by Jen Estes
She smiled. “That’s nice.”
“I can call you from there or …”
She shook her head. “No, no. You should concentrate on your family. Just contact me when you get back. We’ll meet.”
He nodded, and they both stood. She held her office door open for him. “It was nice meeting you. Have a safe trip, okay?”
Hope had replaced desperation in his eyes. “Thank you, Ms. McDaniel.”
At the sound of another tap at her door, Cat said, “Did you forget something, Mr. Abercromby?” She looked up and saw a different visitor. “Oh, Mr. Snow, hello.”
The muscular security guard’s tight smile was stretched over yellowed teeth.
She sat down and, to hide her body, scooted her chair in behind the desk.
He stepped forward. “Mr. Abercromby? Did all them late hours finally make you lose your marbles, Red? Jamal is worm food.”
Cat frowned at his crudeness. “Thank you. I’m aware of that. I just had a visit from his brother. I thought you might be he.” She sighed. “Never mind. What can I do for you?”
He held out her oversized leather bag by its gold chain handles. “Ya left your purse in the boss’ office. I’m just filling in as errand boy.”
“Oh gosh, thanks.” Cat reached out and took the bag from his hands. She pulled out her laptop from an inner pouch. “I can’t believe that. I don’t know how I could’ve left something so important behind.”
She gave him a thoughtful smile and wondered for what crime he had been incarcerated, though she knew it was much too rude a question to ask. Maybe Otis had been a thief, too, and look at him now. Did that mean Michael McDaniel could be rehabilitated someday? Maybe even hold a respectable job where he, too, could be trusted to return purses to their rightful owners?
“Yeah, well. That’s the way things go sometimes, I suppose. Time was I’d forget my own rooster in the henhouse, if ya know what I’m sayin’.”
Cat didn’t.
“That was back in my wilder days,” Otis went on. “It’s easier now, since all I have to remember is this here belt.”
He gave his midsection a little pat, bringing her attention back to the right-sided pouch.
“Hmm … I bet.” She studied the pouch closer.
“My heavens, girl!”
Cat jumped and jerked her head up.
“W-what?”
“You sure do have a good view from here.”
Cat relaxed and peered out the glass with him. “It’s great, huh?”
“Ya know, I’ve never even seen the inside of this office. Derhoff was here for three years but no one besides that little ass-kisser out there ever got past the threshold. Why, this view’s almost as good as the boss’.”
“Yeah, except that his window is, um, about a thousand times bigger.”
The creases deepened around Otis’ left eye as he offered her an exaggerated wink. Then he headed for the chair in front of her desk and sat down. Taking the security cap off his head, he wiped the back of his hand across his receding hairline. The lingering sandy locks coiled under the moisture at the crown.
“Instead of a dinky mini-fridge, he’s got a full-service liquor station.”
She followed his stare to the fridge in the corner. “An empty dinky mini-fridge. I’m afraid all I can offer you is half a can of Cherry Coke or a bottle of orange juice. If you want, we have tea and coffee in the break room—”
“Ah, don’t worry about a thing, cupcake. I’m just killing time before the fans start lining up. Not looking forward to that. Did you know that at last night’s game there were three brawls in the stands before the first inning? Abercromby fans, too, come to think of it.”
“Yikes. Well, grief can make people do strange things.”
“Is that what you think? I was figuring the heat was to blame.” He pulled at the collar of his taupe uniform shirt.
“Well, that probably doesn’t help, either. Makes you feel for the players, though. The field thermometer read one eleven yesterday. Imagine playing down there while wearing two pounds of polyester.”
“Aw, screw them. Those assholes are making millions just to stand out their picking at their cracks until the occasional ball comes their way. I’m asses and elbows in the bleachers, wrestling drunks down to the security office.”
“I guess I wouldn’t know. We can only see so much from the press box.” She gave him an apologetic shrug, knowing full well what it was like to work out in the stands. “At least it’s air-conditioned.”
Otis kicked his legs out in front of him and put his hands behind his head. “That’s the job. I tell ya, I’d rather be out beating the heat than be stuck in the uppity press box, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, the press box isn’t so bad.”
“You don’t strike me as the kind of girl who’d enjoy the company of pricks like Carlyle or the one from the paper, uh, St. John. He’s a real jerkoff.”
She smiled. “Well, I just do my own thing. I’ve got so much work to do anyway, so I try to stay away from the petty stuff.”
Dustin-torture notwithstanding.
“That’s smart. I get why the boss is always singing your praises.”
“He is?” She leaned in, hanging on to Otis’ every grunt as he collected his thoughts.
“I’ll say. You’d think he’d made you himself and taped ya to the refrigerator. Thinks you’re a real find.”
Cat blinked and bit her lip. “Wow. That’s awesome.”
“Thought you’d be pleased.” Otis looked out toward the hallway. “So what did Abercromby’s bro want, anyway?”
Something about Otis’ tone told Cat not to give away too much. “Oh uh … he just wanted to say thanks. I sent his mom a collection of articles about Jamal.”
“You did? Ain’t that sweet.”
She shrugged. Otis stared at her with a dopey, awestruck gaze for several seconds. “Well, Red, I’d better get out of your pretty hair. I got to go brief the ushers on tonight’s radio codes and all that shit.”
“Okay.” She pointed to her bag. “Thanks for bringing back my bag.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
He wrestled his large body from the small chair and ambled out the door.
Cat had just opened up her laptop when yet another rap came from the closed wooden door.
I guess this is the place to be today.
Dustin threw open the door and stomped in. “What was he doing up here?”
“Who? Otis?”
Dustin nodded.
“Just returning the bag I left in Mr. König’s office.”
“He sure stayed for a while.”
“We were talking.”
Dustin scoffed and shook his head. “I don’t know why it surprises me that you’d befriend the one person in this building who belongs in the zoo.”
Cat cocked her head and glared at him. “Excuse me?”
“Otis Snow is a freak show. He lurches around this place like the missing link. Doesn’t he creep you out?”
Otis’ ogling did have a tendency to ‘creep her out,’ but she kept her concentration on her laptop and refused to give Dustin the satisfaction of common ground.
“As a matter of fact, he doesn’t. I don’t judge people at face value, lucky for you. I’ll have you know he’s actually quite pleasant.”
“If by ‘pleasant,’ you mean sweaty, then I wholeheartedly agree.”
“There’s nothing wrong with having a little dirt under your fingernails, Dustin.”
“Whatever. I’m just trying to warn you.”
“Noted.”
“So, why was Jason Abercromby here?”
“To thank me for a scrapbook I made for his mom with some archived articles about Jamal.”
“You seriously did all that?”
“Yes.”
Dustin grimaced. “Why?”
“Compassion. Why is that so strange?”
“Did you lose it when you saw him? I bet you didn’t even know
Jamal had a twin.”
“Actually, I did know, so I wasn’t surprised at all.” Cat was amazed at how easily the lie rolled off her tongue.
Dustin raised one bushy brow over his horn-rimmed frames. “Mm-hmm. Well look, you don’t want to get too involved in these people’s lives. They’ll just drag you down with them.”
She gave him a blank stare. “Thanks for the advice, Dustin. Whatya say we just get back to work?”
Dustin turned on his heel and sauntered out of the office. She closed the door behind him with a little too much force.
She tapped her pencil thoughtfully on the desk.
Hmm. Was there a story here?
27
Cat drifted through the silent office and hovered in front of Dustin’s desk. The surface was bare—no computer, no stapler and no sign of his telephone. She ran her finger through the thick pile of dust and frowned. “Dustin? Has anyone seen Dustin?”
No one answered her. She continued gliding across the chilly room and wafted toward the outer doors, eager to leave the dark room behind. A raspy whisper made her stop short.
She called out, “Did someone say something?”
Cat turned to one of her coworkers but no one responded to her question. The sickly aroma of dead roses filled the office. Cat scanned the desks for a vase whose contents were past their prime. The putrefaction began to thicken in her throat. She moved for the doors, but they appeared farther away with each step. She began to run, desperate to get away from the stench of decomposition. She tripped and lost her footing, skinning her palms on the rough berber. She turned to look for the cause of her tumble.
Jamal?
A naked body unfolded at her feet, its skin flayed open from sternum to pelvis. Cat watched in horror as it began to twitch, first the fingers, then the toes. Its arm slowly reached for her legs.
Get up, Cat, get up!
She remained glued to the floor. The body’s cold, decaying hand wrapped around her bare ankle. She tried to scream, but the thick stench trapped her voice in her throat. She kicked her leg to free it from the thing’s grip. Her efforts only made the flesh on its fingers peel away, giving way to tightly clenched bones. The smell of rotting flesh traveled to her lungs, and Cat began coughing convulsively.
“H-help!” she cried out between hacks.
Her coworkers’ still heads didn’t budge from their desks. With a booming ding, the elevator across the hall opened and Dustin stepped out. He sipped from an oversized coffee mug as he approached.
“Dustin, help me!”
He took one large step over her and the corpse and disappeared into her office. Flaps of flesh now hung off the corpse’s skull. She stopped flailing and stared at her attacker. Its skin color, although tinged with mossy decay, appeared to be white, not black. It began to twitch toward her and crawl up her motionless legs. Nearly on top of her now, it appeared to be about her height, considerably shorter than the deceased outfielder. An eyeball hung from a socket and dragged across her cheek. She crushed the back of her head into the hard floor as she flailed about, trying to brush away the ooze on her face. The other eyeball remained intact, and in it Cat recognized the cry for help. She’d seen it only hours ago in her office when Jason Abercromby paid her a visit.
The corpse wrapped its gaunt fingers around her neck. Cat began to struggle again. She twisted and turned, trying to squirm out from underneath its grip. She pushed against its chest, feeling the ridged bones and squishy flesh between each finger. With a loud crunch, its body snapped off from the shoulders and the skeleton slumped to the side. Only its arms protruded from her now, still connected to the fingers wrapped tightly around her esophagus. Cat pulled at the wrists and its grip tightened. She couldn’t breathe. She gasped for breath. Everything went black.
Cat’s eyes flew open. She brushed sweaty strands of hair away from her cheeks and forehead and looked around the dim bedroom. The alarm clock flashed 4:56 a.m. Laying her head against her pillow, she cautiously closed her eyes.
The corpse appeared again.
Cat shot up and reached for the switch on her lamp. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she cradled the nape of her neck in her hands. She inhaled deeply of the sugary vanilla scent that remained in the room from a previously lit candle and stared at the blank bedroom wall. Then she squinted at the alarm clock again, flung the covers off and hopped out of bed. Her fingers felt for the switch on the small television. Anything to get her mind off rotting misery.
That rules out infomercials.
Cat flipped the channels to a Lucy marathon and turned up the volume. This was ridiculous. What if she didn’t ever find the remote control? How much did those universal remotes cost? Maybe after she paid off a few more bills.
After twisting her hair into a messy ponytail, Cat grabbed a box and finally started to unpack.
As her hand reached into the box, an image of the haunting arm flashed through her mind. She blinked the dream away but trepidation lingered. Was Jamal’s ghost trying to tell her something? Or was her subconscious trying to warn her?
28
“What’s new, Puss-uh, Cat?”
Benji bumbled into the building’s laundry room carrying a duct-taped laundry basket and a stack of mail. He whistled the Tom Jones tune as he set the full basket on an empty washer.
Cat beamed, her bad night suddenly a distant memory. “Hey, Comic Book Guy!”
“You know, I’m just going by ‘Benji’ now. Or ‘the Stallion.’ ” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively as he walked over to the card table where she sat. “So, you’re an early bird, too?”
“Something like that. Just a sec.”
She pulled out the USB flash drive and closed the lid to her computer. He took a step back.
“Oh, if you’re busy, you don’t have to stop. I mean, I was …”
“No, no. Stay. I need a break anyway. I was fielding some fan questions. Tomorrow’s the very first edition of the weekly, Dish and Chips.”
“What’s that?”
“A Q&A thingy I came up with. Fans e-mail or tweet a question for the players or staff members, and I personally see to it their questions are answered.”
“Anything?”
“Anything baseball related. Don’t get any ideas.”
“I would never. I’ll have you know I might have a baseball question or two.”
“Like what?”
“Like maybe I want to hear the senior reporter’s opinion on overlooked Hall of Fame third basemen.”
Cat giggled. “You’ve been doing your homework on ‘Jan Santa’, haven’t you?” She wrapped the electrical cord around her laptop and crammed the computer in her bag.
Benji grinned, thumbed through his mail and stopped upon seeing a letter. He tore open the envelope and scanned the contents quickly. His hopeful expression collapsed. He wadded up the letter and let out a disgusted groan. “You know what makes me mad?”
She rested her chin on her hand. “Hmm … let me think.” She snapped her fingers. “People who point at their wrist while asking you for the time, like you’re too stupid to know where your watch is?”
“No …. well, yes, I suppose.” He gave her a fleeting smile. “Also, a lack of collegiate funding for science departments.”
“Oh.” She pressed her lips together. “I guess that’s bad. Not ‘unnecessary Charades’ bad’ but still, grr.”
He tossed the crumpled ball to the side. “It’s more than grr. Supplies are already limited. Now lab times will be shortened and class sizes doubled. The classes that aren’t cut, at least. All because of so-called ‘budget restraints.’ ”
He flung open the lid of the washer. The metal clanged as the lid hit the back of the machine. He ignored it. “Do these same restraints stop the school from giving full ride athletic scholarships to our championship baseball team full of brainless automatons who can’t even ignite a Bunsen burner?”
Watching his tirade with a bemused smile, Cat hefted herself onto the washer next to him
.
Benji yanked t-shirts out of his laundry basket and shoved them into the machine. “No it doesn’t. Got a whole locker room full of them.”
She handed him the bottle of laundry detergent. “Clubhouse.”
“What?”
“Baseball locker rooms are called clubhouses.”
He rolled his eyes. “Clubhouses are for eight-year-olds and Hell’s Angels.”
He seemed to expect a reaction, but all she could offer was a helpless shrug.
“This is a perfect example of how our country feels about education, specifically in the field of science.” He pointed his finger toward her. “Do you know that in terms of our GDP, the United States ranks eighth in R&D? Eighth! We’ve been on federal funding decline for thirty years. There is no excuse.”
The row of dryers dinged, and Cat jumped off the washer
Benji handed her a laundry basket and opened the dryer’s door for her as he ranted on, “But, hey, as long as we’ve got our priorities straight. After all, we always bring home the gold at the Olympics. Maybe we’ll be able to use all of those medals as a countermeasure to bioterrorism.” He put the basket down and pushed the hair off his forehead. “So, do you want to go out with me sometime?”
Her head shot out of the dryer. “W-what?”
“I was uh, wondering if you wanted to go out, you know, like to the movies. You can pick. As long as it doesn’t have vampires; they’re biologically impossible.”
“A date?”
“How about Friday night?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Benji, but I can’t.”
“It’s because I just insulted your livelihood, isn’t it?”
She laughed and shook her head, her ponytail swinging from side to side. “No, it’s because that livelihood requires that I attend a game Friday night.”
“So maybe another time? How about Saturday afternoon at the zoo?”
“Another game. I’ve got an idea. A few times a season I’m allowed to sneak away and enjoy a game outside of the press box with a couple of decent seats behind home plate. Why don’t I see if I can get tickets for this weekend. Maybe I can convince you baseball isn’t the root of all evil.”