Dead Bait 4

by Weston Ochse

She held her hand under the sink, flushing it with cool water. Then she dried her wound, wrapped it in a bandage, and applied pressure. She sat down on the edge of the large bathtub and rested, pushing against the painful spot. Her eyes glazed over while she pressed her fingertip, pressed it harder.

  Footsteps.

  She heard footsteps outside the door and peered out into the master bedroom. The door to the bedroom was closed, but she could tell—could sense—that Colin was approaching from the hallway.

  Brooke prepared the greeting she would give her husband when he walked into the room. Hey, honey. That’s what she would say. Colin would respond with a brief, “Hello,” and go on about his business. It would be a normal exchange, a typical moment together, except this time she’d have something more to offer.

  What do you think of the new mirror?

  When she had seen the mirror at the antique store earlier that day, she’d known it was right—the perfect fit for the master bathroom. She immediately thought of how it would look above the sink, reflecting candlelight beautifully. She heard the sounds of the music she and Colin would play—maybe Sinatra or Coltrane—while together late at night, holding each other in front of the mirror while they waited for the tub to fill with warm, sudsy water. How long had it been since they’d been together this way?

  The footsteps in the hallway grew louder and Colin swung the bedroom door open. Brooke leaned out to look at him from where she sat on the edge of the tub.

  “Hey, honey,” she said, her voice singsong, her mind still fantasizing.

  Colin issued a sharp head nod and murmured, “Hello,” before his eyes darted around the bedroom. “Have you seen my phone?”

  “What do you think of the new bathroom mirror?” Brooke said. “Do you like it? Did I hang it straight?”

  “Looks fine. What I really need is to find my phone. Patrick and Liz will be arriving soon. They might need help parking or something. They might need me.”

  “It’s on the nightstand, on your side of the bed.”

  “That’s right.” He plucked his phone from the table.

  Brooke walked into the bedroom. “You wanna have a glass of wine before they get here?” This was something they used to do, a sort of ritual. When they’d hang out with friends, they’d always reserve time before or after to be together—just the two of them.

  “Nah, not really feeling it,” he said. “I’ll wait for everyone to get here before I start boozing. Don’t need the extra carbs, you know?” He patted his ever-expanding belly.

  Brooke’s eyes left his stomach and found the framed photo of them on the dresser nearby. In the photo they were on vacation in Mexico, back when carbs hadn’t mattered, when there hadn’t been any sense of stress or worry. She could still feel his hands gripping her beneath the crashing ocean waves, his fingertips stroking her back when she lay on the sand, his fingertips roaming endlessly when they were back in the hotel room in the bathtub together and later again under the sheets. Touching her, always touching her.

  You’re so beautiful.

  That’s what he would say.

  With his phone in hand, Colin left the room.

  Brooke stood there alone and realized she needed to get changed for dinner. She considered what to wear. She and Colin were supposed to be making food together and she was late getting ready, but felt little concern about the time. The truth was she dreaded the night ahead. The people coming over were Colin’s friends, not hers. They were at least ten years younger, in their late twenties or early thirties. Colin had met them through work and thought the world of them. They were nice people. Brooke had simply never been able to connect; she found it disorienting to spend an evening pretending that she did.

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it!” Colin shouted from somewhere outside the bedroom. Brooke heard the front door opening. She breathed in sharply, then reminded herself to take breaths that were even and slow. “Hey, guys!” Colin’s voice rang out. “Come on in. How are you doing? What can I getcha to drink? Let me pour you all a glass of wine to start!”

  Brooke grabbed a top and a fresh pair of jeans, draping her clothes over the bathtub while she dressed. Feeling drawn to the bathroom mirror again, she changed quickly and stood in front of the glass. Despite her wounded pinky, she fingered the small molded faces and fishtail bodies in the frame, appreciating the way they felt, appreciating their artistry. They made her think of going away somewhere nice on vacation, back to the ocean.

  “Brooke, hurry up!” Colin called from outside the door. “Everyone is waiting.”

  “I’m just changing,” she said.

  I’ll be right there.

  That’s what she meant to say next.

  But the words didn’t come.

  The creatures in the frame had started to move, small eyes and mouths opening slowly and closing again, repeating this motion in rhythm, the mouths reaching for her and lightly suctioning her skin. The feeling was relaxing, soothing, and even when the bandage on her pinky finger loosened and fell off, she didn’t stop—couldn’t stop—touching the frame.

  “Brooke!” Colin’s voice broke her concentration.

  She pulled her hand away, suddenly aware of the cold tiles on the bathroom floor, of a chill in the air. What had she been doing? What had she been feeling? Nothing, nothing had happened. What she’d thought had occurred had been in her mind; there was no other explanation. The creatures in the frame could not have just come alive.

  She gripped the countertop and closed her eyes. After a few moments she dressed and made her way across the blue woven rug in the bedroom, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. There they were: Liz and Patrick. Patrick and Liz. Brooke felt an intense pulse of pain in her wounded pinky finger—a pulse that shot through her entire body. She tried to smile.

  “Hey, guys!” she said, ignoring the pain. Liz and Patrick gave her enthusiastic greetings complete with big hugs, though she’d rather not have touched them. “Who wants a cocktail?” she heard herself ask.

  She retrieved the pitcher she’d prepared earlier, and poured four crystal goblets full, adding ice cubes shaped like hearts. Everyone seemed grateful. Even Colin. He put his hands on her shoulders, looked her in the eye and said, “You are wonderful!”

  He never said this sort of thing when they were alone anymore—only when others were around. She had once asked him why he behaved this way. He had looked at her with a furrowed brow as if she were being deliberately absurd. She’d felt stupid for asking.

  Brooke smiled wide before addressing his friends. “What have you guys been up to recently?” Sometimes the sound of her own voice in social situations impressed her. How had she gotten it together so quickly? Just a minute ago, she’d been a wreck—and no one knew.

  “Well,” Patrick said, “We just got back from visiting my family up north. Stayed there a couple of weeks, if you can believe that, and now we’re just—”

  Patrick’s words trailed off. He was talking, talking, talking, but Brooke couldn’t hear what he was saying. Her eyes and ears had tuned in almost immediately to another conversation.

  Colin had moved with Liz toward the refrigerator. He had taken the young woman a few feet away as if for private talk. Liz was explaining something while pulling a strand of her long auburn hair in front of her face, looking up at Collin through black eyelashes that contrasted sharply with her smooth ivory skin. She wore rose-colored blush and had painted her lips red.

  Brooke saw Colin take a strand of Liz’s hair and tuck it gently behind her right ear. The hair fell loose and he tucked it behind her ear again. Liz laughed playfully and touched both of Colin’s shoulders.

  Touch is just a way to show intimacy.

  That’s what Colin would say.

  Brooke couldn’t help but watch Liz’s hands as they remained, inexplicably, on Colin’s shoulders. She couldn’t help but watch as Colin touched Liz’s forearm, cradling it gently with his right hand while he spoke to her.

  Wh
y was he doing this?

  Brooke could barely recall the last time he had touched her with such familiarity. Then she remembered Mexico, being under the blanket of the sea, and tried to tell herself he still loved her, that he still wanted her. She thought of water rushing around them and the warmth of the summer sun.

  Liz giggled and spread her arms wide. She caught Colin up in a hug.

  “It’s just been way too long,” she said. “Way to freakin’ long since we’ve seen you. You know you are one of my very favorite people.”

  Colin tapped Liz on the tip of the nose. “And you are one of mine.”

  Liz slurped her cocktail. “Delicious.” She looked at Brooke and beamed. “Thanks for the delicious drink.”

  “So what are you making for dinner?” Patrick asked Brooke, jumping in as if nothing at all were wrong. Had he been talking this whole time? Had she been talking? Food. She was serving food soon. But what was she serving? She stared at Patrick, her brain suddenly empty. She needed to say something, to say anything. Her mind was clouded by what Liz had said.

  You know you are one of my very favorite people.

  Patrick looked at her expectantly.

  Her pinky finger throbbed. Her head spun. She tried to find words but could only think of Colin brushing the hair back behind Liz’s ear—over and over again. Why couldn’t she release her brain from this repeated thought? Why couldn’t she speak? The throbbing in her hand turned to knife-stabbing pain. She gagged. Her pinky finger hurt badly, so badly.

  The lights in the kitchen flickered.

  “What is going on here?” Colin craned his neck to look at the overhead fixture.

  The lights flickered again.

  With the pain in her finger now dizzying, nearly blinding, Brooke was suddenly overwhelmed with nausea. She had to get out of the room. She dropped the glass she’d been holding, vaguely aware of the sound of the crystal shattering on the kitchen floor as she ran down the hallway to her bedroom.

  She shut the door and locked it, then retreated into the bathroom and locked that door as well. Sitting on the edge of the tub, she focused on her breathing—like she’d learned in yoga class. Her nausea went away. Her pain dulled. The desire she’d felt to leave the kitchen was replaced by a desire for something else. She stood up and stared into the mirror. All she wanted to do was reach out and touch it again. Touch the mirror. Touch the mirror.

  “Brooke?” She heard Colin calling after her. His voice was distant, locked behind the bathroom and bedroom doors. “Are you okay?”

  No, she wanted to say. Come in here, hold me, help me feel better.

  She couldn’t bring herself to speak.

  She touched the mirror.

  One of the petite faces extended out from the frame. A slender grey body stretched toward her, far enough to reach her pinky. It took her bleeding wound into its open mouth and sucked on her gently. The pain in her finger melted away. Her thoughts went with it.

  “Brooke?” Colin called for her. He kept saying her name, asking where she had she gone. Distant and faraway, his voice was drowned out by the sound of the creature sucking on her skin. Then his voice broke through, disrupting her concentration. She heard people laughing, Liz laughing, wine glasses clinking, clattering, crashing.

  You know you are one of my very favorite people.

  She pulled her hand away. What had she been doing? Was she going crazy? She searched her eyes in the mirror, saw the lines in her face—the ones that hadn’t been there when she’d first met Colin and now framed her eyes and mouth, raked slices into her forehead. She could still picture Liz with her flawless ivory skin, looking up at Colin and beaming. She hated that she’d stayed with Colin for so long—for decades.

  She hated the way her face looked.

  A ceramic candleholder that had been a wedding present sat on the counter nearby and she grabbed it, wielding it overhead. Before she could stop herself, she’d smashed it against the beautiful new mirror. The glass broke and a web of cracks radiated outward. Water began to leak from the cracks and dribble onto the tile floor.

  Water?

  Brooke stared at the slow trickle, mesmerized. She touched it to see if it was real. It was. So were the sounds the creatures made. The creatures in the frame had begun to moan and cry, their small bodies struggling as if trying to break free of the frame.

  What was going on? Had she slipped and hit her head? Was she dreaming?

  The trickle grew into a stream and cool water rushed out of the mirror into the bathroom, soaking the bathmat, soaking the floor around her, soaking everything. The water level quickly rose until it poured over the lip of the tub, filling the basin, rose even higher until it was waist deep in the room. The bath towels, trash can, soap dish, and other small items came loose from the floor and countertop, floating around her.

  Get out or you’ll drown, she thought.

  I’m drowning already.

  The creatures in the frame writhed, their small bodies finally separating from the frame and turning cerulean blue, with pink and violet streaks at the tip of each fin. Their movements revealed shiny underbellies with rows of suction cups that vibrated and glistened.

  One-by-one the creatures dove into the water.

  Brooke backed away, stepping carefully into the tub, wading into the furthest corner of the room.

  The creatures swam to her. They found the raw end of her pinky finger where they all gathered, suckling her juices and growing larger. She felt suddenly calm, strangely comforted by the feeling of their caress, which made all of the pain in her hand, in her mind, release.

  She felt herself slipping.

  Imagining she was lying back in the tub, her neck supported by the porcelain lip, she closed her eyes…

  Colin’s voice broke through.

  “Brooke? Are you coming back to the party? I picked the bedroom lock, but the bathroom lock is sticking. Let me in.”

  “I’m not coming back,” she said and felt a great sense of relief. Colin didn’t reply. Had he heard her? Did it matter?

  What mattered were the creatures, sucking harder, piercing more openings in the smooth skin of her stomach and pads of her feet. It felt good. It felt so good to be touched. To be touched like that again.

  The vibrating suction cups latched onto her new openings. Tingling sensations came and went and then came deeply, filling her entire body, making her every muscle spasm, sending pleasure rushing through and all around her until she could barely breathe.

  The water level rose to the height of Brooke’s chin.

  She focused on the humming sounds, the crashing sounds, the rhythm of the water. She didn’t worry about the rising tide or the cold temperature, growing colder with every minute, nor did she worry about her muscles weakening. The creatures sucked harder, vibrated harder, while the faint, faraway sounds of Colin’s voice were lost amidst sprays of water and drifting pillows of seaweed.

  More creatures gathered, soothing her beneath the water, draining her, and she grew tired. There wasn’t much left, not much energy left. Her vision faded and her body grew heavy. She floated until the water rose above her neck and the ceiling of her bathroom disappeared, revealing the orange and yellow glow of sunrise. A man’s voice, impossibly beautiful, crooned from a distant place while cool water rushed into her ears and the suckling creatures doubled in size, pulling her under the glassy surface of the sea.

  Where the River Bends

  Nate Southard

  Something moved in the river. Under the silver disc of the moon, Ray saw the thing break the water’s surface. Pale and mottled, shot through with gray veins, it slithered like a snake, but he knew he saw only part of its immense body. Somewhere further upriver, one of them bellowed, a sound somewhere between a roar and the lowing of a gigantic cow.

  “You saw one, right?” he asked. “Like, all of one?”

  “Not really,” Charlie said. “Most of one, I guess. Or at least more than I’d ever seen before.”

  Ray gave his
friend a quick glance, then watched the thing’s tail arc out of the river with a splash before disappearing again.

  “What was it?” he asked.

  “Big. Bigger than anything I’ve ever seen.

  “About six months back. They were still trying to move tugs up and down the river then. Remember how they were saying were searching for a way to get them all out of the water, that they could save the water supply? Just kill all the monsters? Those were the days.”

  He tried not to think about it, but he recalled the newscasts and the whispers on street corners and in diner booths. Over months, wonder had turned into worry. Into fear and then a sad kind of surrender. Not for the first time, he checked his watch and wondered how close Angie and the others might be.

  “It tore a barge and tug apart,” Charlie said. “I’m not even sure I saw half of it, but what I did see wrapped around that tug like a boa constrictor. It didn’t drag it under, just crushed it. From on the bank‑‑not even down close like this, but at the top of the hill‑‑I could hear all of it cracking and breaking, and I could hear the guys inside screaming.”

  “Did they jump?”

  “Would you?”

  “Maybe then. Not now.”

  “Of course. No point now.” Charlie tossed back his head. “It’s the end‑‑”

  “Dude, seriously. You sing that, and I’ll knock you on your ass.”

  “Fine. You sure you want to stand that close?”

  Ray looked at the toes of his boots, a good yard from the river’s lapping currents. Probably enough distance. Sure. “It’s cool,” he said.

  Charlie stood with his hands in his pockets a moment. “They’re having a dance at the high school tonight.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Might as well give the teenagers something to do, right? Act like nothing’s different. There’s a fallout shelter underneath. They can retreat there before everything hits.”

  “I guess that makes sense.” Ray kicked a stone into the river. The tiny splash calmed him some, but the several larger splashes that followed wiped away the calm. “How long do they have?”