by J. Thorn
Drew hit the last button on his keyboard, pushed the chair back from the desk, and stood. He pulled his shirt down and hitched his pants up on his hips.
“You working out?” asked Brian.
“Are you gay?” replied Drew.
With a shake of the head, he followed Brian through the cubicle rows to the private conference room on the floor.
“Here’s what I heard,” Brian began.
Drew stiffened and rubbed his eyes.
“The woman found in the Crooked Tail River last week is Vivian. It appears she was the victim of a crime, not an accident. They think her resignation was not her own idea, that it may have been part of her abduction.”
Drew shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“And, the second body found in Crooked Tail River is Johnson.”
Drew shook. The grainy image of his family at the park flashed across his vision. Sweat broke out on his forehead and he wiped a bead from his upper lip.
“The guys in IT are working on the network infrastructure to get us remote access to critical apps so we can work from home.”
Drew shivered and shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak but could not find the right words.
“We’re all shaken, bro,” Brian said to Drew, reaching for his arm.
Drew shrugged off the gesture and looked Brian in the eye before speaking. “I think I’m next.”
***
Ravna set the stainless-steel kettle on the stove top. He ignited the burner with a pungent whiff of natural gas, followed by the burnt smell of a long-forgotten meal that managed to bubble over the lid and rest in the drip pan. He looked at the microwave clock and did the math on the number of hours of sleep he would have if he fell asleep that instant. The calculations were not in his favor. Mashoka sat on the couch, staring at the television.
“Turn it on,” Ravna said.
Mashoka shook his head and dismissed the idea with a groan.
“Suit yourself. Gonna take another ten minutes for the teapot to boil.”
“Ten minutes? I don’t have that kind of time.”
Ravna deflected the old man’s sarcasm like a March snowflake, annoying and temporary. He opened several cabinets until he found crusty packets of artificial sweetener. He had saved them for this exact occasion.
“You never know when a senior citizen is going to drop in at 1:08 a.m. for a cup of tea to tell you a story about hungry ghosts from Japan.”
Another groan from Mashoka told Ravna that he had spoken too loudly. The teapot threw steam in the air and the lid rattled as the water inside heated. Before it could launch into a full-blown whistle, Ravna turned the burner off with a sharp click as it moved past the igniter and suffocated the last of the natural gas in the line. He poured the hot water into two mugs, each with a dollop of honey at the bottom and a tea bag dangling on the inside of the mug. Ravna crumpled the tea bag wrappers into a ball and tossed the “Chai Tea” into the garbage.
“It’s like ‘Tea Tea’,” he said, looking for a reaction from Mashoka.
The old man had not moved since he entered the apartment, and his eyes were closed as he gained control of his breathing.
Ravna carried the tray to the table, clanking the silverware and cups together. “Sorry,” he said to Mashoka.
“Are you finished?” he asked Ravna.
“I said sorry,” Ravna replied.
Without preamble, Mashoka came back to the story he had begun in the coffee shop.
“After the odor forced me to vomit, and while I was still in hiding, I sat to collect my thoughts. I knew the bombers were no longer flying over the island and yet I had left the trail and entered the cave forbidden by the adults of the village. Here I was, sitting behind a rock while two entities argued in a language I could not understand. The pervasive, grisly noise and foul stench made me think that it was not a place I was meant to be.”
Ravna poured the water over the tea and honey and slipped a spoon into his mug. He pushed the spoon through the water, careful not to ding the side of the mug with it.
“Every cell in my body wanted out. I wanted to flee, run as fast as I could back home and into my mother’s arms. The cave frightened me more than the bombings or the heinous crimes of the rogue soldiers. My feet would not move. I slid my legs to the side of the large rock in hopes of finding out exactly what was happening. The stone felt damp and slick on my face and it repulsed me to the edge of nausea. I fought the feeling and had regained my breath when the tearing sound increased threefold.
“I eased my head out from behind the rock until the entire scene unfolded, a scene I have spent decades trying to cleanse from my soul. I saw three pitiful creatures shackled to the cave wall. I must call them creatures, as they no longer resembled human beings. Each one’s arms crossed at the elbows and were bound to an iron hasp at the wrists. Their emaciated frames hung like light sheers on an open window. They were men at one time in the near past, but their ages and races were beyond recognition. Do you remember the story of the Buddha?”
Ravna tilted his head to one side and stopped mid-sip. He put the mug down. “Yes. Why are you asking me that now?”
“Do you remember the carvings of the Buddha at the end of his six years of renunciation? Can you recall his thin flesh, sunken eyes, and protruding bones?”
“Yes,” Ravna replied, shaking his head. “He was eating one grain of rice per day and drinking his own urine. As the story goes, he was probably a few days from death when the village girl offered him the rice porridge.”
“That is how the creatures appeared. They had large heads and protruding abdomens, and their eyes lost the sparkle of life before receding back into the skull. Bedraggled hair stuck to open sores on their skin. They sat in darkened pools of waste. Their mouths opened and closed at random intervals, neither speaking nor acquiring sustenance. The creatures hung at death’s door without enough strength to die.
“But they were not the source of the sounds. Another creature sat with its back to me, facing the captives. I recognized the green fatigues worn by the Americans and knew this man was a Marine. His weapons lay in the dirt as if tossed without care. A green helmet lay beside the one wall. He was sitting, hunched over so that I could not see anything above his shoulders. The man’s elbows shot out randomly but in conjunction with the ripping sound. I thought of a jungle tiger huddled around its kill, tearing the flesh with its teeth. I knew he did not know I was there. I wanted to turn and run, but my feet became loose and moved me towards the cavern, not away from it. Tears stung my face and I struggled to keep the odor from releasing the last remnants of food in my stomach. A force pulled me closer to the beast, and when I could no longer fight the inertia, my bladder gave way. I felt the warm liquid running down my leg.
“The creature froze and I heard a sniffing noise. It raised its head, a short military cut bespeckled in grime and the filth of war. He had heard me, and yet I still could not run.
“The shackled wastes moaned but could not do much more. They also sensed my presence and could no more help me than I could help myself. I shuffled my feet closer and the smell became unbearable. To the left of the Marine sat a pile of human feces. Even at night, flies buzzed about it.”
Ravna held the mug of chai in one hand. The powerful scent of cardamom and cinnamon could not mask Mashoka’s description. He sniffled and wiped his nose.
“My eyes felt as though they might burst from my head. A ringing started at my temples and vibrated down my spine until my entire body shook. The creature turned to face me and I wished for death at that very moment.
“Excrement covered the man’s face as if it had been painted by a blind man. Dark streaks shot up from his lips and across his cheeks. He had piles of waste in both hands, and with a wet slap, brought them to his mouth. I caught an occasional flash of white from his teeth as he chewed and swallowed the vile substance. The man’s stomach would protest after several handfuls, sending the contents backwards and out of h
is mouth. He would pause, shake the browned saliva from his face, and then resume the profane feast. A golden coin hung by a chain around his neck, tangled with his dog tags. His hand would grasp it, caressing the object as he mumbled to his chest.
“I wanted to speak but my mouth would not obey. I felt fastened to the spot with only my eyes free to move. The man made no motion towards me. He did not stand and threaten or pursue me either. He simply continued gathering and consuming the feces dispelled by the captives.”
Ravna moved to the edge of his seat and opened his mouth to speak when the old man raised a hand in the air, indicating that it was not yet time for that.
“The man was a Marine and he appeared normal. It was the look in his eye that I can never erase from my memory. Pure evil, dark and malevolent. But it was more than that. The creature oozed desire, craving. The kind that cannot be squelched. It was as if he was an addict of the universe, unable to slake a thirst for the most wicked. The more feces he shoved into his mouth, the more he vomited, and the more feces he had to shove into his mouth. I could see the cycle continuing until the captives died or the man collapsed under the self-poisoning he continued to perpetrate.
“A rooster in the village shrieked. I believe that filthy bird saved me from this monster. It shook me from the spell and I looked over my shoulder to see the first glimmers of the new day cresting the mountain. The beams of fresh sunlight split the darkness and crawled along the floor of the cave. I took a step backward until my heels struck the cave wall. The man stood and turned to face me. Again, I did not feel pursued but more like an animal caught in the snare. The hunter had no reason to rush the slaying of his prey as I was trapped by his gaze. He reached to his belt and removed an egg-shaped object which I later surmised to be a grenade. He looked at me with those eyes that made me want to die. The Marine held the object up and his hand removed the pin from the top. I realized what he had planned on doing so I broke completely from his power and ran for the opening. My feet propelled me as fast as they ever had and I began to count in my head. I had seen enough of the war to understand what was to happen next.
“I counted down. When I reached eight I was thirty yards from the entrance, thirty yards from fresh air and the survival of another day. Six and then five brought me closer, my heart pounding in my chest in a desperate attempt to put me clear of the impending doom. I remember the feeling of flight, of being launched through the air after getting down to three. The hot air pushed me out of the cave and dropped me into jungle brush before the fire followed and scorched the walls I had just run past. Loose pebbles and bits of stone rained down on my head as the thunder of the explosion rang in my ears. I turned to look at the cave. Several boulders had collapsed over the entrance and rolled to a stop, blocking the cave and effectively sealing it forever.
“I scanned the area and saw no sign of the captives or the Marine, and my lungs began to draw air again. I sat and brushed the pulverized stone from my garments when I heard the cackle. I stood and took three steps toward the cave, sensing movement in the jungle to my left. Thin trees waved as if moved by a silent wind. Before I could take another step forward, I saw his form climb onto the rock ledge towards the far end of the mountain. White and gray dust covered his fatigues, but I knew it was the Marine. As if reading my thoughts, he spun around and grinned at me, his bloody mouth covered in brown smears. He winked before climbing over the rock and dropping from my sight. I ran in the opposite direction as fast as I could until I found the trail back to my village.”
***
The sun shone through a crack in the blinds like a dagger in Drew’s eye. He pulled a pillow over his face and turned to throw an arm over Molly. It landed in a crumpled sheet vacated by her hours earlier. He listened to a few songbirds, the first ones back to the party after the long winter. The heater came on, reminding Drew that the Earth had a ways to go in its revolution before the sunlight would warm the surface back into spring.
He rolled onto his stomach and looked at the digital clock on the bedside table. It read 10:34 a.m. Other than the dry, warm air pulsing through the house’s ventilation, there were no other sounds.
Molly had responded well to the temporary suspension of the office. She volunteered to ready the kids and take them to school, allowing Drew time to himself to pull his thoughts together. He relished the freedom, but realized her sympathy had limits and that he would eventually need to pull up the bootstraps. He thought back to the time his father had lost his job and the way his mother had picked up the slack. Dad worked in that factory for over thirty years, and they tossed him out like a bag of garbage. The multinational that purchased the company dismantled the machinery as quickly as they dismantled the lives of the workers.
“They don’t give a fuck about nobody,” he remembered his dad saying. The memory stuck, one of the few times Drew recalled his father’s use of a four-letter word.
Molly had left the coffee pot on, and Drew filled his cup while standing in the kitchen in his robe, water dripping from his hair. He was not used to having so much privacy and considered going back to bed, but then the phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and recognized Molly’s cell.
“Hey, you up?” she asked.
“Uh-huh. Thanks for the coffee,” he replied.
“Any word from corporate?”
“No. Haven’t checked yet. Any issues with getting the kids to school today?”
Molly hesitated, deciphering “issues” in her head. “Normal. Sara pushed Billy on the way in, and then they argued about who was going to hold the door.”
Drew smiled. “Thinking of you,” he said.
Molly giggled. “Got some errands. I’ll swing by before I have to pick them up.”
“I’ll be here,” Drew replied.
She purred and hung up. Drew smiled and walked to his laptop. He brought the machine out of hibernation and launched his e-mail application. He looked at his in-box and lost all interest in playing with Molly.
The “fwd” at the head of the subject line indicated that this had been resent to him. Drew was not sure if the label was accurate, as anyone could type “fwd” at the beginning of a subject line. He scanned the “from” column and saw it was blank. The e-mail contained a link to a news story that had been posted three hours earlier on Channel 7’s official website.
“Authorities are now close to apprehending a person of interest in the slayings of Vivian Cabmel and William Johnson, both employees of Rede Design, both bodies found in the Crooked Tail River last week. While police are not revealing the identity of the person of interest, detectives told us that they have strong suspicions that this person was the last to see the victims prior to their murders. They would only say that the person of interest was most likely an employee at Rede Design.”
Drew ran to the living room and turned on the television. He grabbed the remote and changed from the Cartoon Crazy channel to a local station. He immediately recognized the front of his office building through the bubbling mass of reporters looking to eat from the carcass of the story. Tall antennas spiraled out of trucks designed to send remote feeds while young, blonde women in slutty business attire held microphones. Even with the volume muted, Drew knew there had been a break in the story and that the on-site broadcasting was not happenstance.
A knock at the door shook him from the television. He glanced at the bay window of the living room and saw a police car alongside the curb. Another knock rattled the door, followed by the doorbell. Drew dashed for the back door while tying his robe around his waist. He slipped into his work boots and burst through the screen door as the first officer walking down the driveway rounded the corner into the backyard. Drew heard shouting as he placed both hands on the chain-link fence and vaulted over it. His robe caught a rusted peak. The fence held tight until Drew released the tie and ran naked through his neighbor’s yard. He spotted an open garage door and ran for it. Drew yanked the emergency rip cord and slid the door shut before the pursuing officers saw him
. He slid to the cold, damp floor amidst the smell of gasoline and lawn fertilizer, listening to them run past.
He closed his eyes and let his head drift back to rest on the wood-paneled garage door. Drew’s eyes adjusted to the dark room. He saw a door leading from the attached garage into the house and wondered how much time he had before someone came down to investigate the noise in the garage. Drew’s mind shuffled images of his neighbors, but he could not recall who lived in this house. His backyard butted up against the backyard of the people living on the next street over, neighbors beyond the usual sphere of contact. Before he could decide on a course of action, he heard a hand on the doorknob and watched the door from the house swing open.
***
“Molly?”
“Hey.”
“Yeah. It’s me.”
“What’s up?”
“Have you talked to Drew today?”
Molly shifted the weight of the brown bag of groceries to her hip as she hit the button on her car remote. The hatch lifted with a stifled hiss. She pinched the slim phone between her ear and shoulder.
“He was sleeping when I left.”
She heard Brian take a deep breath.
“Have you seen the news?”
“Brian, what’s this about?”
“Can you call Drew?”
Molly slammed the hatch down and swung her purse over a shoulder. She slid into the driver’s seat, staring at the rain crawling down the windshield like tears. Molly replaced a lock of hair blown by the heavy winds and dabbed a smidge of lipstick from the corner of her mouth.
“Yeah. Can’t you?”
“Molly, I’ve tried. He’s either not picking up his phone, or . . .”
“Or what?”
She heard the rustling, as if Brian were flipping through a newspaper while they spoke.
“Can we talk in person?”
“Brian, I’ve got to pick up the kids from school later and before I do that I have to swing by the dry cleaners and then—”
“Molly, please,” Brian interrupted.
She stuck out her lower lip and blew at the bangs sliding from her forehead. Molly looked at the mirror again, examining her eye shadow and the placement of her cleavage.