Brighter, a supernatural thriller

by V. J. Chambers

  "Hi, may I speak to Ramona Brinks, please?" asked the person on the other line.

  "This is Ramona."

  "Hi, Ramona, this is Katie Glen from the VCU Admissions Department. How are you?"

  Oh God! Her resumes hadn't gotten lost in the mail. "I'm fine," said Ramona. She wasn't in fear for her life from the guy next to her or anything.

  "Great," said Katie. Katie was very bubbly and warm. This was good. Ramona needed bubbly and warm right now. "So, I see that you live in West Virginia. What, like, three or four hours away?"

  "Yeah." Where was she going with this?

  "So, that's kind of far. I guess you'd be thinking about relocating, then?"

  "Yeah, I definitely am trying to find a job somewhere in the Richmond area, because I'm planning to move there."

  "Awesome. Richmond's awesome. I love it here. So, anyway, I'm in a rush, and I guess it wouldn't be absolutely out of the ordinary for you to travel down here for an interview, but I need someone to start in like, well, as soon as possible. Um, so, I'm wondering if we could do a phone interview?"

  "Absolutely," said Ramona.

  "You're going to think I'm nuts, and it's totally cool if you're not available or not ready right now, but what are you doing right now?" Katie laughed self-deprecatingly.

  "Uh, I've got forty-five minutes left on my lunch break," said Ramona. "So nothing."

  "Can you do the interview now? If it's too much pressure, I totally understand. We could try another time."

  "No, no. Now is absolutely fine. I'm outside, though. You can hear me all right and everything?"

  "Yeah, you're crystal clear. So, you've been working in admissions for like five years, right? As a work study, and then full time?"

  "That's correct."

  "Wow, that's awesome, because all my other applicants have absolutely no experience. Um...gosh, Ramona, what do you like about admissions? What do you like about working at a university? What draws you to this job?"

  Shit. Maybe an impromptu phone interview had been a bad idea. She sure as fuck couldn't tell the truth. That she needed to get the hell out of Elston and this was the only thing she knew how to do. Ramona racked her brain. What did she like about admissions? "I guess one of the things I like is being part of the atmosphere in a place where higher learning is the focus. I enjoy helping students find the right place for them to continue their education."

  "That's great," said Katie, as if she didn't really care. "I'm sorry," she said. "Some of the questions I have to ask are really stupid. I did not write this interview."

  Ramona laughed. She felt more at ease already.

  "Um, tell me about a time when you succeeded at your job."

  Ramona started talking about some project Maxine had given her that she'd done really well with. That was the easy question. She knew the hard question was coming next, and as she was talking, she tried to think of what she would say.

  Sure enough, Katie said, "Tell me about a time when you felt like you didn't succeed at your job."

  Great. "Well," said Ramona. "I was working on a brochure for the past couple months. It was supposed to highlight historical interest in Elston as a means of drawing students to Elston College. But I just kept running into brick walls. I did tons of research, but I couldn't really find much historical interest. Finally, I had to go to my boss with what I had and explain to her that I couldn't get what she wanted. She wasn't happy, but she had seen how much work I'd put into the project, and she said she appreciated how dedicated I was."

  "Great," said Katie.

  Good. She'd answered that question okay.

  "Um..." Katie trailed off. "Oh, God, I hate all these questions. Forget this stupid pre-written interview. You majored in English, right? So you're good with grammar and with reading essays? Because we have to read tons of essays. And one of the things no one's any good at evaluating is how well the person, like, writes, which I think is important."

  "Oh, yeah," said Ramona. "I can definitely do that. I wrote essays all through my undergrad."

  "And I bet you're good at writing stuff too, like you said about that brochure copy you were working on," said Katie.

  "Sure. I like writing."

  "Okay, so, I suck at this. I know I should be tougher on you, but ever since I got your resume, I've been like, that's the chick I want. So I saved your interview for last, because I thought that as long as it went well, I would say to you that I'd like to offer you the job."

  "You're kidding?!" Ramona leapt out of her chair. She noticed that Garrett was still there. She glared at him.

  "Does that mean you'll take the position? Cause if you need to think about it..."

  "I don't need to think about it."

  "So cool," said Katie. "When can you start? I know you have to move and all, and you have another job, which you have to give notice to..."

  "Actually, when I talked to my boss this morning, I got the impression she'd be okay if I had to leave sooner than two weeks."

  "Cool. Well, let's make it two weeks, then. Is that doable?"

  "Yes. Definitely doable."

  "Awesome. I'll send you contracts in the mail—or should I fax them?"

  Ramona gave Katie the fax number at work and after a little bit of small talk, hung up the phone. She turned to Garrett, who was still sitting there. "I just got a job," she said. "In Richmond. I'm blowing this popsicle stand. Why don't you people just leave me alone?"

  * * *

  Heather was surprised that Ramona was still awake when she got home. She was getting back a little earlier than she'd expected, because she'd closed the bar early, but Ramona had to get up early for work, so she usually was already snug in bed when Heather showed up. Instead, Ramona was drinking a glass of wine and putting folded sweaters into boxes. "Hi," said Ramona gleefully.

  "Hi," said Heather. She held up the bag she'd gotten from Regina. "I got the herbs."

  "I got a job," said Ramona.

  Heather dropped the bag and gave Ramona a hug. "Oh, that's great. Where?"

  "VCU. It was the craziest job interview I've ever had." Ramona explained the details.

  "You rock," said Heather. "You have an awesome resume for Admissions. You're going to do great. This is so cool."

  "I know, I know. I can't believe it's actually going to happen. I was beginning to think I would never fucking get out of Elston."

  "Yeah, well you are. We are, baby," Heather said. She got herself a glass of wine too. "But why aren't you in bed? Don't you have to work tomorrow?"

  "No. I told Maxine about the job, and she said that if I wanted, today could be my last day. She'd apparently got a replacement for me already lined up. So, I'm just going to chill out and get ready to go. I have to start in two weeks, so that gives me some time."

  Heather nodded. "Yeah."

  "I know. We need to find someplace to move in Richmond," said Ramona. "God, there's so much I need to do. I'm just so excited, I wanted to get started right away."

  "You remember that one place we sent rental applications to, where they had a couple apartments they were really trying to fill? They said they were open to starting leases at odd times."

  "Yeah, I guess so," said Ramona. "Where are you going with this?"

  Heather wasn't exactly sure, but the sight of Ramona packing had gotten her excited too. She suddenly just could hardly wait to get out of Elston. The sooner, the better. "I think we should go as soon as we get packed and we get a place to live."

  "Okay," said Ramona, "that's fine with me."

  "I mean it. As soon as we can. Like tomorrow if possible," said Heather.

  "Seriously?"

  Heather nodded.

  Ramona considered. "I won't be able to take my couches if we go tomorrow. Or my bed. And I can't leave them, because...well, I guess my security deposit is a lost cause. The landlord that owns this building never gives them back according to Zane." Ramona considered. "But what would we sleep on in Richmond?"

  "I don't know,"
said Heather. "But I have savings, and we could buy cheap things. Plus, people are always trying to get rid of couches. We'd find something. We can't stay here, Ramona. People are trying to kill us."

  "I guess you have a point."

  Heather was suddenly adamant about it. She began helping Ramona with her sweaters. "We just need to figure out if we can pack everything and fit everything in both of our cars," she said.

  "We'll get rid of what we can't take," said Ramona. "I don't need half this junk. We can do this." She went and got a notebook. "Let's make a list," she said. "Of everything we need to pack and everything we need to do, before we go."

  "Okay," said Heather. She began to think. "Clothes, obviously. But maybe we should go through our stuff and try to get rid of some of that. We could take it to Goodwill."

  "Wait," said Ramona. "If we go tomorrow, we can't do the ritual."

  "I know," said Heather. "That's kind of the point."

  Ramona sighed. "What about the crazy monsters killing people here? We can stop them, and we're not gonna try?"

  "What the fuck do we care?" said Heather. "We're getting out. Let this town stay the way it is. That seems to be what it's determined to do anyway."

  Ramona nodded. "Okay. Okay, yeah. I agree. Screw it. Trying to do anything just puts us in more danger, anyway. If we can get out with our lives, then we need to do it."

  "Great," said Heather. "Then let's get packing. What else do we need?"

  "I just thought of something else," said Ramona. "I don't have to go back to my job, but you do. I mean, if you don't give two weeks notice, they won't give you a good recommendation. And that's where all your experience managing is."

  She was right. Damn it. Heather bit her lip. How could she have not thought about her goddamned job? Heather took a long drink of wine. "Damn it," she said. She really did not want to stick around this town for another two weeks. Not to work at Applebee's for god's sake. It wasn't that she hated working at Applebee's. It was just that it seemed so immaterial. "I haven't told them anything," she admitted. "I haven't told them I was planning on leaving. I haven't told them about Rick and me separating. The only person who knows that at work is the bartender Regina." No. Actually, wait, that was good. "Well, that's what I'll do," said Heather. "I'll tell them about Rick. I'll tell them he tried to kill me and that I have no place to live, and that I have to go to my parent's house. And that I'm really sorry, but I can't work there anymore. And they won't be able to argue with that. That's an excellent excuse. Isn't that an excellent excuse?"

  Ramona grinned. "It's pretty excellent."

  "Okay, then," said Heather. "Richmond, here we come."

  She ran to the picture window in Ramona's apartment and threw it open. "Fuck you, Elston," she screamed into the night. Ramona laughed and joined her. "Fuck you, Elston!" they yelled together. They were free.

  Chapter Twenty

  Heather clutched her cell phone and paced Ramona's apartment, willing more bars to appear in the display. She was ridiculously frustrated. She and Ramona had never had any problem with cell service in Elston. Never. Not once. It was stupid. It was the damned vortex. They wanted to be free, but they weren't going to be able to make it, and it was all because of a bunch of angry fucking spirits. Heather was really pissed. Her mood wasn't helped by the fact that she and Ramona had been up until dawn, packing and drinking wine. After about three hours sleep and a horrid wine hangover, Heather wasn't in any mood to run into any more problems.

  Everything else was working out. Ramona actually called her landlord that morning. (Funny. The phones had been working fine then.) Oddly enough, her landlord said she'd take Ramona's furniture and (gasp!) pay her for it. Apparently, there was someone who wanted the apartment, but would prefer it furnished. Ramona also thought she had a pretty good chance at getting her security deposit back. Unlike Zane, she hadn't thrown property-damaging parties every three days.

  Heather and Ramona had gone through their clothes the previous night, and Ramona was currently lugging about four garbage bags full of them to the Goodwill. During that time, Heather was supposed to be calling landlords in Richmond and trying to set up a place for them to move. Heather was even pretty sure she knew that the place they'd sent applications to would let them move in, but she couldn't get her goddamned phone to work. First the internet, now this. Why, why, why? It was as if Elston had responded to what they'd yelled out the window and was simply not allowing them to do anything. "Fuck you back," it was replying. "You're stuck here."

  Heather didn't want to leave the apartment, because she felt safer inside. She was never sure if one of the monsters would kill her if she went outside. But she thought maybe she'd get better cell service outside, so she grabbed her spare key and wandered down the steps. At The Grind, several people were reading the newspaper at tables. No one else was around. Not any monsters. It was really too early for those guys anyway. It was before noon. Heather looked down at her phone. Still no service. "Motherfucking shit damn fuck!" she screamed.

  One of the people at the tables looked up at her outburst. "You okay?" he asked.

  "I can't get cell service, and I need to make a call," said Heather.

  "Try turning your phone off and back on again," said the man. "That works sometimes when my phone is acting up."

  Huh. Heather had never thought of doing that. It worked for computers, and her phone really just was a little computer. Duh. She tried it. It didn't work. She shook her head. "Nope. Nothing."

  "Well, try mine," said the man, digging his own phone out of his pocket. He looked down at it. "That's strange," he said. "I don't have any service either. I wonder if there's a tower down."

  "Or five," said Heather. "Even if AT&T's tower is down, then we should be able to get service from Sprint's or...Fuck!" She was so angry that she couldn't control herself.

  Heather began walking down the street, clutching her phone and staring at the bars. At the end of the block, a measly bar appeared. At the end of the next block, two appeared. Figuring this was the best she was going to get, Heather dialed the number for the landlord in Richmond.

  The rings were cut into by static now and then, but the phone was actually dialing. This was good.

  Someone answered the phone.

  "Hi," said Heather. "I called about a week ago. I was looking into apartments, but I didn't know when my move-in date was going to be. You had several openings at that time you were trying to fill ASAP. Is that still true?"

  "Yes, actually it is," said the person on the other end.

  "Great. Because I'm looking for a place to move into...today, maybe tomorrow."

  "Wow, that is quick. I'm having a really hard time hearing you. Are you on a cell phone or—"

  His voice cut off. Heather pulled the phone away from her ear. Goddammit. She'd lost service again. She stalked back up the street. What the fuck was she going to do? If she were Ramona, she'd just go into The Grind and ask to use their phone, but Heather didn't know the people that worked in The Grind, and they didn't know Heather, so she wasn't too keen on asking them for favors.

  Instead, feeling irrational, Heather continued past The Grind and headed up the street to the library. Once there, she threw open the door and came face to face with Garrett. Great. This had been a really stupid idea. Hadn't Mason said not to go back to the library? Fuck. She'd come here with some stupid idea of screaming at the spirits to let her make a fucking phone call anyway. Which sure as hell wasn't going to make any difference. Heather backed out of the library, hoping Garrett wouldn't follow.

  He did.

  Fuck.

  "Ramona tells me you're leaving town," said Garrett.

  "Would be," said Heather, "but the stupid vortex is blocking my cell phone calls so I can't call landlords."

  Garrett raised his eyebrows. He looked down one side of the street and then the other. "Let me see your phone," he said.

  Heather shook her head. "No."

  "Look," said Garrett, "the only thing
I want from you guys is for you to leave. I know Blair's out to get you, but I think things are getting a little weird. I mean, Owen, Cecelia, and Fiona all disappearing in a matter of weeks? It looks weird. We don't need to add to the confusion with the two of you. Now let me see your phone, I think I can block the interference."

  Heather chewed on her lip in consideration and then handed it over.

  Garrett looked at it for a couple of seconds. "Yeah," he said. "You've got service. Just stay close to me while you make the call."

  "I don't trust you," Heather muttered.

  "I don't trust you either," said Garrett. "Just do it, and do it fast before someone sees and wants to know what I was doing helping you."

  Heather took the phone back and dialed again. The connection was crisp, clear, and clean. Garrett did know what he was doing, she guessed.

  "Hi," she said. "I just called a minute ago."

  "You're the chick looking for a place today or tomorrow?"

  "Yeah."

  "We have two three bedrooms and a two bedroom. And any of them could be moved into tonight, but none of them are really, really clean. They'd need vacuuming and dusting and stuff. If you're keen on moving in though, we'll just cut you a break on the security deposit, and you can use the money to clean the apartment."

  "That's fine," said Heather.

  "Okay, I talked to you before, and I have your rental application, right?"

  "Right."

  "Good. What's the last name?"

  * * *

  With a place to live lined up, Heather returned to the apartment. She began to continue to pack up some of Ramona's things. Ramona had gotten some boxes from one of the restaurants in town and also picked up some old newspapers. Heather sat down on the floor in the kitchen area and wrapped dishes, placing them carefully in each box. The floor got kind of uncomfortable pretty quick, so Heather relocated to the couch, hauling the dishes over there to wrap. But as it turned out, the couch was a little too comfortable, and Heather, sleep deprived and exhausted from her emotional ordeal over phone service, fell asleep on the couch.

  Immediately, she was plunged into a world of brilliant white light. She felt the sensation of losing her limbs and body again, but someone reached out and grabbed her hands. She felt herself solidify again. And the person who had taken her hands took shape as well. It was Rick. They floated together, hand in hand. Heather looked at him. He looked the way he had when she'd first met him. His hair was longer, almost to his shoulders, and he was dressed in baggy shorts and an old Rolling Stones T-shirt. Suddenly, Heather was struck by how different Rick had become since their marriage. The pressures of having a job and "providing" seemed to have destroyed parts of why she'd fallen in love with him. But this Rick—this Rick was the Rick that she'd met for the first time. This was the Rick that had drawn her into a heady, whirlwind romance. She guessed she'd always known that this Rick was lurking somewhere inside the well-groomed guy that complained when she didn't wash the dishes. It had just gotten harder and harder to remember that he was there.