Lovely Death

by Brandon Meyers

  His stomach rumbled and he patted it reassuringly. Once he got to work there would be plenty of time for breakfast. There was always a tray of sometimes fresh donuts in the kitchen, and all the hot coffee he cared to make.

  Walt nodded at a passing couple as he ambled down the sidewalk. The man returned his greeting. The girl stared straight ahead, oblivious. They did that a lot. But Walt didn’t care. Because he knew she was probably a nice enough girl. Stressed and over-concerned with the mighty dollar, sure, but still a nice enough person. Most people were when you got right down to it. And on that note, Walt’s good mood was further bolstered by that fact that today was his payday. Two-hundred clams in cash, steady and reliable as the afternoon rain.

  He walked the six blocks from his apartment block to Lincoln Street. He nodded hello to a dozen other fellow pedestrians along the way, and a couple of them even reciprocated. It was going to be a great day. When he arrived at the giant, faded maple door, Walt dug in his pocket and produced the key ring. It jingled when he turned the right key in the lock and he stepped inside.

  Walt clicked on the light. In the dim light, he surveyed the silent room from top to bottom, estimating the corresponding length of his workday. All in all, it didn’t look that bad. The tables had all been successfully cleared of plates and glasses. As he walked by, Walt ran a finger across the tops of a few of them. They would need minimal scrubbing. And the floors had fared almost just as well. His tennis shoes thumped across the polished pine with a satisfactory lack of sticking. It looked like drink spills had been almost nonexistent the night before.

  Walt smiled. He had known this was going to be a great day. The bar was the worst off, looking as though the closing tender had only done a half-assed wipe down of the area, but that was okay. No matter how dirty it was, the bar was the smallest, and therefore easiest, part of Walt’s day. With the time freed up by not having to Pine-Sol the floors twice, he relished in the thought of finally being able to give the whole front room a deep dusting.

  Walt made his way to the heavy wooden shutters on the front wall and pulled the tab. Hazy morning light cut through the air, giving the bar a surreal, haunted feel. It was not a place that often saw natural light, and with good reason. Like most watering holes, this place did not look overly inviting in the light of day. Part of it was owed to all that dark wood, which made for a log cabin feeling of claustrophobia. Another part was the residual energy of all that alcoholic sadness in the building, which permeated the bones of the place like a cancer in the marrow. It didn’t appreciate being exposed to the light.

  But Walt was not troubled by it. He had come to know this building intimately over the last ten years. It had been the lodestone of his identity for all of his mid-fifties, and now his sixties. Even when it had changed its owner and name back in 2008, solid and dependable as the girders overhead, Walt had remained.

  She may not have been the grand barroom of the Ritz-Carlton, but she was beautiful to Walt, nonetheless. He stood there and just breathed for a moment, taking in the familiar smell of the old girl. At this hour, it was the leftover scent of damp wood and dried beer. It was not unpleasant, and hadn’t been for many years. However, when he was done with her, she would be as fresh as the forest surrounding the famed redwood giants of this great state.

  Walt began his daily routine as he always did. He walked through the bar, past all of his waiting work, and into the little kitchen at the rear of the building unit.

  He was greeted by stainless steel and fluorescent lights. And a box of day old donuts. He lifted the cardboard lid and grinned. There was still one cruller left.

  Walt filled the filter and put the coffee on. Once there was enough in the machine, he brimmed a mug and chomped the cruller. It was delicious. A few minutes later, with a donut and a cup of coffee in him, Walt started off his day as he always did, by hauling both of the tall, rectangular trashcans from the back bar through the kitchen and into the alley behind the building.

  Walt grunted as he upended each plastic can into the mouth of the dumpster. It gobbled the cascade of broken glass gratefully. Walt rubbed his lower back with a wince after the second container had been emptied. It seemed like that burning ache was coming more frequently these days. He tried not to think about it. Instead, Walt stretched his arms upward, taking in a great lungful of midday air, thick and flavored with garbage.

  Walt grinned. Today was payday. And the hardest part of his day was now done. He stacked the empty cans and hoisted them over his shoulder. But he stopped short as he passed through the parking lot that adjoined the alley.

  A shiny object glittered at him from the asphalt, ten yards away. It twinkled at him like a magnificent diamond eye, its size and shape like a deck of cards. Was that a broken bottle? No, it was too small. Walt squinted. His eyes, like his lumbar vertebrae, just weren’t of the caliber that they used to be anymore.

  Reluctantly breaking his routine, Walt the janitor set the black rubbish bins down and crossed the lot. Walt leaned down, picked the object up, and when he realized what it was he looked around fully expecting to see someone watching him accusingly. There were no cars nearby, as The Ransack Room shared the fenced parking lot with no other businesses.

  He looked at the thing again, nervousness welling up in his belly for no other reason than his overactively simple innocence. It was a ladies’ purse, covered in pink rhinestones, and barely big enough to hold a pack of cigarettes. Walt surveyed the lot again, holding the object uncomfortably in his hand. It felt wrong somehow. If someone on the street passed by the driveway, Walt got the feeling it wouldn’t look right. Therefore he did the only thing he could think of and jammed it in the back waistband of his pants, resolving to put it on Tony’s desk downstairs. Tony, the owner, would be in by four. He would know what to do. Walt, being an overly honest man, was paranoid that he, the lowly janitor would be accused of having anything to do with the bag’s separation from its owner. Therefore he did not look at the thing any longer than he had to, much less open it for purposes of inspection.

  Walt hurried inside with the cans in tow. He set the purse on Tony’s desk, then, after wiping an uncomfortable layer of sweat from his brow, gladly resumed his normal routine. While he filled the mop bucket with sudsy pine solvent and hot water he pushed the image of the purse to the back of his mind. He did not think of its glimmering pink skin, or the rough texture of its embedded stones. Nor did he allow himself to think about the bright red smudge that stained part of the thing, the crimson pattern that looked eerily like blood, but was probably lipstick.

  No, he would let Tony think about all that. Today was payday and the last thing Walt wanted was to get in trouble for having an overactive imagination. Or for being a snoop. He dipped the mop into the bucket, began to whistle a line from a Chuck Berry song, and slipped seamlessly back into his routine.

  Twelve

  It started as a black cloud in the distance, an apex of obsidian in a sea of hazy gray.

  “Looks like rain,” Nick said.

  “I guess we’re just lucky it isn’t snow this time of year.”

  The driving had been steady and peaceful. The Cougar loped down the highway with a steady purr. Its wide, soft tires allowed little road noise into the cabin. Inside, the car’s satellite radio kicked out a slow Buckcherry ballad. Outside, the fellow motorists and highway travelers had thinned out once more.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Temperature’s dropped quite a bit out there.”

  Even though it wasn’t really cold enough for snow, the indigo digital thermometer on the dashboard read 48 degrees.

  Layla cleared her throat. “I came camping out here once with some friends. We thought it would be a good time. A nice little road trip, you know? Except it was September. It was seventy-five in Spokane but when we got here to Montana it was in the fucking thirties. We got caught in a snowstorm and barely made it back down out of the hills before they shut down the highway. You’re probably used to all that though, ri
ght?”

  “What?”

  “Shitty weather,” Layla said. “You’re from Colorado, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. I forgot I told you that.”

  Nick let a small smile slip. This was the longest conversation the two of them had had since the evening prior. Since the whole assault-and-trunk debacle. And her voice did not hold any trace of sarcasm or resentment. It felt nice, the first naturally pleasant interaction they’d had under sober conditions.

  “And don’t tell me,” Nick said, trying to recollect what she’d said. “You’re a Washington native, right?”

  With a tinge of unimpressed skepticism, she nodded. “I never did tell you that. Excellent deduction though, Holmes. What else do you remember?”

  Nick itched at the stubbly terrain of his chin. “If memory serves me, which it always does, I recall that you’re a Pisces, an avid golfer, and that your favorite rock band is The Pregnant Scandinavian Workforce.”

  Layla snorted. “Now I remember why I let you get into my pants.”

  “Things have been pretty rough lately,” Nick said, all traces of humor leaving his face. “I’ll admit that my head’s gotten sort of fucked up since all the shit went down back in L.A. But I do promise I wasn’t just trying to charm my way into your pants last night.”

  As soon as he said it, he wondered if Layla believed it any more than he did.

  Silence hung between them for almost a full minute before Layla spoke.

  “I know you’re not a bad person, Nick. I’ve seen who you really are and I’m not afraid of you. I saw it when we met and I see it now. But you’ve got to know that after what happened last night I don’t trust you any farther than I can fucking throw you.”

  The words stung, but Nick appreciated her honesty. “I fully understand. And I know you’re tired of hearing it, but I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. That…that wasn’t me. I don’t know what happened. I think maybe I had too much to drink and just blacked out. Lost control of my unconscious mind or something. I’m not going to let it happen again.”

  And that declaration he actually believed. Despite the fact that he’d seen an hallucinated incarnation of the South Side Skinner in his back seat only a couple hours ago, Nick felt very much in control of himself. And the more he thought about it, it made more and more sense that his drunkenness had played into the violence of the night before. Come to think of it, ever since Laura’s death, it seemed that the worst of his dreams had always come on nights that he’d been drinking. It was hard to prove, since there had been more of those nights than not, but he felt it to be true.

  “And even if you don’t trust me,” Nick said, “I want you to know that I’ll shoot myself before I ever lay another hand on you.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Layla’s head nod silently as she processed that.

  “I never thanked you,” Nick said.

  “For what?”

  “For not turning me in back at that gas station. If it had been me, I don’t know that I could’ve done the same.”

  “Maybe I was going to, but that guy was such a prick I decided to wait. Hate to let him get any spotlight, you know? Plus, the dude looked like a kiddie rapist.”

  “You have a sick sense of humor,” Nick said.

  “Said the man who makes monster movies…”

  “I didn’t say I don’t like it.”

  Another smile tugged at the corner of Nick’s mouth. It was too bad he’d tried to kill this girl. He actually kind of liked her.

  Outside, the darkness was spreading. What had started as one small black cloud had now smothered half the sky. It was an unnatural sight, and Nick leaned forward to peer skyward through the windshield. The ominous thunderhead swallowed the daylight like a cancer. Within seconds, the remainder of any natural sunlight had disappeared, replaced by thick, roiling blackness.

  Nick reached automatically for the headlights and found that they did nothing at all. The entire car had been enveloped in a wall of shadow. He tried the brakes, but the car gave no sign of response. In fact, he couldn’t even hear the motor, even though the tachometer sat steadily at the three thousand revolutions mark. Nick panicked, turned quickly to Layla. And when he did, his eyes widened in shock. Because Layla was gone. In her place sat a ghost from his recent past. Layla had transformed into a woman he knew all too well. Her hair had grown long, down past her biceps, and was as red as the setting sun. Her lips were full and painted glossy crimson, and the dress she wore was the one that she had died in. Now, however, there was no blood. Nor any bullet-addled fabric. Laura Scranton was pristinely whole. And she was beautiful.

  Laura stared at him through long lashes. Her wide green eyes were as innocent and trusting as a doe’s.

  “Hello, my lovely man. Aren’t you a sight for weary eyes.”

  Nick tried to speak, but found that he could not. In fact, he could not move his body at all. All he could do was watch Laura and listen to her as the Cougar plummeted on down the obsidian tunnel that for all he knew could have been the road to hell.

  “You were so close,” she said. She shook her head and sighed in disappointment. “You almost had it done, baby. If it hadn’t been for that tattooed skank, we’d be together right now. That’s what I get for thinking she was dead and not double-checking. Oh, well. I’ve never killed anyone before, so I guess you can’t blame a girl for trying. Well, that’s not entirely true. I did kill myself. Don’t worry, we’ll get her next time.”

  Nick’s mind was still trying to comprehend the possibility of the situation. Was he in a dream? Had he passed out at the wheel and veered off the road? Was he dead? How was this possible?

  “I can’t stay here long, lover. I need you to get the job done. If we’re going to be together forever, you’ve got to just do it. I’ve already given you all you need.”

  What the hell was she talking about?

  Nick felt a familiar tingle in the pocket of his jeans. He knew exactly what it was, regardless of its impossibility. It was the bullet he’d plucked from Laura’s grave. The one he had left on the side of the road two states back. Now it burned so badly against his thigh he thought for sure it would sear a hole through the fabric. The heat was so high and so concentrated that it was painful, almost as if there was a lead slug inside his leg rather than a still-jacketed round stuffed into his pants.

  “I’m counting on you, Nick. Don’t struggle too long, okay? The dark man says it’s only going to get worse. He’s going to make you do it one way or the other. You can’t fight him. Just do it soon, baby. I don’t want to see you suffer.”

  “What?” Nick screamed inside his own head. He still could not speak. “What the hell are you talking about, you psychotic bitch?”

  Laura winked at Nick, a demure smile pulling her lips taut.

  “I know you don’t mean that, lover,” she said. “Don’t worry, I know you’re having a tough time of it right now. But it will get better. I promise you. The hard part’s over. All that’s left is for you to put that little bullet into your head.”

  Nick twitched. His right shoulder jerked forward. Laura and the encompassing darkness were zapped from his vision as if washed away by a floodlight. Cloudy sunlight snapped back into the interior of the Cougar and Nick found himself once again looking at Layla. She was shaking him by the shoulder. And she was screaming.

  Nick’s head cleared enough that he realized the car was still moving. The steering wheel vibrated softly beneath the fingers of his left hand. When he turned his attention to the oncoming road he saw that they were dangerously close to crashing off the shoulder. At that moment, the car crossed the man-made divots stamped into the asphalt to alert sleeping drivers. The car jostled as the cabin was filled with a reverberating hum that could be felt in the bones. Muscle memory took over then, tightening his grip on the wheel and causing him to jerk it back toward the highway.

  The Cougar responded handily, diving back into the roadway. Nick overcorrected and the car swayed dangerously to the l
eft as the speedometer still read almost seventy miles an hour.

  Layla had stopped screaming at that point, but still held onto the grab bar affixed to her door.

  “Holy shit,” Nick said. “That was close.”

  “What the fuck just happened?” Layla demanded. “Were you trying to kill us?”

  Nick thought of Laura and the blackened sky, of the ominous demand she had made for his life. He had no idea what had transpired here in the real world while he had held a one-sided conversation with the woman he’d killed. Had he blacked out again?

  “I don’t know,” Nick said. He was still shaken and guided the car off the road again, but slowly this time. “I’m sorry. I think I started to nod off.”

  He waited, hands flexing in his lap, for her to contradict him, to say that he had once again lost his mind thanks to the presence of the monster that was apparently haunting him. That thought he tried to push to the back of the line.

  “Jesus, Nick. I almost pissed my pants. One second we were just cruising along and the next, we were veering for the rocks.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. And he meant it. But he was also relieved there had been no outward evidence of his most recent hallucination. “I think maybe we should stop for a while. Get some rest, you know?”

  Layla looked at the clock. “You’ve been at the wheel for most of the day, with what I can only assume is a moderate degree of hangover. Maybe you ought to let me take over for a while. There’s still a few hours of daylight left. We might as well make the most of them, right?”

  Nick pressed his hands together. His fingers felt like little popsicles and he rubbed them against each other. What had just transpired was the deepest, most frighteningly realistic daytime hallucination yet. Outside, the sky had returned to its original dirty gray pallor. And the woman beside him was once more just a frightened girl hiding behind a tough exterior. Nick closed his eyes and buried the heels of his palms against them. It was undeniable now. He was no longer in full control of himself. And much though he was reluctant to believe it, this situation was not just the result of a tired, guilt-ridden mind. There was an unnatural presence intruding upon his reality, threatening to overtake not only his sanity but his very life.