Tales From the Gas Station 2

by Jack Townsend

  As I listened, it dawned on me that I couldn’t remember anything either. What was she wearing? What color was her hair? How tall was she? How many heads did she have? None of those details came through. I couldn’t describe her outside of that one feature. All I knew was that she was completely, horrifyingly, inhumanly beautiful.

  Rosa went back to counting supplies and said, “I guess I should pay better attention, huh?”

  ***

  Rosa had the patience of a saint, and a work ethic that would make ants feel lazy. Even the weird stuff didn’t seem to faze her. On the contrary, it was almost like she enjoyed it. She passed every test so far, but the most difficult challenge, the one that had washed out so many other workers before her, was yet to come.

  Gnomes and mystery stains and beautiful hearse drivers are worthy adversaries, but boredom is a different kind of beast altogether. It had been a couple hours since the fox lady went on her stupid, beautiful way. The snowfall had transformed into a veritable snowstorm, all but guaranteeing that we wouldn’t see any more customers for the remainder of the night. I was in my regular spot behind the counter, a cup of coffee in front of me and a detective story in my hands. Rosa, as expected, was squirming.

  She’d already cleaned the blood stain, as well as the walls and floors and everything else within reach. The aisles were fronted, the coffee was full, the garbage cans were emptied, and the cracks were starting to show.

  She paced the aisles for the hundredth time, trying to find something to keep herself occupied like her sanity depended on it. She wasn’t cut out for this. She was built to go and do. I, on the other hand, was right in my element.

  The grind of long hours and the space between those events that form memories is where I like to hide, where I can relax and wait and forget about all the uncomfortable thoughts knocking at the door.

  I wonder where Sabine is right now.

  I tried to shake it off. Who let that thought out of the vault?

  I wonder if Paul and Mama Susan are still alive. Probably not, right?

  Okay, that’s another weird one. Time to corral those unwelcome thoughts and force them back and focus on the shitty book I bought from the library clearance sale.

  If Karl was getting clean, why would he cut and chew off his hands? There’s got to be a better way to go.

  I put the book down and rubbed my eyes. Something was wrong. Something was keeping me from getting inside my fortress of solitude. All I wanted was to go brain-numb until the end of this shift, but I couldn’t. Was my autopilot broken? Was this permanent? Or was there something else subconsciously holding me here in this moment?

  Rosa ran up to the counter with an enormous, proud smile on her face and a cardboard box in her hands. She slammed it down in front of me and said, “Check out what I found in the storage closet!”

  On the side, somebody had written the word “Games” in Jerry’s handwriting.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “I figured you and I could play something until the snow stops!” She started pulling unloading the box onto the counter in front of me. “They’ve got Uno. Connect Four. Checkers.”

  Before I could say, “No thanks,” she flipped the entire box upside down and dumped the contents between us. There were several board games, card games, and half a dozen dead mice.

  “Oh,” she said, her smile instantly evaporating, “Oh my God… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know about the mice. I swear!”

  I put my book down and started refilling the box while she went to find some napkins and disinfectant. We worked in silence. I finished first, then watched as she carefully wrapped each rodent like a napkin mummy and respectfully set them inside an empty cigar box.

  When she finished, she took the case in her hands and said, “I’m ready whenever you are.”

  I had already grabbed my crutch and pulled myself to a standing position before I realized I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. “Ready for what?”

  “They died on our watch. The least we can do is give them a proper burial.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Don’t I look serious?”

  I assumed she was being rhetorical, standing there with the box of mice mummies.

  “I don’t know about this; the snow is coming down pretty hard.”

  “I can do it by myself, if you have something more important to do.” She tightened her lips, narrowed her eyes, and slowly shook her head at me. I even knew how the trick was done, but that did nothing to diminish the effectiveness of her shaming. I wasn’t going to win this one. Besides, I needed something better than a bad book to help pass the time.

  I took the “Be back in a minute” sign and put it on the counter next to the box of games. A minute later, I was standing out back in ankle-deep snow as she dug a tiny grave.

  ***

  There was something particularly cathartic about watching somebody else dig a hole behind the gas station, thinking to myself that if she only knew all the things that had happened with that shovel, I doubt she would have been so gung-ho about putting her fingerprints all over it. I pointed her to one of the few spots where we hadn’t already buried something horrific, and once the mice were in the ground, Rosa gave a short eulogy.

  “Dearly beliked, we are gathered here tonight to pay our first and final respects to these gentle creatures. Oh, closet mice, I’m sorry you all died in a box in the back of the supply room, but I’m grateful that at least you didn’t have to die alone. We pray that you don’t haunt this gas station. Instead may you find your peace in Heaven or whatever your mouse-religion equivalent is.”

  “Valhalla.” I muttered.

  “We will never know the circumstances of your lives, but we know how you chose to spend your final moments. Warm, and in the company of friends and boardgames. May we all be so lucky, and may you live on in our memories.” She looked at me and asked, “Anything to add?”

  My mind jumped to a shortlist of mouse-based puns, but I decided against it. I knew very well that funerals were never for the benefit of the dead, and this one was—without any doubt—for her. Despite the abject silliness of a rodent funeral, I knew Rosa wouldn’t appreciate anything short of a respectful addendum. So I gave it heart and honesty and said the only thing I could come up with. “Somebody came into the gas station one time, trying to be a dick. He stripped naked and rubbed toothpaste all over his body and told me that I was nothing but a little mouse. I think he meant it as an insult, but I didn’t take any offense. Truth is, I’d rather be a mouse than most people.”

  She nodded. “That was really nice.”

  I leaned over and dropped the box into the hole, but my fingers were numb from the cold and my aim was just a little off. The corner of the box hit the edge of the grave and the mouse-mummies bounced out into the snow. I looked over at Rosa and muttered, “My bad.”

  She gave me a smile and said, “It’s not like they’re getting any deader.” Then she scooped them all together into the hole and covered it with dirt and snow until it was nothing but a small mound.

  As we made our way back to the gas station, I heard a voice from just beyond the treeline whisper, “Hey!”

  Rosa stopped and looked back. “Did you hear that?”

  The freezing wind carried with it a noise that sounded almost like children giggling as it blew against the back of my neck.

  “Nope,” I said, keeping my eyes forward. “Let’s get back inside.”

  All in all, it was one of the better funerals I’d been to.

  Chapter Twenty

  I don't know if it's possible to catch any diseases from dried-up mouse carcasses, but just to stay on the safe side, we washed our hands thoroughly before returning to work. I took the box of games back to the supply closet while Rosa wiped down and disinfected the counter. I didn’t even hear the telephone ring, but Rosa had already answered it by the time I came back to the front of the store. She was smiling and chatting with the person on the other s
ide like it was an old friend.

  That must be nice, I thought to myself, having someone in your life who cares enough to call and check on you at work.

  I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but in a building this small, there was no point in pretending I couldn’t hear every word she said.

  “It’s not bad, I think. This is my first day here… Oh, I like it. I think it’s going to be a lot of fun… My name is Rosa… Yeah, actually, he’s right here. Did you want to talk to him? ... Sure thing. I’ll let him know… You too, Spencer.”

  With that, she hung up the phone, and I tried not to piss myself.

  She smiled at me and said, “That was a friend of yours.”

  “Spencer Middleton.” I almost didn’t get the name out.

  “Yeah.” Once again, I watched the happy, innocent smile disappear from her face. “What’s wrong?”

  “I need to make a phone call, then I think it’s probably about time that I told you something.”

  ***

  The first thing I did was call O’Brien, but it went straight to voicemail. My message was short and to the point. “Hey, it’s me. Just wanted to let you know Spencer’s alive again. Talk to you later.”

  The second thing I did was tell Rosa the entire story of Spencer Middleton (and by “entire,” I mean only the parts that made sense: he was a professionally-trained killer; he was arrested for murder; he hated my guts; and most unsettling of all, he was supposed to be dead and cremated by now, not calling the gas station to chat).

  Rosa listened patiently. When I was done, she took her role as the honorary voice of reason. “Do you know who it might have really been? I mean, obviously, it wasn’t Spencer. He’s dead, right?”

  I didn’t answer right away. I was lost in contemplation. The whole thing always felt a little too neat and perfect. The official story went that Spencer died in a blaze of gunfire. But that’s all it was—an official story. The man was nothing if not resourceful, and I would have been shocked if he hadn’t earned his merit badges for bribery, blackmail, and conspiracy. Was it possible he faked his death? Yes. Was it probable? Also yes. But did I believe that he found a way to escape from prison then—instead of making a run for it—stayed in town laying low and biding his time just to take another shot at me? Once again, yes, definitely.

  Rosa sounded like she was getting antsy. “...Right?”

  I owed her an answer. “Spencer might not be as dead as we had hoped.”

  She was quick to ask the obvious question. “Do you have a gun or anything? In case he comes back?”

  “No, I’m not really a gun guy.”

  “Ninja stars? Bazooka? Flamethrower? Chainsaw? Any sort of weapon at all?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Well,” she crossed her arms, “I guess if he kills you, I can always give him the shame look.” I tried my best to crack a smile, but I’m sure she could see right through it. “Would you like me to go lock the doors now?”

  “Yeah, that’s another thing you’re not going to like. Spencer knows how to get inside the gas station even when all the doors are locked. He’s done it a couple times before, and we haven’t been able to figure out how.”

  She gave me her are you serious look, then put her hands on the sides of her head and yelled in exasperation, “Crap, man! Is there anything else terrifying about this guy that you would like to tell me?”

  I once saw Spencer get his head cut halfway off and bleed out on the gas station floor, and he still somehow came back without any lasting damage.

  “No. Not really.”

  Rosa squeaked and jumped as the front door swung open.

  “Hey guys,” said the drunk idiot in the oversized fur coat as he staggered into the store. He threw a thumb over his shoulder as he wandered across the room. “Y’all know the roads are all shut down?”

  “Hi, Jerry,” I said as soon as my heartbeat returned to normal. “Good to have you back.”

  Rosa asked, “What-What about the roads?”

  Jerry braced himself against the frozen drink machine and fumbled with the Styrofoam cups. “Yeah, it’s been all over the radio. Freak blizzard. They’re calling it a ‘thousand-year storm.’ Supposedly, that means it’s ten times worse than the hundred-year storm from a few weeks back. All the roads leading into town are completely impassable. You know the drill. Mandatory curfew. State of emergency. Cats and dogs living together.” He waved his arms in the air dramatically. “Two dead, one missing.”

  He knocked over an entire stack of cups in his effort to grab one, picked one up off the floor, then filled it with a cherry-cola frozen drink and threw it back.

  “If all the roads are impassable,” Rosa asked, “then where the hell did you just come from? Did you walk here?”

  I whispered to her, “Remember that thing I told you about ignoring the weird stuff?”

  Jerry pulled the cup away from his mouth and screamed.

  “What is it?!” yelled Rosa.

  “Brainfreeze!”

  “Well,” I said a little too cocksure, “At least we still have –”

  Right then, the power cut out, plunging the gas station into complete darkness.

  ***

  I left the two of them lighting and placing candles around the front of the store while I borrowed Jerry’s keychain flashlight and went to find our box of emergency supplies in the supply room. After a few seconds and a near-death experience (the box was on the top shelf), I managed to get it down and dragged it back out front. I leaned against the counter and caught my breath while Jerry sat cross-legged on the floor and dug through the supplies, handing them out to each of the four of us.

  The episode with the dark god turning our building into a tree cocoon forced me to acknowledge how underprepared we really were for such things. Not just nudist zombie attacks, but any situation where we might be on our own without backup for extended periods of time. So I put together this emergency box and filled it with plenty of extra batteries, a USB charging brick, half a dozen flashlights, bottled water, protein bars, matches, flares, an army-grade first aid kit, and more than enough—

  Wait a second. FOUR of us?

  “Holy shit!” I yelled, fumbling with the flashlight Jerry had just handed me. After a painfully awkward few seconds, I managed to get the damn thing to turn on and pointed at all the other shadows standing in the room with me.

  There was Jerry, Rosa, and... O’Brien.

  “You mind not pointing that thing right in my eyes?” O’Brien asked.

  “Sorry,” I said, aiming it back down. “When did you get here?”

  “Just now, while you were off bumblefucking around in the closet. I called the store earlier to check on you, but nobody picked up. I nearly killed myself ten times driving through this blizzard to get here. Where the hell were you? Why didn’t you answer?”

  Rosa perked up. “Oh, we were probably outside doing the funeral when you called.”

  She unsnapped her gun holster and said, “What?”

  I explained quickly, “It was for a bunch of mice.”

  Jerry bristled. “And you didn’t invite me?!”

  O’Brien shook her head and said, “That actually does not clear anything up, but I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Well,” I said. “Not necessarily. I take it you didn’t get my message?”

  She slowly curled her fingers around the grip of her weapon. “Were you waiting for a drum roll?”

  I've always appreciated her no-nonsense candor. It made delivering bad news so much easier. “We got a strange phone call tonight from a man claiming to be Spencer Middleton.”

  Jerry opened one of the protein bars, took a big bite, and said, “That kid is so in love with you.”

  “But that’s crazy, right?” I asked. “I mean, he’s dead. Isn’t he?” She didn’t say anything, but her silence was answer enough.

  Rosa took a wild stab at filling the tense quiet. “Maybe it was a different Spencer? It’s a common name, isn’t it? Makes a
lot more sense than a bad guy coming back from the dead.”

  The deputy cleared her throat and asked, “Who are you?”

  “Hi, I’m Rosa.” She offered her hand. “It’s my first day.”

  O’Brien took it and said, “Amelia O’Brien.”

  “Really? You don’t look like an O’Brien.”

  “What exactly does an O’Brien look like?”

  “Ummm...”

  She held onto the end of that word for a long, uncomfortable few seconds until Jerry came to her rescue, exclaiming, “Yay! We finally passed the Bechdel test! This is a nice change of pace. Usually whenever we end up trapped at the gas station with a murderous stalker trying to kill us, it’s a total sausage fest.”

  “Usually?” asked Rosa. “Has this happened before?”

  “Once or twice,” I answered.

  O’Brien turned away from us and spoke into her radio microphone, “Dispatch, this is O’Brien, do you read me? Over.”

  Silence.

  Rosa looked over at me with eyes that were somewhere between woeful and distressed. I couldn’t tell if it was the possible killer, the record-breaking lethal storm, or the fact that she just embarrassed herself in front of the deputy.

  “Dispatch, are you hearing me? Over.”

  More silence.

  O'Brien sighed and dropped her head in resignation, then turned back to me and dug a dollar out of her pocket. “I need to use the store phone.”

  Before I could take her money, the phone began to ring. She shot me a look and pointed her light at the source of the noise. I took that as my cue and answered it.

  Please don’t be Spencer. Please don’t be Spencer. Please don’t be Spencer.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Jack. It’s been a while.” It was his voice. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind.

  “Hi, Spencer.”

  O’Brien walked over to me and leaned in close. For a brief moment, I thought she was going for a kiss. By the grace of God, I realized what she was doing before I had the chance to embarrass us both, and I angled the earpiece out so she could listen in on the conversation with me.