Fred & Mary

by Kipjo Ewers

  As he flew the door open, an ice-cold chill ran through his body as terror began to swirl within him.

  The door only opened partially.

  It was due to the thick security door chain that was still on. The apartment also did not come with an outside fire escape ladder. It was the reason Mary ordered two rope ladders on eBay keeping one in the living room, and the other in the bedroom.

  Unless Ms. Santiago was a ninja or a magician, there was no way she came in and made his lunch.

  The terror running rampant through him became physically painful as he slowly turned looking at the lunch made on the table, then down the hallway to his bedroom. The heaviness that was in the hallway and bedroom had now enveloped the entire apartment.

  “Fuck this …fuck this.” He quivered.

  Fred scrambled grabbing his bag and car keys. Almost ripping the security chain off, he flew the door open and slammed it shut the second he exited as if something was chasing him. His entire body would not stop shaking as he quickly locked the door, and backed up falling against the wall in the hallway.

  Fred was officially scared.

  ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

  Fred drove to work in a daze, no longer concerned about getting in late.

  He sped walked through the office barely acknowledging co-workers and his team as he made a beeline to his office. His fast answer excuse was that he had a conference call he had to jump on.

  Whizzing past his assistant with just a, “Screen my calls,” Fred entered his office locking the door behind him. He dropped his bag onto the floor, fell into his chair where he sat silently in a catatonic state knowing that in a couple of hours Fred had to go home, there was no explanation of what happened, and if he told anyone they were not going to believe him at all.

  In the middle of his dread filled thought, a knock at his office door broke him out of his trance of terror where he clutched his chest teetering near heart attack cliff.

  “I’m on a conference call!” He roared.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Garrett,” his assistant Gwen nervously answered from the other side of the door. “I tried to get you via Instant Messenger, but you have not turned it on yet. Mr. Bronson is looking for you, and asked that you come to his office when you have a minute.”

  “It’s okay Gwen,” he swallowed. “I’m sorry for yelling, it wasn’t toward you. Please tell him I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Fred bent over in his chair clutching his skull while attempting to catch his breath. It was official; even he could not refute it. He was having a nervous breakdown.

  “You got to keep it together man,” he said to himself. “You got to keep it together.”

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  Fred pulled it together long enough to meet with his boss Mr. Bronson, and discuss the updates on the Shiro account he and his team was working to secure for the company.

  For the majority of the day until lunch, he stayed in his office and did not work. He instructed Gwen to clear his calendar except for the mandatory two o’clock meeting he could not get out of. His justification was that he had several projects he had to catch up on, but the truth was that fear stunted his productivity.

  His mind could not put what happened when he woke up in a box. What bothered him most was the lunch box. Now and then his eyes glanced at the time either on his computer or iPhone. He could always work late, stay in a hotel for the night. But he knew he had to go back home and deal with what was going on. He sat there trying to rationalize what happened.

  It was possible that he moved the doll while in his sleep. As a result of being startled by the doll, he started to imagine hearing and seeing things. That made far more sense than the thought of his home being possibly haunted. Now all he had to do was solve the lunch box incident, and the fear would go away.

  Maybe he made the lunch last night and forgot, he thought to himself, or maybe he made it in his sleep. As he muttered the sleep theory under his breath, it instantly sounded ridiculous. Even thinking it looked stupid, which only left him making the lunch last night, and forgetting he made it. It was the only explanation that made sense.

  The problem was Fred could not make himself believe that was what happened. He wasn’t that far gone that he did not remember that he made himself lunch, especially placing it in that particular lunch box. And if Fred made the lunch last night and forgot, it would be in the refrigerator, not on the table, and because Fred was running late, he did not have a chance to go into the living room to take it out. And then there was the matter of the door chain still being attached to the door solidifying the fact that he was the only one in the apartment that night into the morning.

  His final theory had fallen apart, and the terror he attempted to dissipate came back with the power of a tsunami. The thought of staying the night in a hotel began to sound better and better to him when the obvious idea popped into his head.

  The doll, it had to be the damn doll.

  Everything went from zero to one hundred percent weird the day the doll came into his apartment.

  Fred reached into his bag and pulled out his tablet knowing that the clues he was searching for would be both inappropriate and traceable via the company server. He was researching Real Dolls, the people that owned them, and if any of them had any past issues with them. He was putting the lunch incident on the back burner and focusing on the things he could explain.

  He still believed that whatever happened in the shower was in his head and the result of him being freaked out by the doll that morning. So, the question was, did he move the doll while sleeping, or was there a way for the doll to move by itself. His search produced several adult video sites and forums of people having sex with their dolls, some YouTube videos, and even movies with the Real Dolls.

  He stuck to the rated R and PG-13 sites and forums and grabbed his headphones to listen to the YouTube videos, even though his office door closed.

  It was then while listening and watching a video documentary on Real Dolls that he came across something interested.

  “Son of a bitch,” Fred muttered to himself.

  Two hours later, Fred stood under the hot summer June sun next to his car making a phone call in the company parking lot. He took a late lunch ensuring that majority of his coworkers had returned from lunch and were in the office so no one could hear the conversation he was about to have.

  After going through the prompts, and listening to an oldie rock tune, he finally got a live operator on the line.

  “Real Doll, this is Annette Blair speaking. How may I help you?”

  Fred quickly scanned the parking lot one final time to make sure he was truly alone.

  “Um, hello…my name is Fred Garrett,” he swallowed. “I … purchased one of your dolls …but I think you guys sent me the wrong one.”

  “Oh, my goodness, I am so sorry,” she said with great concern, “Can I get your full name again please?”

  “Fredrick Garrett, the first name is spelled F.R.E.D.R.I.C.K, and my last name is G.A.R.R.E.T.T.”

  “I have your account up, we’re sorry about this mix-up Mr. Garrett. We will get this cleared up for you right away. Can you please provide me with more detail, the model number or name of the doll you currently have, any distinct features?”

  “The problem is not the look …it looks how I exactly wanted her to be made …it’s the body.”

  “She was created with the wrong type of body?” Annette tried to decipher.

  “The body is the way I want it,” he sought to explain quietly. “But …I think you gave me one that moves, and it’s creeping me out.”

  An uneasy silence came over the phone. Fred believed she was searching her computer, or about to transfer him to a different department that could handle his issue.

  “Um …Mr. Garrett,” Annette asked with a
hesitant voice. “Did you just say we gave you one …that moves?”

  “Yeah … I believe you did,” he answered with a bit of sternness. “I just wanted a regular doll, not an android, or robot …”

  “Mr. Garrett,” she politely cut him off. “We’re currently experimenting with installing Cybernetics in our dolls, but we’re not in the stage to bring one to production yet. Our current research is centralized creating an A.I system and a head to allow our dolls the ability to talk, make facial expressions, and interact with people. We have not moved to the realm of full body movement yet. So, there’s no way there could be any electronics or robotic parts in your doll Mr. Garrett.”

  Fred’s throat became dry, while he felt a nauseating shiver run up his spine. It was because he could tell by her voice that she was telling the truth. It did not stop him from asking an absurd question.

  “Could you have accidentally given me one of your prototypes by accident? Put the head on the wrong body?”

  There was a large bulge in his throat as he attempted to rehydrate his esophagus while waiting for her to answer.

  “Your doll was a custom job Mr. Garrett, which means it, was built from scratch,” Annette kindly explained. “So, no stock body was used to make your doll. Matt gifted that to you instead of giving you a stock body. If you like I can transfer you to him so that he can explain further.”

  “Yes, please I would like to speak to him.”

  “Sure Mr. Garrett,” Annette maintained her professionalism. “Just give me a minute and …”

  “No.” He verbally stopped her. “On second thought …forget it. Don’t bother.”

  “Are you sure Mr. Garrett? We are here to help.”

  “Yeah … it’s okay.” He unconvincingly reassured her. “It’s the first time having a doll like this. I might have over reacted. It’s very life like and can feel like there’s another person in my house. Sorry for bothering you.”

  “No worries Mr. Garrett, as I said we’re here to help,” reiterated Annette.

  “Thank you,” Fred half smiled. “You have a good day.”

  Fred hung up and stood there feeling worse off than how he felt earlier that morning. If the doll was not mechanized, it only left two options. It was spooked, or he was finally cracking up. Neither option boded well for him.

  “Yo, Fred!”

  The boisterous greeting from behind caused him to spring forward emitting a yelp while clutching his chest and almost dropping his phone. He turned around fuming at the culprit.

  “What the hell Barney? You scared me half to friggin death.”

  “What the hell are you jumpy about?” Barney narrowed his eyes while scanning him up and down.

  “Nothing man,” Fred looked away.

  “You came all the way out here to make a phone call?”

  “It was a private call,” a shifty eyed Fred answered back.

  His answer further bewildered his husky best friend.

  “A private call you couldn’t make from inside your office?”

  Fred caught himself from saying he didn’t want someone barging in on him. He could have locked the door.

  “I wanted to get some fresh air too!” He snapped. “What do you want?”

  “It’s almost ten minutes until our two o’clock with Bronson, remember?”

  Fred glanced down at his phone confirming the time.

  “Oh shit,” he nodded. “Sorry, let’s go.”

  As he advanced to head back into the office, Barney stepped into his path holding a hand up.

  “You alright man?” Barney asked with genuine concern. “And don’t give me any ‘Of course I am’ crap. You’ve been held up in your office all day, people heard you snapping at Gwen this morning, and now you’re out here as jumpy as a June bug on a hot plate making cryptic phone calls. What the hell is up?”

  “Nothing, are we still going out tonight?”

  Fred used a question he knew Barney wanted to hear to deflect from giving a full-on explanation he was not prepared to give.

  “Hell yeah!” Barney nodded enthusiastically.

  “Good, we’re taking your car, right?”

  “Of course,” Barney motioned to his beastly red and black Dodge Charger Hellcat that was two cars down from where they stood.

  “Okay, then you can follow me home so I can drop off mine.”

  “Alright then!”

  Barney energetically clapped and rubbed his hands together.

  Fred’s move was tactical. Not only did it get Barney to drop his line of questioning that Fred did not want to get into in the parking lot, but it was also a way to get him to his apartment, and talk to him about what had been happening on his terms.

  “So, let’s get to this meeting before Bronson sends a search party for us.”

  “You need to apologize to Gwen,” Barney playfully popped him in the shoulder. “That girl has been good to you!”

  “I did! I’ll follow up with some flowers or a plant tomorrow.”

  For the rest of the work day, Fred did his best to put both the fear he felt and strange events of the past two days aside to get some actual work done.

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  As agreed upon after work, Barney followed Fred home to drop off his vehicle and work bag before they went on their outing.

  It was easy to get him to come upstairs. Since the funeral, Barney only visited twice. The reason being Fred either did not offer for him to come and hang out, or he gave some reason which was either a lie or truth why he did not want company.

  Barney eagerly took the bait to both see how his friend was living and to get some normalcy back into their relationship.

  As they walked through the door, Fred’s heart beat sped up while the hairs on his back stood to attention. Fear had once again gripped him over the unknown that had taken over his apartment even with a brute like Barney at his side.

  “I see you haven’t managed to burn the place down,” Barney observed. “So, where’s the multi-functional bookshelf? Fred?”

  Fred never heard Barney’s question as he stood wearing a face full of fright.

  From where he stood, he could no longer see the red lunch box which he left on the counter while darting out of the apartment in fear for his life that morning.

  “Fred? Fred!” barked a concerned Barney.

  Calling his name, the third time with a raised voice shook Fred out of his trance and almost out of his skin as he turned to him.

  “You aight man?”

  Without a word, Fred rushed to the refrigerator flying the door open. Sure enough, sitting on the top shelf minus the lunch box was the food that was packed inside of it that morning. He slammed the door shut, and began flying open cabinet doors looking for the lunch box.

  “Dude! What the hell are you doing?” Barney asked while walking into the entrance of the kitchen.

  Fred didn’t answer him as he continued his search. He only had to fly open three cabinet doors to find it. It was in its original spot, the place she used to put it when Fred brought it home after work. Handling it as if it was an explosive device, he picked it up and placed it gingerly on the island counter.

  He then flipped the latches open and flew the lid while holding his breath to find nothing inside. As his heart continued to beat out of his chest, he turned with widened eyes to Barney.

  “Did you leave something in there?” Barney asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “No,” Fred shook his head. “I …I need to show you something.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s in the bedroom.”

  “Alright,” Barney nodded.

  Without a word, Fred walked out of the kitchen heading to the bedroom with a loyal Barney bring up the rear. The crushing feeling, he felt that morning was not there, but it did not ease the stressful tension building up in his neck and shoulders.

  His legs became weak as he stopped in the doorway of the bedroom
. Once again, the room was straightened out and the bed made. It sat once again on its side of the bed with its legs crossed minus the television remote this time …waiting for him.

  “Holy shit!”

  A startled Barney coming into the view of the bedroom reeled backward clutching his chest.

  “What? What did you see?” A terrified Fred fell against the bedroom door entrance.