Things We Fear

by Glenn Rolfe

  * * * * *

  Emily didn’t know if it was the buzz from their last round of pints at the karaoke bar or if she actually had wanted to do it all year, but she fought back the gravity-powered urge to kiss Aaron as they parted.

  “So, tomorrow? Lunch on the pier?” he said.

  “Definitely.”

  “Good night, Emily.” He kept the space she’d left between them.

  “Good night, Aaron.”

  She turned and stepped up to the hotel doors. She glanced over her shoulder as the automatic doors slid open. A cool blast from the air-conditioned lobby brought her inner thermostat (whether from the alcohol or Aaron’s laugh) back down a notch. Aaron stood by the telephone pole plastered with neon-colored show flyers and waited for her to get safely inside. A gentleman. She smiled and stepped ahead, and right into another woman coming out.

  Oh my God.

  “Sorry, young lady. I didn’t see you there,” a male voice said.

  “It’s quite all right…ma’am?” Emily said from the concrete. The he/she with dirty-blonde locks and a short blue dress pulled her up with ease.

  “Okay, hon. You have a good night,” he/she said and scooted on clickety high heels down the cobblestone street.

  Emily dusted herself off. Aaron was still there. Of course. She gave him a thumbs-up even though she wanted to hide her face in her hands.

  “It’s Portland,” Aaron said. He held his arms out to his side and began to walk down the sidewalk backward. “See you mañana.”

  Part of Emily wanted to laugh, part of her wanted to cry. She settled for the middle ground, smiled, and headed inside.

  “Are you all right, madam?” Richard, the elderly gentleman at the desk said.

  “Just fine. Thank you.”

  Emily walked to the left of the desk and to the elevators. Tonight with Aaron was wonderful. She was a little disappointed that they’d not kissed, but it also gave her something to look forward to when she saw him tomorrow. Don’t get all googly, she warned herself. Her walls were weak. She hadn’t felt so open with a guy since Eben. Her buzz whispered about how nice it was to feel that way again.

  The elevator reached the fifth floor with a soft bing. She stepped out onto the beautiful, plush maroon carpet and went straight to her room. Inside, she slipped out of her flats, pushed them under the bench with her bare feet, pulled the elastic from her hair and combed her fingers through her long, dark locks. She unshouldered her bag and set it at the end of the king-sized bed and caught her reflection in the mirror to the right of the television. Her curves would be on full display for Aaron tomorrow. She hadn’t brought a swimsuit, but she would remedy that in the morning.

  On a whim, she crossed the room and opened the door to the minifridge. Empty. Rats. Her buzz would be fading too soon. She wasn’t ready to tighten back up. She wasn’t a big drinker, but she thought another beer would be perfect before bed. She dialed the front desk. Richard informed her that they had a selection of beers and wines in the shop just off the lobby. She grabbed a twenty from her wallet, stepped back into her flats and ventured down for a six-pack of whatever they had.

  “Right over there, madam,” Richard said. He directed her to the far corner.

  “Thanks.”

  She stepped into the small shop. Under the fluorescent shine, a six-pack of Heineken Light called to her. She grabbed the overpriced beer from the cooler and turned and bumped into a man in a dark-blue, button-down shirt and khaki shorts. For a millisecond, she was certain it was Matt Holmes. An impossibility, but…

  “Sorry,” the man said.

  “Oh no. I’m sorry; you look like someone I know.” It wasn’t him, but the guy could have passed for his brother.

  She looked back over her shoulder. Same hair, same build. Honestly, with the way he’d been popping into her world the last couple of days, she wouldn’t have been surprised. Random or otherwise, the universe was throwing some odd curveballs her way. She wasn’t sold on Matt’s “good guy” routine, but, she had to admit, he didn’t seem as harmful as she’d made him out to be.

  She crossed the lobby to the front desk and paid Richard for the beer. “Oh, do you by any chance have a bottle opener?” He handed her a combo cork screw/bottle opener. She thanked him and made her way back up to her room.

  She popped off the top from one of the green bottles, turned on the boob tube—Jimmy Fallon was giggling with Jennifer Lopez—and reflected on her long, strange day. The flat tire, Matt Holmes as the rescuer, shopping around the cool corner shops in the Old Port, and then tonight with Aaron. She was glad she’d made the trek after the early morning obstacles, and even happier that she’d had the balls to call Aaron. Slow your roll. Don’t go drowning in love. You just had one date. Still, it had been a pretty fantastic first date.

  The Heineken did its trick. Her cheeks were warm. She put the remaining five brews in the minifridge, slipped out of her skirt and climbed into the comfy bed. She closed her eyes, grinned that perfect beer-buzz grin, imagined tomorrow’s beach date and drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  The water encompassed him, held him in its midnight depths. Aaron stretched his arms out wide and let the current pull him along. He opened his eyes and saw his friends gathered above the surface. They waved for him, called to him. He couldn’t hear anything but his own heartbeat thud to some unheard hypnotic tune. They were afraid. He wished they would calm down. The water was perfect. He could stay in here forever.

  Suddenly two words broke through his happy swim: Look out!

  Aaron looked from side to side. His shaggy hair, which his mother said was too long, waved in slow motion in his vision. His childhood best friend, Bobby, pointed down. Aaron let his blurry gaze drift below. Momentarily forgetting he was submerged, he screamed at the sight under his feet. The head and chest of a man, a flowing mane of black hair, black dots for eyes, a pig snout over a tiny fish mouth that bobbed open and closed like his pet goldfish, Kiki. The bizarre creature had green tentacles for arms. They reached up and wrapped around his ankles. He was jerked violently down. The surface and his friends were gone. Blackness surrounded him. His lungs attacked him from the inside, demanding air. The pig-nosed thing grasping his ankles continued to pull him into the deep, dark waters. Aaron tried to kick his legs free. The creature’s tentacles didn’t budge. Instead, they began to climb up his calves, his knees, his thighs…

  The sound of sirens startled him from the horrible dream. He swung his arms and fought his way out of the comforter wrapped around him like a net. He scooted off of the bed in his boxer shorts and hurried to the window that faced the deep-blue monster that swallowed the sand beyond. Two EMTs met the lifeguards who were carrying a man that looked like a rag doll in their arms. One of the EMTs, a skinny guy with tattooed arms—sleeves as the kids would say—yelled to put the rag doll man down. The second responder, a larger, darker-skinned guy, began chest compressions. Sleeves yelled for the lifeguards and the few gawkers to back up. While his partner continued compressions, Sleeves got into his blue bag and hauled out a small face-mask-looking thing. Aaron recognized it from the teacher’s CPR course he’d taken last August. It was to place over the victim’s mouth to protect the victim and the would-be rescuer from any diseases. Aaron watched the EMTs work in tandem doing chest compressions and breaths. After a couple of minutes, the bigger of the two rescuers shook his head. Aaron put a hand to his mouth and backed away from the window. Not exactly the ideal way to start the day. He had no clue who the rag doll man was, but felt his stomach sink at the man’s death nonetheless.

  The pig-nosed creature got him.

  He shook the absurd thought from his mind and grabbed a cool Coors from the melted pool of ice water in his cooler. Beer for breakfast? Why not? Summer went by its own set of rules. You see a guy die on your sandy lawn—you get to drink. The not-quite-cold beer tasted like swamp piss. Like
the river water you ingested that day the pig-nosed man grabbed your leg. He picked his phone up from the tiny nightstand: 9:36 a.m. No calls. He hit the Music button and then Play. Tom Petty’s classic tale of an American girl jangled to life. The song never failed to bring a smile to his face. In light of the damned dream and the failed rescue, Tom’s magic didn’t quite have its normal effect.

  There is no pig-nosed man.

  Damn dream.

  It got our rag doll friend this morning.

  Absurd.

  Aaron finished the beer. His mouth tasted as sour as the face he was sure he was making. He went into the bathroom and started the shower. The day would only get better. He dropped his skivvies and climbed under the soft spray of hot water. He closed his eyes and shook his leg free of the phantom tentacle.

  Only gets better.

  * * * * *

  Where the fuck is that bitch?

  Matt licked the vanilla ice cream and stared daggers at Emily Young’s empty driveway. She never came home last night. Out whoring it up in the Old Port. That’s where all the pretend uppities went to let loose. Well, except for Janice. He smirked at the memory of taking her from behind. He tossed the remainder of his cone into the trash and walked to his Escalade. He had half a mind to drive down to Portland and hunt for her faggoty blue Jetta. Slash another tire.

  What the hell. He had nothing else planned for the day. He’d check a couple hotel parking lots. If they turned up empty, he’d head to the Maine Mall. He picked his Oakleys up from the dash and headed toward the interstate.

  * * * * *

  Aaron’s cell rang shortly after eleven. He swallowed his mouthful of Cocoa Pebbles. “Hello?”

  “Hey.”

  “Hey. How was your night at the hotel? Any more he/she rundowns?”

  She laughed. “Oh my God, no. Just ran into a guy who could have passed as Matt’s doppelganger.”

  “Matt?”

  “Yeah, oh, Mr. Holmes.”

  “Oh, your savior.” He tried to keep the jealousy from his voice but knew he’d failed.

  “Stop. Don’t be like that.”

  “Sorry. He just gives me the creeps.”

  “He’s a slimeball, but I think he might have a heart under all the sludge, somewhere.”

  Aaron wanted to say something snarky, but bit his tongue instead. After a somewhat awkward moment of silence he moved on. “You ready for the full assault of a day at OOB?”

  “Yes. Looking forward to it, actually. I just need to make a stop at the mall.”

  “What for?”

  “I didn’t plan on staying down here last night. I need some fresh clothes and a swimsuit.”

  “I need to grab a few things too. Want me to meet you over there?”

  “Are you sure you don’t just want to go bikini shopping with me?”

  “I can’t say that I’m opposed to that, but I really do need some things for the place here.”

  “Okay. I’m heading out in like ten minutes.”

  “Meet you at the food court?”

  “Okay. How about at Orange Julius?”

  “Cool. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  He hung up and stared out the window. No dead rag dolls. Just a deadly body of water and a horde of flesh-baring tourists. Again, his normal cure for dread came up short. He hoped Emily’s presence would remedy his sullen mood. Cure me or kill me, baby.

  He got a foot out the door.

  “Hello, Aaron.”

  “Hey, Mrs. Hersom.”

  “I don’t suppose you caught any of the excitement this morning?”

  Excitement? Not his choice of words. “Yeah, the sirens were my alarm clock.”

  “A shame whenever we lose someone like that.”

  “Anyone you know?”

  “Goodness no. Just one of those silly boys that think they can surf in Maine. Back in my day, when we used to listen to the Beach Boys sing about surfing safaris, we would sit out here all day and dream that it was the California shores, but the waves never played along. The boys sure would try, though. I think they just wanted to impress us.”

  “I’m sure they did. So, this guy was trying to surf and ended up drowning?”

  “That’s what Ethel told me. She saw the Lindsey boy haul him out and the Cole girl fetch a surfboard out afterward.”

  “Huh, must have bumped his head, or got pulled under.”

  “Tide was in, and yes, I suspect he bumped his head on something. Probably that silly board of his.”

  Aaron stared out toward the water; his mind imagined the conversation taking a slight turn…

  “Although…”

  “What?”

  “Ethel did say he had a large red welt that ran up from his ankle to his thigh.”

  “What caused that?”

  “Ethel said the pig-nosed man got him, used his tentacle to pull him under…”

  A shiver drilled through Aaron’s body.

  “Oh my, catch a case of the willies?”

  “Yeah, something like that. Listen, Mrs. Hersom, I’m meeting someone at the mall. Do you need anything?”

  “Someone?”

  “Yes.”

  “That teacher friend of yours?” she said. Her eyes twinkled.

  “Yes. Did you need anything?”

  “No, dear. You just go have a good time. And be a gentleman.”

  “Of course.”

  Aaron got in his car and stared out at the Atlantic.

  …he had a large red welt that ran up from his ankle to his thigh.

  Despite the heat of the day, he shivered again. Aaron wanted to punch his fear in the face.

  * * * * *

  Matt found Emily’s Jetta parked outside the food court entrance. It was one of the six blue Jettas he’d passed, but he knew the plate number. He considered messing with the vehicle. Another flat would seem too weird. He thought about messing under the hood, but these cars always had alarms. He’d just have to bump into her and work his baby-face act. He’d cracked her shell with the hero routine yesterday. So long as she wasn’t strolling around with her mystery fuck buddy, he should be able to pick up where they’d left off in her driveway.

  He parked toward the back of the lot next to the abandoned Chuck E. Cheese’s. The mall was crammed with kids and loud tourists. There was no shortage of gorgeous women. He heard French and a bevy of other languages he couldn’t place. He was far from cultured. Growing up, his mother’s idea of vacation hot spots was limited to Kelsey Point in Massachusetts and a number of locations in Nova Scotia. He caught a couple of naughty grins from a pair of underage cuties in Daisy Dukes. He was busy taking in their wonderfully tanned legs when Aaron Jackson passed by them. The loser didn’t even glance at the girls. Faggot. He followed Aaron’s path and realized what held his attention. Emily Young. Son of a bitch.

  “Hey, you.” Aaron moved in and gave her a hug. The mix of her berry shampoo and sunblock was intoxicating.

  “I took the liberty of ordering for you.”

  He took the proffered plastic cup and joined her at the round table for two. “What is it?”

  “Just try it.” She chewed her bottom lip. Her brown eyes bought his trust.

  He took a pull on the straw. A tart, ice-creamy treat hit his lips. He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “That’s pretty friggin’ good.”

  “See. It’s a pineapple cranberry smoothie.”

  “Cranberry?”

  “Yep.”

  He took another long haul from the straw. “That’s damn good.”

  “So…”

  “So.”

  Aaron held his cranberry concoction in one hand. His other hand fidgeted with the hem of his cargo shorts beneath the table.

  “You obviously don’t have a…a boyfriend…”

  “W
ho says?”

  His nervous hand halted. He swallowed hard and hoped she didn’t notice. “You wouldn’t be here with me if you did.”

  Her brown eyes smiled. The curve of her lips lifted slightly. “Well, if I was a bad girlfriend, maybe I would.”

  She’s messing with me, and she’s loving it.

  “You’re having fun, aren’t you?” Aaron grinned and leaned back. He sipped the cold drink.

  “Yeah, you make it pretty easy.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Yeah, like that time in the teacher’s lounge when I told Mrs. Bean you were my date for the Christmas party.”

  Aaron recalled the moment. He’d practically swallowed his Adam’s apple in front of the old woman.

  “I thought you were going to faint. Your face was like fifty shades of red.”

  The familiar warmth filled in every inch of his face.

  “Just like that.” Emily laughed.

  He brought the drink to his lips. He let the cool, acidic deliciousness trickle its way down his gullet, and he cleared his throat as he set the plastic cup down on the table. “Ah yes. I’m an easy mark.”

  He tapped his fingertips on the napkin next to his drink and forced his eyes to meet hers. “And what about you? What does it take to get Ms. Emily Young to blush?”

  Her lips defied her attempt to play it cool. She ducked her chin. Her lips pressed together. Her high cheekbones tightened and shaded. She tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear.

  “Ahh,” he said. “Just turn things around and Ms. Cool shows that she’s not so impenetrable.”

  “You got me.”

  “Off guard looks good on you.”

  The red hue that covered her expression darkened.

  He decided to let her off easy.

  “You get started on that Great American Novel yet?”

  “What? It’s only been a couple of days.”

  “It’s not going to write itself, you know.”

  Emily squared up her shoulders and raised her chin. “For your information, I’ve already written a book.”

  “Really? What’s it about?”