Monster in My Closet

by R. L. Naquin

  I was feeling pretty good about the night. The food was much better than I’d expected, the conversation suffered few awkward pauses and, so far, I hadn’t slopped any food down the front of my dress. Aces.

  Riley didn’t look like he had any of the first-date nerves I’d started the evening with. Everything he did—whether it was unfolding his napkin, flipping through the menu or sipping from his wine glass—had a lazy ease about it. His movements were so self-assured and casual. I doubted he’d ever spilled so much as a toast crumb. I was betting if Riley ever did drop a piece of toast, it would land butter side up.

  My belly was nicely filled with crunchy, deep-fried tastiness, mysterious fishy stuff rolled up with rice and seaweed, and a good three glasses of wine. I gave a contented sigh and placed my chopsticks across my plate.

  “What’s the verdict?” Riley asked, wiping his napkin across his mouth.

  I pretended to think about it. “Hm.”

  He tossed his napkin at me. “You loved it. Admit it.”

  I balled up the fabric and threw it back at him. “I was hungry. I’d have eaten anything.”

  He grinned and sang at me like a little kid. “Zoey loves sushi, Zoey loves sushi.”

  I tried to take a swallow from my wine glass to cover my silly smile, but it didn’t work. He was making me laugh. If I took a sip now it would likely spew out my nose. Aside from the extreme embarrassment involved, it would probably hurt like crazy. Not to mention, a waste of good wine.

  The sun had gone down, leaving the Bay to sparkle with fairy lights from the boats scattered across the water. Foot traffic was thinning on the sidewalk outside the window. The type of traffic had shifted, too. There were less business suits and more casual or club-wear. It was a gorgeous, clear night, and I was with the most amazing guy I’d ever met.

  The night had turned out pretty spectacular.

  I was content to sit and share the view with him, my head spinning a little from the wine. He reached across the table and took my hand. It might have been awkward, but I suppose he’d been planning his move for some time. He’d managed to slide his arm between dishes without anything getting in the way. Smooth.

  His fingers laced through mine, and his gray eyes lit up in the candlelight. “Thanks for coming tonight,” he said.

  “Well, you know, I didn’t have anything life-threatening to do. I thought I’d take the night off from throwing myself into mortal danger.”

  He squeezed my fingers. “Funny girl. Any chance you’ll tell me now what you were doing under the dock?”

  I squeezed back and smiled. “You just saw me eat. Don’t you think that’s enough shocking information for one evening?”

  “You barely got any on you. It wasn’t as interesting as you think.”

  “Maybe you should’ve taken me for pasta then. I can make a hell of a mess with that.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

  My breath caught. Next time? The Zoey inside my head clapped her hands and jumped up and down. On the outside, I used my free hand to reach for my water glass and take a slow sip of water. Unfortunately, as I did this, I also glanced out the window.

  Not six feet away, Brad stood outside on the sidewalk, staring into the restaurant at me. I sputtered water down the front of my dress in the least graceful move I had in my considerable, clumsy repertoire.

  “Oh, God,” I said. I grabbed my discarded napkin and dabbed at the front of myself. I released Riley’s hand so I could pull the fabric taut and mop it all up. “I’m so sorry. You didn’t see that.” Out of the corner of my eye I peeked out the window. Brad was heading right for me. I was sure the panic on my face was easy for Riley to read.

  He looked out the window.

  “Don’t look out there,” I said. “Just a homeless guy. Nothing to see.”

  He looked anyway. Can’t say I blame him. The minute somebody tells me not to look at something, looking is the first thing I do.

  “Why is that homeless guy staring at us?” he said.

  That’s when Brad shouted my name and banged on the window, inches from my face.

  Chapter Twenty

  I wanted to crawl beneath the table and die. Up to that moment, the date had been going so well.

  “So,” Riley said. “Friend of yours?” He looked as uncomfortable as I felt.

  Brad banged on the window again, the flat of his hand leaving a smeary print on the glass. His lips moved and I could hear my name as if from far away.

  I rubbed my forehead with the pads of my fingers. “Worse. A stray that followed me home a very long time ago and won’t take divorce for an answer.”

  “Ah.”

  Through the restaurant window, Brad crooked his finger at me. His lips formed enthusiastic words. “Come here, Zoey!” He held up a finger and mouthed the words one minute.

  Completely humiliated, I returned my attention to Riley. His eyebrows had risen in surprise.

  “If I don’t do something, he’ll never go away,” I said. “I’ll be right back, I swear. I am so sorry.”

  Riley looked from me to Brad and back again. “Want me to go with you?”

  “I appreciate that. But no, he’s harmless. A pain in the ass, but harmless. Except maybe to my pride and my bank account.” I grabbed my purse and headed out the door, mumbling threats of decapitation and disembowelment.

  Brad must have watched me get up, because he was by the door when I came out.

  “Zoey, baby! I can’t believe how lucky I was to run into you like this.”

  “You didn’t ‘run into me,’ Brad. You accosted me through a window. Get away from here. You’re ruining everything.”

  He looked genuinely surprised. “You’re on a date?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m in a nice restaurant with a guy. What else did you think was going on?”

  His face fell. “I had no idea you were seeing anybody. You could have given me a heads-up.”

  “Brad, we’ve been divorced for eight years. I don’t owe you any explanations.”

  “That’s, cool. I understand.”

  He was pouting. Brad’s blond hair, blue eyes and dimpled cheeks could give any girl wobbly knees. It had worked on me once upon a time. For a brief second, I felt bad. I snapped out of it pretty quick. I was growing less and less susceptible to his manipulations.

  “What do you want?”

  “I was going to call you. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll go.” He turned to leave, his head hanging like a kicked dog.

  I knew he was manipulating me. We’d played out similar scenarios countless times in the past. I always caved, and I could feel it happening again.

  I sighed. “Brad.”

  He stopped and lifted his head. “Yeah?”

  “What do you need?”

  “It’s nothing, Zoey. I’ll find somebody else. I know people.”

  That was a laugh. The people Brad knew couldn’t help themselves out of a bathtub, let alone help anyone else.

  “I don’t have time for this, Brad. Say it or don’t. This is your only shot.”

  He stood still for a moment, staring at the sidewalk. I could tell he was trying to put the words together for one hellacious sales pitch. I glanced through the window and saw Riley watching. “Hurry it up, Brad. My date is getting cold.”

  “I want to go back to school,” he said, the words streaming out in a rush of air. “I can’t live like this. I want to be better than I am. I want to be better for you.”

  “For me?”

  He nodded.

  “Why would I have anything to do with it?”

  “You make me want to be a better person. You make me want more.” His eyes slid over me, making me feel uncomfortable and half dressed.

  “After ever
ything you’ve put me through over the years, why would I lift a finger for you now?”

  “You always help people, Zo.”

  That startled me. “Not this time, Brad. I’m done. I’m going in.” I swiveled on my fancy zombie heels and headed to the door.

  “I’ll call you,” he said. “When you’re not so busy, I’ll tell you my plan.”

  Of course Brad had a plan. It made me tired thinking about all the plans he’d had over the years. “If I see you through that window again, I swear, I will change my number and hire a bodyguard to keep you away.”

  “I’m going, I’m going. You’re not in a receptive mood anyway. We’ll talk.”

  I ignored him. I knew he’d call. And I knew I’d find some way to help him without completely ruining my self-esteem. No matter how irritating he was, no matter how pathetic, I still felt he was somehow my responsibility, at least in some measure. I hadn’t been able to fix him, and that was guilt I carried with me.

  There was no one at the front of the restaurant. The hostess station was empty. That saved me the embarrassment of looking her in the eye as I slunk in.

  As I stepped into the dining area, I could see why no one had been up front. People were clustered around a table by the far wall. A middle-aged man stood by his vacated seat, flapping his arms.

  “Someone do something, please!” he said. “Help her!”

  I had noticed the man and his wife when they came in. He was short and stocky with thinning blond hair. She was tall and sharp angled, her brown and gray-streaked hair so bushy it devoured her thin face. She was currently flopping on the floor, her mouth gaping like a frog and her lips turning blue.

  Servers and patrons alike stood watching, unsure what to do. Shouldn’t someone be giving her the Heimlich or something?

  Even if I were experienced at giving the Heimlich and/or CPR, I couldn’t have crossed the room and waded through all those people in time to do a damn thing. As I stood frozen, one of the servers broke free of the herd, reached down and yanked the poor choking woman upright by the armpits.

  While his wife was being squeezed repeatedly from behind, the pudgy husband continued waving his arms and marching back and forth, pleading for help which had already come.

  It was a shame there wasn’t a paramedic present.

  I scanned the room for the one person I knew was qualified to handle the situation. Riley sat at our table. He glanced up at the circus across the restaurant, then bent his head over his phone, apparently reading a text message.

  Seriously?

  There was a disgusting gagging sound, and the bird woman coughed up the wad obstructing her airway. The crowd murmured approval, followed by scattered applause. Apparently, the good news didn’t reach her husband. He continued to parade between the tables, hollering for help.

  I still hadn’t budged from my spot, so engrossed was I in both the performance of the players and the lack of performance from my date. I had a perfect view of the entire floor when short-pudgy guy stopped yelling for help on behalf of his perfectly safe wife, and instead turned purple, clutching his chest. He went down so fast it was a few seconds before anyone noticed.

  In the same way time had both slowed and sped up when I witnessed the businessman being mowed down by the bus, I saw the choker’s husband go down with perfect, helpless clarity. My body was caught in a slow-motion movie reel, my arm coming up to point at the speed of dark.

  Someone shouted, and the crowd shifted its obsession with the wife to the husband. He lay sprawled on the floor, unmoving. I heard someone yelling for a 911 call. A patron bent down and hit the man’s chest with a fist.

  From our table by the window, Riley slid his phone into his pocket, took a sip of his drink and watched.

  Time converged and my movements returned to real-time mode. The patron giving CPR was having no success. He kept pumping, though the pudgy man showed no signs of reviving.

  Riley checked his watch and took another slow sip. He rose and walked across to the busy mob.

  He squatted down and felt for the man’s pulse.

  “Has anyone called emergency services?” he asked.

  “Robert!” The bird-lady was screeching at her husband’s prone body. “Get up, Robert! What do you think you’re doing? Why is everything always about you?”

  Everyone but Riley turned their heads to view the crazy harpy berating her dead husband. I still stood across the room, viewing it in full screen. I saw Riley take that moment, with everyone’s attention away from him, to place his ring over poor Robert’s mouth.

  The previous time I’d seen this, I hadn’t been sure. I’d been over-saturated with incoming emotional charges. I’d been clear across the street with crowds of people separating us. This time was different. I had a clear view of the gray, oily substance oozing out between the dead man’s lips and into Riley’s ring. Riley pulled at first, as if the stuff resisted, but then it flowed out of the man’s mouth and into the ring as if it were seeking shelter. It took a few seconds to complete, but it was over before anyone else turned around.

  By then, Riley had his hands overlapping each other and pressed against the dead man’s breastbone, pushing rhythmically in what I knew was a pantomime of resuscitation.

  I was appalled. Riley hadn’t tried to save him. For that matter, he hadn’t tried to save the wife while she was choking, either. What kind of a monster was I dating?

  Sirens were faint in the distance and snapped me into movement. I returned to the table and sat gulping my ice water. I wasn’t sure what to do. I wanted to clear out before Riley got back. I wanted to confront him, ask him what the hell he was. I wanted to hide in the bathroom until they closed the restaurant and I could sneak out.

  I wanted to call my dad and have him come pick me up.

  Indecision often forces the issue. Minutes later, the ambulance arrived. Scurrying became more frenzied as people moved out of the way for the paramedics. They took over for Riley, giving up shortly thereafter to load Robert onto a stretcher. Robert’s wife was checked and put into a second ambulance. They were still working when Riley came back to the table and sat down across from me.

  He didn’t say anything. He fixed me with his lovely gray eyes and waited for me to speak.

  “You could have saved him.” My voice was shaky. “You didn’t try.”

  “Zoey, it was his time.”

  “How can you say that? How can you be a paramedic and say something like that? Isn’t it your job to save people?”

  He looked a little sad, but his eyes never wavered from mine. “Sometimes.”

  “Sometimes? Were you there in time to save Helen? Was it her time? Who are you to decide? You don’t get to decide whose time it is. You’re supposed to save them.” I stood up and banged my empty water glass on the table. I gritted my teeth and spoke through tight lips. “Thank you for a lovely evening, but I must be going now.”

  “Wait, Zoey. It’s a cliché, but really, I can explain.”

  I bent close to him so he could hear me whisper. “I saw what you did to him. I’ve seen it twice. I don’t know what you are, but I have experience with monsters—even ones that appear to be human. Whatever you stole from that man, I don’t want to know. But know this—I saw you do it.” I turned and walked out.

  I could hear him protesting behind me, but I was so angry and worked up, I wanted nothing more to do with him. Ever. I didn’t care how dreamy he was or how tingly he made me feel. After being tasted by an incubus, I wasn’t about to get suckered in by whatever the hell Riley was.

  I was so angry I don’t remember the drive home. Considering that and the glasses of wine I’d had with dinner, it was a miracle I didn’t hurt anyone.

  I came through the door to immediate sympathy.

  “I am sure it was not as bad as you think,” Molly said.
>
  I was curled up on the corner of the couch, eating cookie dough from the mixing bowl. I don’t know how Maurice had known to make it for me, but it was in the fridge when I got home.

  “Oh, it was as bad, trust me.” I shoved a spoonful in my mouth, crushed a macadamia nut between my teeth. “No way can this night be recovered.”

  Maurice sat across from me and passed a napkin across the coffee table. “Your dress isn’t tucked into the back of your hose, and there’s no sign of toilet paper on your shoe. Spinach in your teeth? Let’s see.”

  I groaned. “If only it were that easy.”

  They sat in silence, waiting for me. I let them wait. I had no idea where to begin. Half the bowl of dough was gone before I shoved it away and took a deep breath.

  I might as well tell them. From our post-nightmare talks in the kitchen, Molly and Maurice were both well aware of the endless problems with my ex-husband. This one was extra special, though. Even I couldn’t believe it, and I’d been there.

  “Let’s start with Brad.”

  “Oh, no,” Molly said. She leaned down from her perch on the back of the couch and patted my shoulder. “Why did you answer the phone?”

  “He didn’t call,” I said. “He accosted me through the window at the restaurant.”

  Maurice gasped. “How the hell did he find you?”

  “Bad luck, I suppose. I had to go outside and deal with him.”

  “We have got to do something about that guy.”

  “Nope. Doesn’t matter. I’m going to die alone anyway. Brad wasn’t remotely the worst part of the night, as ridiculous as that sounds.”

  “How could it get worse?” Molly asked.

  I told them. I regurgitated the conversation with Brad, which seemed so far in the past it was like another life. I described the scene I found when I went back into the restaurant, from choking wife to heart failure husband.

  And I told them about Riley. I told them everything he did, but more importantly, I told them what he didn’t do.