"Fuck this," she said, turning and pressing the elevator button. Nothing happened. The doors wouldn't budge.
The stairs, she thought. I just have to find the stairs back to the lobby.
Finding the stairs would be a test of will. Between the smell of decay and the feeling of emptiness, she was afraid to continue forward. The corridor seemed too narrow; she could reach out her arms and touch the peeling wallpaper on either side. She would have to tell Linda about this, let her know that what she thought was a bargain was actually something else entirely. She jumped as one of the overhead lights flickered on with a buzz.
"Keep your shit together," she said.
"Keep your shit together," a voice repeated through a swollen, bowed wooden door.
"Hello? Who is that?"
"Who izzzz that?"
"You're not funny! How about you make yourself useful and tell me where the stairs are?"
"No stairs," the voice said.
"No way out," came another voice from down the hall.
On her right, someone pounded on the other side of a closed door.
"Should have just gone home, Theresa."
"Should have gone home."
"You're not welcome here."
"Not here, not anywhere."
"Okay, knock it off," she shouted. "I know what you're trying to do. How the hell do you know my name?"
"I know your name."
"We all know your name."
This wasn't an apartment building, it was a madhouse. Theresa hurried along, carried by her fear of the unknown and the sound of laughter emanating from the ruined apartments on either side. She squeaked and covered her head as slimy water dripped from the ceiling and splashed her forehead. She wiped it away but still felt the gritty residue it had left behind.
"Don't run," a voice hollered.
"Stay."
"Stay with us."
Something hissed behind her from the direction of the elevator, but when she turned, there was nothing but darkness. A child tittered from behind another closed door.
"Okay, you crazy motherfuckers!" Theresa shouted. "You've had your fun!"
"Is this fun?"
"This is fun!"
Theresa hurried around the corner and slid on the wet carpet, falling on her side in a patch of sticky gunk. She stood and looked ahead, but there was nothing to see. It was a dead end. She turned and ran the opposite direction, frantically searching for the stairs or access to the outside. The more she ran, the more she panicked, and the more she panicked, the quicker she became lost in the labyrinthine corridors. Other voices joined the escalating chorus... things whispered to her from the shadows. Every cobweb felt like groping fingers.
Her tears made it even more difficult to see where she was going. She pulled sticky strings of web from her hair, sobbing and cursing under her breath.
There has to be a way out, she thought. It can't go on forever.
"There is a way out," a voice croaked, "but you're not going to like it."
I didn't say that out loud. How can they hear me?
"We hear you."
"Feel you."
"Your thoughts are ours."
"Death."
"We pray for death."
"SHUT UP!" she shrieked, but it only made them laugh harder.
Theresa stood at the junction of another hallway, looking both ways for some sign of an exit. The smell had grown worse. The hall was a foot thick in moldy, fly-blown garbage. She was sure someone was standing behind her, panting and wheezing like an asthmatic. She felt their hot breath on the back of her neck. She spun quickly, nearly losing her footing in the process, but there was no one there. Theresa whined and turned to face the sea of trash. She stepped forward, her feet sinking into the sludge of rotten food as if it was quicksand. Thick, curdled globs of unidentified brown gunge slopped over her sneakers and soaked into her socks.
Don't fall, don't fall, please, God, don't let me fall.
After the first ten feet, the piles of trash grew deeper, forcing her to hold onto the wall to keep her balance. Maggots tickled the flesh of her shins as they climbed up her legs. She shuddered, brushing them off as her foot slipped on what appeared to be a half-eaten hamburger; she pinwheeled her arms, struggling to stay on her feet, reaching out for the closest thing she could to stop from going face-first into the rancid slop.
Her hand clasped a sticky doorknob and the door opened with a squeal, dumping her into the room onto a pile of soggy, shit-scented clothing. Several ancient lamps glowed dimly in the corners, hiding portions of the room behind layers of black. A woman sat nearby, reclining in an old rocking chair and watching Theresa with rheumy eyes. She was naked from the waist up; her massive breasts hung to her knees, coated in the remnants of old food and noxious smelling liquid.
She held a tattered Bible in her gnarled hands.
"Girl, what are you doing barging in here?"
"Please, ma'am, I need your help. There's someone chasing me."
"Chasing you?"
"In the hall," she said, pausing to catch her breath. "Please, I just want to get out of here."
The woman tossed her head back and laughed, displaying her blackened, necrotic gums.
"There ain't no getting out of here. Once you're here, you're here to stay."
"What are you talking about? There has to be a way out!"
Theresa searched the room and noticed that heavy wooden planks covered all the windows. She spun in circles, mouth agape, wondering how these people survived in such conditions. The woman watched her with a crooked grin.
"We don't need anything, dear. The tenants are all taken care of."
"This is being taken care of? You're crazy!"
"You watch your mouth. You don't break into someone's apartment and start judging how they live."
"I'm not judging you... but this is insane! The hall looks like a fucking landfill!"
A door in the back of the room burst open and a giant man exited. His hands were covered in blood and the skin atop his bald head appeared to have been peeled away, showing a wet, glistening patch of raw tissue.
"You okay, Momma?"
"This girl busts in here and tells me I ain't living right. Can you imagine?"
"No, no, I'm sorry! I didn't mean anything by it. I just want to go home."
"Too late for sorry," the woman said. "You never should have come in here."
Theresa ran for the first door she saw as the man's heavy footsteps thumped across the floor after her. Unfortunately, it wasn't the door to the hall, but a tiny bathroom with no windows and no other way out. She slammed the door behind her, slid the latch, and huddled next to the toilet, gagging at the stench of human waste piled in the bowl.
"Wake up!" she shouted. "This isn't real!"
On the other side of the door, the old woman cackled.
"Come out of there, you little bitch," the man called. "If I have to break the door down, it's only going to be worse."
"NO! Please, leave me alone."
"You're trespassing, and trespassers must be punished."
The door shuddered as the man kicked it from the other side. Theresa screamed and covered her eyes as she slid further into the corner. Her sneakers slid over worn linoleum covered in a solid inch of urine and feces. Flies covered every surface, feasting on fresh piles of human waste. As the door shuddered again, the metal hasp tore free and fell to the floor. The door opened with a creak and the man entered. His face had become something else, a horrible patchwork of raw flesh, muscle, and wet scales. She couldn't look directly at it. When she tried, it seemed to vibrate and twist. The skin rippled and drew away from the skull beneath as the man's jaw came unhinged and opened to twice its normal size.
He was trying to laugh, but the sound was more of a wet gurgle.
Theresa jumped to her feet and tried running past as the man extended his arms and pushed her back. She slid in the muck and caught the edge of the tub behind her knees, falling into liquid the consistency of pancake batter
. Her head dipped beneath the surface as the bitter slime entered her mouth and ran down her throat. It filled her nostrils, clogged her ears, burned her eyes. When she popped her head above the surface, she came face to face with a human skull. It grinned knowingly, its black, bloated tongue hanging between splintered teeth.
Theresa was swimming in a warm pool of human soup.
She opened her mouth to scream, but a strong hand grabbed the top of her head and pushed her beneath the water and liquefied human organs. She struggled but knew it was in vain. She had no leverage, no way to get out of the man's grip. Fortunately, by the time she was forced to inhale, the wretched fluid was of no consequence.
Unconsciousness was a mercy.
***
Linda awoke from a dream with a gasp.
As she fought to get her bearings, the nightmare was slowly slipping away. She remembered the darkness, the smell, the hidden passages beneath a graveyard full of moldering corpses. A scream lingered and echoed in her head. She couldn't help thinking it was Theresa. She sat up with a grunt, feeling as if she'd awakened in some lost corner of the universe. The apartment was dim and smelled of puke, stale alcohol, and pot smoke.
She'd slept on the floor in a puddle of her own sour vomit.
"Thanks a lot, Theresa! You could have at least helped me onto the couch."
The room spun and her stomach followed. She bolted into the kitchen, leaned over the sink, and wretched loudly. When she was sure there was nothing left in her stomach, she rinsed the sink, splashed cold water on her face, and drank from the faucet.
She was ashamed.
"This has to stop."
She'd never considered herself an alcoholic. Maybe somewhere near the borderline, but she didn't have a problem.
This was a problem. When you fall asleep in a lake of your own sick and barely remember the night before, you've reached a place where the line between being okay and having a problem becomes blurred. Moving to the Blackridge was meant to alleviate some of her worries, not create new ones.
"Theresa?" she called. Before she went looking for her friend, she saw the note on the counter, penned in Theresa's familiar, flowery script.
Lin,
I took off a little early this morning.
Thanks for a good time... I think!??!
Wish I could remember it.
I'll call you later after you've had a chance to sober up.
Love,
T
"Why'd you write a note when you could've just texted? This isn't middle school."
As she went to work on the mess she'd left in the living room, she got flashes of last night's festivities.
Was there someone here? Audrey?
"Yes!" she exclaimed. "She brought the rum."
After a few minutes of searching, there was no sign of it. No bottle, no glasses. She checked the refrigerator, but Audrey's Smirnoff must have been nothing more than another false memory. Linda shook her head and sighed. Things were getting a little too crazy around here for her liking.
"But... I remember. Audrey was here. She was smoking pot... and then her and Theresa..."
The thought ended there. Whatever Audrey and Theresa had done was a blur, but Linda knew enough without reliving the sordid details.
"What were you thinking?" she asked the empty kitchen.
The doorbell chimed and startled her, making her slam the refrigerator door and grab her head. Linda and her hangover had gotten quite close lately, but the relationship was one-sided. It was more like dealing with an unwanted house guest who refused to leave.
When she opened the door, Audrey stood there, decked out in her running clothes.
"You do this every morning?" Linda asked.
"Whenever I can find the time," Audrey replied with a smile. "You want to come along?"
"After last night? I'm surprised you can walk at all."
"Last night?" she asked. "What happened last night?"
"Uh, chugging rum. The escapades with Theresa? Ring any bells?"
"Theresa? Is she a friend of yours? Are you feeling okay?"
"You mean you don't remember anything? You were here all night. You made out with my best friend like a long-lost lover."
"Made out with... what?" she laughed. "It's been so long since I made out with anyone I doubt I'd remember how. You have quite the imagination."
"Audrey... I didn't imagine it..."
"I have to get moving," she interrupted. "If I don't stick to my schedule, it throws off my whole day. Maybe I'll see you later. You should lie down, you don't look so good."
Linda watched her enter the elevator and disappear. She went into the hall and looked out the window, gazing down at the street below. One minute. Two. Audrey was nowhere to be found. She gave it more time... four minutes. Five. If Audrey was going running, it must be in the lobby, because she never left the building.
She could have gone out the back.
Linda entered her apartment and locked the door behind her. "How the hell could she not remember last night? Maybe I'm the one losing my mind."
Linda got the urge to check the door in the pantry.
Why?
"It was open last night," she said. "I know it was."
She went to the door and pushed on it with both hands, but it didn't move an inch. She knocked on it with a closed fist and wondered what she'd do if she received a reply.
"Maybe I should call Mom and Dad."
She wasn't ready for them to see the new place, especially when it smelled like a frat house, but at least if they were here, she wouldn't have an opportunity to get drunk again. Instead, she grabbed her cell phone and dialed Theresa. She wasn't sure if her friend could fill in the blanks, but at least Linda could get her thoughts out in the open rather than talking to herself like a crazy person for the rest of the day.
After a few rings, Theresa's voice mail picked up.
"You know what to do, so do it." Beep.
"Hey you, just calling to make sure you got home okay. You should have stayed. We could have had breakfast or something. Anyway, call me back when you get this. My memories of last night are like Swiss cheese."
She hung up and tossed the phone on the couch where it immediately began ringing. Linda answered without looking at the caller ID.
"Hey, why'd you leave so early?"
No reply, only a short burst of static.
Linda glanced at the screen and saw the call had come from Theresa's number.
"Are you there? Hello?"
She heard voices in the background, but she couldn't make out what they were saying. There was a quick spate of laughter in the distance before the call was disconnected.
"Did you butt-dial me again?" she asked as she hit redial. This time, the voice mail didn't pick up. The phone just continued ringing. She hung up and tried twice more but couldn't get through.
She opened the windows in the living room and began cleaning the mess that was left behind. There were plenty of empty beer bottles, but no glasses of rum. The candy dish they'd used as an ashtray was clean and empty. No ashes, no joint. She inhaled deeply but only smelled stale beer and her own vomit. The pot smoke she thought she'd smelled earlier was gone. After an hour of scrubbing and scouring, the apartment was clean and smelled of artificial pine. She lit a lavender-scented candle and hoped it would take care of the rest.
While she cleaned, she remembered details from the night before: Audrey passing a joint and nibbling on Theresa's exposed breasts, vines growing from the floor and climbing the walls of the apartment, the girl from the Dollar General walking out of the pantry dragging her dead child behind her.
Linda understood how ridiculous it all seemed. There was no evidence that any of it had happened, but it was impossible to think that her mind had made it all up. The memory of Melissa and her dead infant was surely a false one, but the lesbian sex party seemed all to real. After striking out so horribly with men, she thought maybe her brain was trying to tell her something.
; "Nope," she said. "You don't just swap sides whenever you want."
But can't you? How many otherwise-straight girls had she partied with that had found comfort in a same sex hookup? It always boggled her mind what some of her friends were willing to do after a few mixed drinks. She often wondered if men were the same way. Did a couple of bros go out for drinks only to find themselves offering blowjobs after the bartender kicked their drunken asses to the curb? Maybe so! It just proved to Linda that she knew almost nothing about sex... at least nothing she hadn't been taught by Christian.
When she met Christian almost four years earlier, she only had a few sexual experiences: some fumbling in a dark room, heavy petting in the back seat of a car, a forgettable experience with a high school friend who couldn't hold out long enough to get the condom on. It wasn't what she'd call a fiery romance... or even a successful one-night stand. With Christian, everything changed.
At first, he was the perfect gentleman. He'd open the car door for her, pay for their nights out on the town, send flowers to her job where Linda's coworkers would grin and giggle and wish they had a man who'd go to the same trouble. After a few weeks of this, Linda thought she'd found a keeper - and for a while, it was wonderfully romantic - but once she'd agreed to spend the night at his apartment and have sex for the first time, things changed.
Christian wasn't what anyone would consider great in the sack. More often than not, Linda felt unsatisfied, and the few times he got it right seemed like they were purely accidental. There was no telling him how to improve, because in his mind, he wasn't doing anything wrong. There were things he excelled at, but those instances were few and far between. Eventually, he tried getting her to do things she wasn't comfortable with, specifically bringing other women or men into their bedroom. She wasn't a prude by any stretch of the imagination, but random threesomes would never become part of her routine. She tried it once to placate Christian's ever-growing need to spice up their sex life, but once was enough to realize it wasn't for her.
He never forced her, but the climate in the apartment always changed when she wouldn't play along. When she looked back in hindsight, she couldn't believe she didn't see it sooner. He wanted to act out his fantasies, and as time went on, Linda had the sinking suspicion that if it wasn't with her, Christian would have no problem finding someone else to play his games.
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