Tenants

by Christopher Motz

  She felt his hands on her, smelled his breath, remembered every detail of what he'd done. She saw his face change as he hovered over her and planted his seed.

  Linda mashed the elevator button as a cry rose in her throat. A door opened behind her and she spun as Audrey stepped out of her apartment and watched with blazing eyes.

  "Where are you going, Linda?"

  "You stay the hell away from me. I swear to God, I'll kill you if I have to."

  "Are you okay? You don't seem like yourself today. I'm sorry about your father..."

  "Don't you DARE talk about my father. What have you done? What have you crazy monsters done?"

  "I understand you're upset," Audrey said, "but that's no way to talk to a friend. Why don't you just relax, come in for a drink, tell me what's wrong?"

  "I told you to stay back," Linda warned. The motor to the elevator buzzed to life as the car began its ascent.

  "Let's talk about this, woman to woman. Where are you going to go, Linda? Who's going to take care of you? Out of work, alcoholic, pregnant, maybe a little crazy... I mean you really check off all the boxes. Your own mother doesn't want to look at you. This is your home, dear. This is the only place where no one will judge you."

  "You did this to me. You took away everything."

  "All we did was a little housekeeping. We threw out the trash, took away any distractions so that you could realize your true potential. Not everyone gets to serve a higher power. We've given you purpose."

  Linda watched as Audrey inched closer, mesmerized by her movement. She floated several inches off the floor, floating forward like a specter. The smile on her lips was coming apart and cracking at the edges.

  "I'm leaving," Linda said. "Do you hear me? You can't keep me here."

  "That's where you're wrong. We can and we will. You have a warrior growing inside you, but it's not yours. You're an incubator and nothing more."

  The hum of the elevator motor slowed as the car reached her floor.

  "This baby will never see the sun," Linda said. "Whatever it takes, I'll never let that happen." The elevator door opened with a chime as Linda stepped inside, never taking her eyes off Audrey. "Consider my lease terminated."

  As the door began sliding closed, Audrey's face morphed into something resembling an ancient reptile. Her skin broke apart, revealing greenish-gray scales beneath. The muscle beneath her clothing rippled and flexed and changed into something grotesque and disfigured as she raced down the hall with a garbled cry.

  Audrey was a second too late.

  Linda pressed the button over and over as Audrey pummeled her clawed hands on the other side of the door. Linda backed up against the rear of the car as it began its descent to the lobby. The Blackridge groaned and trembled as if it had been forced to choke down something bitter. The halls and broken rooms resonated with the cries of those left behind.

  All she wanted to do was curl up in the corner of the car and cry for what she'd lost, but she knew this place wouldn't let her go that easily. When the door finally opened into the lobby, she took a deep breath and crept forward, prepared to run at the first sign of another living thing. The front doors were so close and yet so far away, but after everything that had happened, the last thirty feet would be the biggest trial she'd have to face.

  One foot in front of the other.

  Linda picked up her pace, constantly looking over her shoulder, expecting Audrey to be right on her heels.

  There was nothing. No one. The building was silent.

  Linda laughed with relief as the front door swung open without hesitation. She cleared the steps two at a time and ran across the street, putting as much distance between herself and the cursed building as possible. When she looked back, she saw it for what it was. A crumbling prison. A madhouse in disguise. Each window was another black hole into the festering, diseased grave of those who'd been unfortunate enough to be trapped there.

  The tenants of the Blackridge watched her silently; their dirty, shocked faces looked into the street with longing as tears coursed down Linda's cheeks. She was safe outside. It was finally okay to cry. She turned and left this nightmare behind. She'd never be able to tell anyone what had happened here. Who would believe her?

  She ran to the next street and looked back one final time as the front doors opened and Al Sterling made eye contact from a block away. He sneered and seemed to look right through her, but made no attempt to follow. She walked faster. All she heard was the slapping of her shoes against the pavement as her pace quickened to a jog and then a full-out sprint. She had left her entire life behind, and she knew that her time in the Blackridge would leave a mark on her for the rest of her days, but she'd managed to keep the part of her that wanted to live and be happy.

  When Linda became exhausted from running, she ran some more.

  Anything to put Delaney Street behind her forever.

  If all that followed were nightmares, she'd consider herself lucky.

  She was alive and free... and that was enough.

  ***

  Linda burst through the door of the Windstar Motel just as the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon. Her hair had come out of her ponytail and fine strands clung to her sweaty forehead. The man at the reception desk gave her a brief look, frowned, and went back to his stack of bills. He'd been running the place for nearly a decade. He was used to seeing the drunks and crazies stumble in at all hours in various stages of intoxication. This girl was one hundred pounds soaking wet. If he had to remove her from the premises, it wouldn't take much effort.

  "Can I help you?" he asked without looking up.

  "I need a room for the night," she said. "My car... uh, my car broke down a few miles from here. I just need a place to stay so I can sort it all out."

  He knew she was lying, but if she had the means to pay, who was he turn away a customer? "Visa, Discover, American Express. That'll get you started."

  Linda approached the desk, rifled through her wallet, and tossed her Visa card in front of him. He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised that she didn't attempt to spin another story of losing her wallet, being mugged, or surviving a kidnapping. He'd heard it all before.

  "Just one night you said?"

  "Yes, please. I just need a good night's sleep."

  "It'll be seventy-five for the room. Checkout is at eleven. If you're still here at eleven-o-one, you owe me for another night." He slid Linda's card, punched a few buttons and nodded when the payment cleared. "You're good to go. There's no room service, but the sheets are clean and all the plumbing works."

  Linda shook her head in agreement and wondered how many times he'd given the same tired speech. She didn't care if the sheets had been plucked from a dumpster. Anywhere was better than where she'd come from.

  "Just sign the book," he said. "Room 112 at the end of the lot. Do you need me to call you a tow truck?" He already knew the answer. There was no car. This was clearly a woman who was running from something, but from what he couldn't care less. Money was money, and in this economy every little bit went to keeping the lights on.

  Linda scribbled her name, grabbed her card and room key, and thanked him. She didn't say anything about his offer to call for a tow.

  "Oh," she said, turning before walking outside.

  Here it comes, he thought.

  "Is there any alcohol in the room?"

  I knew it.

  "We don't keep any in the room, but there is a mini-fridge. If someone left anything behind, you're welcome to it."

  Linda exited the office and walked to the room at the edge of the building. Her eyes darted from shadow to shadow, expecting to see someone hiding behind a parked car or peeking around the vending machine. People walked the sidewalks, chatting openly, enjoying their evening. Vehicles passed on the street. She'd never realized how truly bizarre Delaney Street and the surrounding neighborhood had been until now. She shuddered and tried to shun the memory from her mind. Whatever had happened there was done. Surviving Th
e X-Files once was enough for one lifetime.

  She jammed the key in the lock, pushed the door open, and slipped inside. She turned on both lights on either side of the bed, flicked on the ancient television, and pulled open the door on the mini-fridge. With a smile, she grabbed a bottle of leftover Jose Cuervo and collapsed on the bed. She needed the light, needed the noise from the television... it seemed so normal after the last several weeks which had been anything but. She unscrewed the cap from the cold bottle of tequila and drank deeply as fire exploded in her stomach. She grabbed her gut, felt the noticeable bump, and put the bottle down on the nightstand, realizing what she was doing to the unborn child.

  A second later, she grabbed the bottle and took an even longer drink. Whatever was growing inside her was an unwelcome intruder, and if she needed to drown it in alcohol, so be it. Doing so felt disgusting and irresponsible, but when she'd told Audrey the child would never see the sun, she'd meant every word. Only God knows exactly what was growing inside her, and Linda hoped He would forgive her for what had to be done. Aborting the child went against everything Linda stood for, but the alternative was terrifying.

  Was it a demon? The Antichrist? Whatever it was, she knew it would only be part human.

  "My God," she shuddered. A month earlier, Linda was a retail manager who got a little too drunk with her friends on weekends. She drove a hybrid, fantasized about winning the lottery, watched reruns of The Facts of Life on cable, read the occasional horror novel by Dean Koontz or Jack Ketchum. That was life. Normal life.

  Now it was all over.

  The evil that had touched her, touched her family and loved ones, had left a permanent mark. It wasn't like the kind of thing you read in a book or see on a movie screen. Evil is real, and it lives right next door, out in the open, disguised by the ignorance of those who bear witness. No one sees it for what it is, or is too busy going about their lives to notice its existence. Linda had been one of those people her entire life, but now it was impossible to remember a time before the Blackridge. She was being forced to start over with a new understanding of what's out there, and because of what had happened, she'd have to do it alone.

  Was Theresa still out there somewhere, or was she trapped in the Blackridge with a child of her own? How was there any way to know what had really happened? It all felt like a dream, but Linda wasn't ever going to be that naïve again. She rubbed her stomach and pulled her hand away with a groan. The bump had grown slightly larger. At the rate the child was growing inside her, she knew she had little time to take care of what needed to be done.

  What she needed now was sleep. With any luck, the dreams wouldn't come.

  Maybe with a clearer head she'd be able to make sense of things.

  Linda took another drink and put the bottle on the nightstand. She swore if she got through this, it would be the last drink she'd ever have.

  Chapter 17

  By the third day of Linda's stay at the Windstar Motel, she had begun feeling better.

  The motel's owner, Mort, had warmed up to her since the night she arrived. Linda wasn't here to make friends, but it was more comfortable knowing that she was a welcome guest. Every day, the cars in the parking lot changed, as did the faces of her latest neighbors, but at least she had gotten better at not having to constantly look over her shoulder.

  She'd called her mother dozens of times, pleading for her to call back, asking details of her father's funeral and burial, but she never got a reply. Never in a million years could she have imagined a world without her father in it, and yet she never made any attempt to go home and see him one final time before being lowered into the ground. The last time she'd called her mother, the automated message informed her that the number had been disconnected. She really was on her own.

  How could her own mother hate her so much? She'd even gone as far as to keep her husband's obituary out of the newspaper so that Linda wouldn't show up unexpected.

  Linda had never cried as hard or as long as she had in the last couple days. The reality of what had happened was finally setting in, and the only people in the world she could talk to about it were the ones who were now missing or taking up space in the Washburn Street Cemetery. Unless her mother had changed those plans as well, in which case Linda would have to do research just to figure out her own father's final resting place.

  She wiped her eyes for the thousandth time that morning before leaving the room and locking the door behind her. When she entered the front office, Mort was stationed at the desk which had become increasingly buried beneath bills and notices from creditors. He tossed an envelope on the stack with a sigh and looked up.

  "Miss Gianni," he said cordially. "It's after eleven. I assume I'll be keeping your company for another night?"

  "Yes. One or two I imagine." She glanced over the mess on the counter and ran her hands down the front of her shirt. She'd been wearing the same clothes since leaving the apartment, and if she didn't soon get her shit together, she'd be one stinking mess before long.

  "Something I can help you with?" Mort asked.

  "I was wondering if there's a place nearby where I can rent a car or something? I need to get a few things and I can't be walking all over town carrying bags."

  "Your car isn't fixed yet?"

  "Uh, no. Might as well write it off and sell it for scrap."

  Mort nodded knowingly but said nothing. Linda had kept up the lie for days. Whatever secrets she wanted to protect, she was going to do so until she had no other choice.

  "I know it isn't any of my business, but I've seen hundreds of young women come through these doors, and I ain't never seen one who was clearly running from something as much as you."

  Linda blushed and smoothed her shirt once again.

  "You on the run from the law or something?"

  "No, God no. Nothing like that."

  "I've seen you come out of that room every day, hit the soda machine, and disappear back inside like that damn groundhog in Punxsutawney. It's like you're afraid to be seen. It's no secret you haven't changed your clothes in days, and I think we both know your car didn't just break down outside of town. I'm not one to pry into other's affairs, but I can't risk a scandal if you knocked over a convenience store and came here to hide out."

  "Do you talk like this to all your customers?" Linda asked, clearly annoyed.

  "I don't mean anything by it... I'm not trying to offend you, but I have a business to protect. Do you see all these little white envelopes? Contained inside each one is another company I owe money to, another angry person trying to dig into my pocket and squeeze my balls for every penny. If people are going to come here looking for you and causing trouble, that's something I have a right to know. I surely appreciate that your credit card keeps paying out without us needing to have an uncomfortable conversation about your lack of funds, but you need to understand our little agreement doesn't come without limitations."

  "I'm not in trouble with the law," Linda said. "The last few weeks of my life have been absolute hell. My best friend is missing, or dead for all I know. My father was just put into the ground and I don't even know where because my mother used his death to tell me how she really feels about me. My car, the one I said broke down, is actually sitting in a parking lot in Scranton because apparently I punched a doctor and ran from the hospital with no memory of doing so. I still don't know how the hell I got home, but that doesn't really matter, because not only did I leave my fucking apartment behind, but I left everything I own there as well. All I have are the clothes on my back and the credit card you so greedily snatch from my fingers every time I walk in here. So, with all due respect, could you please keep your nose out of my business and shove your theories up your ass?"

  Mort stroked the stubble on his cheeks with his fingers and leaned back in the chair. "You feel better now?"

  "No, I don't feel better. I feel awful. I feel like I'm losing my goddamn mind. AND your damn sheets smell like bleach!"

  "I'll be sure to take th
at up with management."

  Linda stared at him dumbfounded, shook her head, and laughed for the first time in days. Mort cracked a smile and winked as if they shared a private joke. He clasped his hands and leaned forward as his face softened.

  "Listen, kid, I'm sorry if I seemed harsh. It isn't you. When you do this job as long as I have, you learn to see the signs when something just ain't right."

  "No, it's okay. My nerves are just... shot."

  Mort leaned over, grabbed a pile of paper, and deposited it on the floor at his feet. "Come take a seat for a minute, tell me what happened."

  Linda rounded the desk and sat in the tattered office chair, glancing around at the mess that littered Mort's private space. There was something comforting about realizing that she wasn't the only one with her back against the wall.

  "You don't need to do this," Linda said. "It isn't your problem."

  "I have a daughter that's about your age. Consider it paternal concern."

  She fidgeted nervously in her seat, wondering how much she could tell him before he called the men in white coats to come and take her away. Instead of breaking her silence, she waited to see where Mort would lead her.

  "What happened to your father?" he asked.

  "He died, that's what happened."

  "Just like that?"

  "Just like that. One day he was perfectly fine and the next he was in a hospital bed."

  "Not every day is a given," Mort said.

  "I know that, but he seemed so healthy. So strong. How could he die without a fight?"

  "Every little girl thinks her father is a superhero, but we're not. We're flesh and blood like anyone else."

  "He died after I left the hospital," Linda said. "My mother blames me for leaving him alone. She thinks I'm on drugs."

  "Are you?"

  "No, of course not, but I don't remember leaving. It's all hazy," she lied. She wasn't about to tell him what had really happened at Scranton Regional, or why she ran away. "I woke up in my apartment days later without any memory of how I'd gotten there or what had happened in between. Do you know how scary that is?"