annoyed and ready to hang up.
“You can stay here, Alma,” said Paul. “You’re always welcome, you know that. It’s just that, well, you need to know that I’m not alone here. You know what I mean?”
“You’ve got a roommate now?” asked Alma.
He paused for a telling second before saying, “Sort of.”
She understood what he meant, and didn’t know how to respond. “Maybe I’ll just get a hotel.”
“You don’t have to,” said Paul. “You can stay here if you want.”
“No,” said Alma. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
Alma and Paul had been together long enough for him to become familiar with the underlying meaning of certai
n phrases. Every couple develops passive aggressive mannerisms, and Alma was as guilty of it as anyone else. Paul knew that when she said, ‘I’ll be fine,’ it really meant anything but that. And if Alma were being honest with herself she would admit that she deliberately used that tone to stoke Paul’s compassion. It wasn’t that she wanted to guilt him into helping her, but rather that she needed him to hear how hurt she was that he was sleeping with another girl. Even though they’d broken things off, for the third time, over six months ago, Alma still hadn’t moved on and the revelation that he had was agonizing. Six months was far too long to dwell on a failed relationship, but Paul and Alma had kept in contact over the break, and she always thought they would end up together again. It was agonizing to find out that Paul felt differently.
She could hear Paul push the covers off of himself as he got up. “Babe, stop being silly. If you need help, I’m here for you. What’s going on?”
“I just need a place to sleep for the night.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, sure, and I’m the first person you call? Come on, Alma, don’t treat me like I’m an idiot. What’s the matter?”
“You weren’t the first person I called.” She had a spiteful bite to her words. “I literally called everyone else I could before I called you.”
He stayed quiet, and Alma felt bad for attacking him.
“Look, I’m sorry,” said Alma. “I’ve had a crappy day.”
She heard his beard scratch on the phone and then a beer bottle hiss as it was opened. The cap clinked on the counter and she could imagine the scene, his kitchen littered with bottles, some upright and others overturned, and a seared pan on the stove, probably filled with burned macaroni. He was always a mess when they weren’t together.
“Door’s open,” he said callously. “You know the address.” Then his tone softened and Alma could tell that he was sorry for being gruff with her. “If you want my help, I’ll always be here for you. I didn’t mean to sound nasty, I’ve just had a long day. A buddy of mine got in some trouble and I’ve been trying to help him out. It’s a long story.” He groaned and Alma could hear his beard scratching on the receiver again. “I want you to come here, Alma. I’ve been meaning to call you, but just haven’t worked up the courage. Come to my place and I’ll help you with whatever you need.”
“You’ve been working up the courage to call me by banging some girl?” asked Alma.
“It’s complicated,” said Paul.
“I’m sure it is.”
His voice lowered and he spoke quickly, “Look, babe, I want you here. The door’ll be open.”
He hung up.
She looked down at her phone in shock, as if he’d cursed at her. “You asshole.” She tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and then stared up at her apartment as if the conversation might’ve given her strength to attempt to go home, if for no other reason than to avoid giving Paul the satisfaction of seeking his help.
She grinded her grip on the top of her steering wheel as she looked up at the swirling bugs in front of her apartment door. If her father was going to hide, where would he do it? She looked at the shadows that plagued the space between her car and the apartment door. He could’ve been in the bushes along the building’s façade, or on the other side of a stairwell, faced away from the parking lot and out of her line of sight. Maybe he was already in the apartment. He could’ve lied to the office, and showed them his license to prove he was her father, convincing them that he was here to surprise his daughter. He could be in there right now, hiding.
Had she left the bedroom light on?
It was on now. She could see her bedroom window from the car. Had she left the light on this morning? She often did, but how could she be sure? What if it was him? What if he was in her room, searching through her drawers, planning his assault? He couldn’t have gotten here before her, could he? What if he did?
“Fuck that.” She yelled out as if celebrating her decision not to chance fate. She put the car in reverse and sped out of the complex’s lot, a chill running down her spine the whole way as if she’d just barely escaped with her life. Whenever she finally decided to come home, she wouldn’t be alone.
Alma intended to go to a hotel, but she passed them all on her way to Paul’s. His studio apartment was in the city, in a neighborhood that was in the midst of a planned renewal. It was going to be called ‘LoDo’, standing for Lower Downtown, and city officials promised that the rejuvenation would attract new business. They hoped to push out what they called the ‘unwanted element’ and restore a sense of pride to the neighborhood.
Alma wondered what element Paul fell into.
His studio was above a tattoo parlor, and was accessed by a stairwell in the rear. She parked next to a row of Harleys beside the parlor and could hear the raucous music as soon as she turned off the car. Tattoo parlors often stayed open late to host parties, and this one was no exception. When she’d lived with Paul, they attended several of the bashes that the parlor’s owner threw, and she had a couple lasting reminders of those nights on hidden parts of her body. It’s hard to turn down a free tattoo when you’re drunk.
“What the hell are you thinking, Alma?” she asked herself. “Don’t do this. Just go to a hotel. Don’t get out of the car.”
She fiddled with the keys as they dangled from the ignition. The teddy bear keychain that Paul bought her on their first date, back in high school, spun from its chain.
“Fuck it.”
She took the keys out and put them in her purse along with her phone before she got out and headed for Paul’s door. She raced up the wooden stairs as if scared she might reconsider. She didn’t have a coat, and the chilly night caused her arms to break out in goose bumps.
She stood in front of the simple white door, hesitant to go in. There was a new mat at her feet that read, ‘Welcome.’ She wondered when he bought that as she wiped her loafers on it.
Why did she wear such plain shoes to work every day? She looked at her drab outfit and thought about how nice Rachel looked at the restaurant. Alma needed to start dressing nicer. She was suddenly embarrassed that she had been filmed for a news program today. And now she was standing in front of Paul’s apartment, dressed in clothes she should’ve thrown out years ago. The once purple top had faded to mauve and her jeans were worn out in all the wrong spots. Then a terrifying thought came to her that she hadn’t considered before: What if his new girlfriend was here?
The door opened and Paul greeted her. “Hey beautiful.” He glanced up and down, inspecting her. “You look good. Did you start jogging again?”
“Don’t patronize me. I look like shit.”
He rolled his eyes, sighed, and turned away from her. “Fine, whatever. You look like a washed up hag. Get in. It’s cold.”
Paul looked good. He was a big guy, both in height and width, but his weight was sexy. He lamented his former football physique, but she often tried to convince him that some girls liked hefty men, and she was one of them. He had a gut, but it wasn’t a loose one. It was as if he were just a big, bulging muscle. His beard was trimmed down from its once bushy length, but was still thick, and he’d shaved his long hair down to stubble, revealing a head tattoo of a snake that she’d never known about. He had a tank top on and a pair of torn jeans that he hadn’t bothered buttoning or zipping up all the way.
“I like your hair,” said Alma as she walked in.
He rubbed his palm over the stubble. “Yeah? Thanks. I lost a bet.”
Alma glanced around the impeccably clean apartment. She couldn’t believe the sight, and knew that he hadn’t been able to simply clean up in anticipation of her possible arrival. “What the hell is this?” she asked as she looked around. “Did you hire a maid or something?”
He rubbed his belly, which was a trait that she’d always loved about him. Every morning when he got out of bed he would stretch and his long arms would nearly touch the ceiling before he’d bring them back down to rub his stomach. It was one of a thousand endea
ring traits that she recalled.
She knew she was falling back into the same old trap. Alma let this happen far too frequently, but even when she recognized the pattern she was helpless to avoid it. The comfort of familiarity was alluring. She recalled all of the things she loved about Paul, but none of what she hated.
Alma glanced around the studio apartment, relieved to see that Paul had asked his slut to leave.
“No. I’ve been trying to keep things nice around here. It hasn’t been easy. You know how I am.”
“Yeah, I do.” The cleanliness was a nice change, but she felt oddly uncomfortable in the apartment that had once been her home away from home. It seemed somehow foreign now.
“Want a beer?” he asked, already headed to the corner of the studio where the kitchen was set behind a breakfast counter.
She nodded and walked with him while still surveying the changes in the apartment. A new flat screen television was mounted on the wall and had tall speakers one either side of it. All of the changes were welcome ones, but she felt a pang of sorrow that she hadn’t been around to see them. She would’ve preferred that Paul stayed exactly as he was the day she walked out, as if it was impossible for him to live without her.
When they got to the kitchen, Alma was almost sad to see that there wasn’t a burned pan of macaroni on the stove. She felt like a mother visiting her son’s new home for the first time, expecting disaster, only to discover that he didn’t need her anymore.
“Here you go,” he said after he popped the top off a Milk Stout Nitro and handed it to her.
“Glass?” she asked.
He smirked and winked. “That’s my girl.” He retrieved an extra tall pint glass from the cabinet and gave it to her.