by Tyler Wolfe
“God forbid you ever have to use it, but one day you might find yourself in a situation where you don’t have a choice. Better to be safe than sorry. You just never know, son. You never do know.” Dad had turned out to be right.
Don’t think he’d be very smug over learning this, though. Especially under the circumstances.
I was never as big of a gun buff as Dad. Two years ago, when he passed, we had been forced to sell his collection. Mom had no interest in it and I didn’t really want a twenty-plus gun arsenal. I never understood how he figured that Jesus and large amounts of firearms went together, but he was from Texas, and maybe that’s just a thing there.
I still found it comforting to know that I had protection for myself and Zoe if anyone ever tried to enter our home, especially now that it looked like some dumb bastard might actually try it. Or try...something.
I checked the pistol thoroughly before laying it back in its case and placing it back in the night stand drawer. I felt steadier now, and confident. I could still feel the rage simmering deep in my belly, but I once again had things under control.
I quickly gathered the pile of torn envelope and went to the kitchen where I threw the pieces into the bottom of the kitchen trash can. I stepped away from the can placing both hands on the kitchen island counter top, taking deep shuddering breaths. “If they do come here, I’ll be ready” I said aloud as I moved my hands from the counter and clenched them into fists. “I’ll be ready.”
CHAPTER 10
Business As Usual
My senses were back on high alert. I was concerned about the situation at hand, and even more about our safety. I tried to think of a good lie to tell Zoe but couldn’t come up with anything that would make sense given the situation. I didn’t want to scare her, but I wanted her to be on guard.
For temporary peace of mind, I got back on a few around-the-house projects that I had been unable to do in the heat and storms of August. As a diversion, I tidied up the house then started in on the more vital stuff: namely, installing some cameras, a few motion lights and adding a new deadbolt to the back door. Our landlord was surprisingly okay with all the additions and even offered to reimburse me.
“So, are you trying to impress me or something?” Zoe said happily as she handed me the last of the security cameras. “Because between that and taking me out on dates again, it’s working.”
I leaned down the ladder to take it and smiled a brief but real smile as our fingers brushed. The only good thing to come out of all this craziness was that Zoe and I were closer. I could never, ever tell her the reason behind my sudden extra efforts, but the fact that they were making her happy made me happy too.
Zoe was the only thing in the world I couldn’t handle losing, except maybe my legs, or my freedom. We had been drifting apart before all of this, and now I could at least reassure myself with the fact that the drift had ended.
If only everything else in my life was going as well. At work, things had gone from the Petty Tyrant Show to something weirder, and more unsettling. Bob had started running hot and cold on me, and he switched up quickly, randomly and without warning.
I had my own problems, and I didn’t generally judge people. Until that morning, I didn’t really notice it that much. Then, it started. My boss was giving me yet another nagging piece of work to worry about. To the tune of is my bullying idiot of a manager high, or is he cracking up?
“Hey, uh, Carter, when you have a minute we need to talk a little about your projects. You know, assignments, some new assignments.”
I looked up, hiding my annoyance. Bob had been backing off me more and more in the last few weeks, but here he was, hovering over my desk the way he did with everyone he wanted to intimidate. That nasty little smile he always wore when he leaned into someone’s desk space was certain and convincing. It was almost pleading.
The hell do you want? I thought, and he flinched slightly, so much so that for a split second I was worried that I had said it aloud. But no—all I had done was look at him a little sharply. Wow, he’s skittish as hell. What is going on with him?
I recovered, and that fake smile I had been practicing so much went on easy. “Any one in particular, so I can know what materials to bring?”
“It’s more of a general thing.” He twiddled his fingers; Bob always gestured when he was nervous. I wondered if I was the next one on the chopping block, and if so, why he was choosing to do it privately instead of calling a general staff meeting like he did with everyone else.
“Okay, then. Now?” I started to get up, looking over at his empty office.
He let out a little, nervous laugh. I looked around and noticed that people were looking over at us. “Just come by sometime...uh...sometime before four thirty. I’ll be here. I’ll be here...all afternoon. Take your time.”
What the hell was that about?
I stared at him for a moment longer and then nodded slowly. “Sure thing.”
It was 11:13. I was done with my regular duties for the day as well as half the additional projects that had been piled onto the survivors of the last round of public executions. I was tired from pushing myself and I wanted very much to get the hell out of there for a while.
Eh, we’ll chat after lunch, dick-face. It was Wednesday, and I wanted to stop at home for lunch and see Zoe. The house was only about twenty minutes away and I would often stop home for lunch to break up the day a bit. Ever since that threatening letter, I felt compelled to check on the house as often as I could.
Right now, though, my stomach was jumping around from that odd little interaction, and my mind was purely in defiance. “Heck, I might even have a beer… whatcha think about that, Bobby?” I muttered under my breath as I packed up my battered canvas work bag.
I stood up to leave, looking around the office. Bob was nowhere in sight; he had apparently fled to the break room almost immediately after talking to me. More weird behavior. Great. Sometimes I worry that he’s on the verge of snapping. His behavior doesn’t seem very rational sometimes.
I got in my truck and headed for home. The concern about my job felt strangely mild and distant. Next to what I had done and whatever consequences I was soon to endure, the prospect of losing my job barely rattled me. We had savings and were seriously discussing moving out of state to follow the transfer opportunities.
I knew Zoe was excited by my sudden enthusiasm in moving out of Lakeland. The expense coverage, the raise and the fast track to management all added up to one thing for her besides a change of venue: she would be able to work less, and we could start talking about having a child. Not to mention that most of the new branches were in cities with more opportunities for both of us.
I also knew something now that made me worry a lot less about anything that Bob did. I already knew that several people he had fired had applied for relocation with the company and been rehired with no questions asked. Apparently, in the company’s backward bureaucracy, it was easier to take the teeth out of Bob’s arbitrary firings than replace him with someone more competent.
As I pulled into the driveway, I noticed Phyllis over by Dennis and Cindy’s place. She was in her usual style of cute muumuu, this one in rainbow tie-dye, chatting it up with Cindy. They both had lemonades in hand and were gesturing animatedly as they chatted about something. Cindy’s dog, Lady, a small gray poodle in a ridiculous bright pink collar, leaned against Phyllis’s leg adoringly as she received pettings.
Eh, maybe I will miss this place a little. But if it wasn’t ruined for me before, that damn letter sure has nailed the coffin. Anyway, there would be other neighborhoods, and other quirky, amusing neighbors to exchange waves with.
Absolutely sure that I was the topic of conversation now, I purposely parked in the driveway, then walked fast to our back door, giving the impression of being in a hurry, so that Phyllis would not come rolling over and pull me into a ten-minute conversation.
Zoe wasn’t home; guess she had already left on the week’s errands. A litt
le disappointed, I grabbed a cold beer from the fridge and plated up some leftover chicken and rice from last night. After warming my lunch in the microwave, I grabbed it and my beer and sat down at the kitchen table.
My eye strayed now and again across the murky lake. It was full of tiny single-sail boats trying to catch the thin breeze. This was the short window of time between the summer steam-bath and the unexpected pounding rains of hurricane season. I wondered if we’d get one again this year. If so, would it dislodge the body? Would the body come floating inland like the coffins had when Katrina had hit New Orleans?
It doesn’t matter anyway because someone already knows.
I felt like I was hanging in limbo when I thought about that unresolved situation, so I quickly pushed it out of my mind. I would let my subconscious work on the problem until I came up with a fresh idea for dealing with that set of problems.
I only wish I had not torn up that photo. If I had gotten more than a 60-second look at it, maybe I could have extrapolated where it was taken from. If I had done that, I would know where the person who sent the note lives. And then maybe...maybe I could go to them.
No use getting pissy over something I couldn’t change. I just had to keep my head clear and my senses alert until whoever was doing this showed more of their hand.
As I shoveled garlic-butter chicken and brown rice into my mouth, I pondered the idea of just not going back to work. It was as if the few sips of the cold beer had already spoken to me.
“Hey, yeah, Bob, I’ve been thinking about it, and you know that quarterly report you’re about to ask me to do, like you always do, because you still can’t figure out how to fill out the forms? Yeah…how about you print those up for me. Perfect. Okay now roll them up or wad them, your choice. Got it? Okay, perfect. Now do me a favor and take that report and all the rest of your extra work and shove it straight up your ass!” My voice rang off the walls briefly, and I laughed at the ridiculous but tempting idea.
As much as I’d love to tell that bald-headed a-hole to go fly a kite, I certainly wouldn’t. I wouldn’t because my job was now more important than ever in ensuring Zoe and I could get where we need to go. If I quit, I couldn’t take the transfer or any severance at all. Damn being responsible, but I owed her that. So one beer on lunch break was about as wild as I got.
That and accidentally strangling someone to death. By the way, Carter my boy, how the heck do you accidentally strangle someone to death? Asking for a friend.
I almost spit my sip of beer. “Shut up,” I muttered suddenly, driving the heel of my free hand into my temple. “Shut up, just shut up!”
My cheeks were wet. I wiped the dampness away, telling myself that it was just sweat, then hastily downed half my beer. I need to keep it together and keep my head right here, in the present; not regretting the past, not worrying about the future. But right now, in the middle of all this mess, that was one hell of a tall order.
CHAPTER 11
The Second Letter
After finishing the plate of leftovers, I made my way over to the sink where I rinsed my plate and fork. Calmed a bit by the boring task, I grabbed my beer and made my way over to the front window. It was such a nice day out. I wished that I had time for a quick run.
I peered out the window, looking at the street and the giant oak at the front of the property. I noticed our plain white mailboxes could have used some better landscaping or something to hide the ugly metal poles on which they were fastened. Our landlord had a crew that’d come maintain the property once a week but did nothing more than the basics of a clean yard mowing and occasional pruning. Many of our neighbors, though, were retired, and house-proud and didn’t mind spending their own money sprucing up their lots, especially Phyllis with her expansive vegetable garden and backyard of fruit trees. She had even planted a Rose Parade’s worth of flowers beside her carport. Zoe loved it and it even gave her the idea to someday plant her own flower garden. She had always wanted one.
I’m not really the kind of guy who appreciates pretty things, but I liked a well-kept garden just like I liked a well-kept house. The flowers also reminded me of Phyllis: unexpectedly colorful and always pleasant to be around.
We’ll have flowers at the new place, and a big, fenced lawn for kids. And maybe even a dog. A very well-trained one that I can run with.
I watched butterflies flutter among the hedges a while longer, then glanced down at my watch to see it was a few minutes past noon. I grumbled and drained the rest of my beer. I don’t know whether to stay a little longer and have another beer, or leave now and pretend I still give a damn about the office.
I lingered for a few minutes, really ambivalent about it. We needed the money, and I needed to leave under the right terms if Bob pushed me out, but I really didn’t want to leave. The office was a mess of stressed out people and run by a bully who seemed weirdly suspicious of me. He either had bad news for me, or even more work that would need to be done by Friday night. Home was safe and friendly...or at least was until the strange letter showed up. But no one was going to violate my personal space or the one I loved.
Enough of this. I should get going.
As I started to turn away from the window, my attention was caught by the squeal of worn brakes and a soft screech of tires. I stopped and looked back. An unfamiliar car had pulled up to our mailbox. It was an old rusted-out sedan of some sort, burgundy in color. Who is that? Nobody on this street had such a rattletrap.
The car’s engine was loud and clattery, and dirty blue smoke puffed out of the car’s back end. Its body was dented and spotted with Bondo and rust, and the rear shocks were clearly shot, leaving the back end of the car nearly dragging on the ground. It looked in even worse shape than my eighties-era Honda that I had driven in college—and visibly out of place.
My eyes narrowed as I watched. On full alert, I focused to take in every detail.
The car bounced on its shocks as the driver’s door opened and a fat, disheveled man struggled out of the driver’s side door. He looked in his late forties or fifties, with his pink scalp showing through his greasy comb over and a bull neck that made his head look like a giant thumb. He straightened and looked around furtively, scratching at a faded black tattoo peeking through his forearm hair.
Moving quickly for a man of his weight, the stranger waddled over to the mailbox with something white and rectangular in his right hand. An envelope?
My heartbeat picked up as I stood there watching. The man shoved whatever he was holding into the mailbox quickly, paused to look around, then hastily waddled back to his idling car. He bounced back into the driver’s seat and slammed the door, gunning the engine and letting up a puff of smoke that looked like someone had just set off a smoke bomb. The car pulled away from the curb, half-assed U-turned thru the grass, and tore off down the road, toward Fernery.
Holy crap. I couldn’t believe my eyes. “Was that the letter guy?” He had to be. And he left something. I quickly set my empty beer bottle down, flung the front door open and ran toward the mailbox. The guy was gone, but whatever he had left was waiting in there for Phyllis to discover it. If she found another mystery letter, she would get too curious for me to play it off again.
I have to get my hands on that damn envelope before she discovers it exists.
The mailbox was one of those large package-receipt types meant for small apartment complexes. The bottom receptacle was roomy, weatherproof, and unfortunately for me, securely locked. It could hold everything up to medium-sized boxes. Richard, our landlord, had put one in a year ago after everyone’s mail had started getting stolen. Phyllis, being the sole person in charge of the mail, would fetch and deliver it right around the time everyone started coming home. With Phyllis in charge, Zoe and I had never gotten a key to the box and only three people had one: the mailman, Richard, and Phyllis.
I looked across the property. Phyllis was still talking and cuddling the dog. Her lemonade glass had been topped off. “Good. Thank God for small fav
ors,” because apparently these days, I wasn’t rating big ones.
I hurried over to the edge of the lawn where she stood and put on my best guiltless smile. “Hey, ladies.” I waved to both, catching Phyllis’ eye as she turned around. “Uh, hey Phyllis, sorry, do you happen to have the mail key on you?.. I accidentally put a letter in the box and I need to get it back out.”
She pierced me with that curious, birdlike gaze of hers, and the words caught in my throat.
“Oh? What happened?”
“Huh? Oh, uh…I forgot to put a stamp on it,” I blurted, then laughed awkwardly. “I realized literally the second after I put it in the slot. Just my luck, I guess.” Did I sound too nervous? I took a shivery breath.
She smiled sympathetically. “Ooh sure, don’t worry about that. I’ll run you over there in my golf cart, one sec.” She started to hand her lemonade to her hostess.
“NO!” I blurted out. She looked at me sharply, and I held up a hand. “No—no that’s okay Phyllis, you guys are in the middle of a conversation and I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll just run over there and get it. I’ll bring your key right back.”
“Okay, well here ya go.” Phyllis dug into her pocket, then tossed the key to me. “If I’m not around and you ever need to get in, I usually leave it on the golf cart in the dash cubby. Just remember, it’s the brass one.”
“Oh, okay,” I tried that fake smile on again. “Thanks Phyllis, I’ll be right back.” I closed my hand tightly around the key and quickly turned around, jogging back toward the mailbox.
I heard her yell in surprise behind me, and for a moment a chill went through me. But her voice was cheerful. “Look at him go! I didn’t know he was so fast.”
As I reached the mailbox, my heart began beating harder than before. What is it gonna be now? I thought as I slowly turned the mailbox key. Threats? Blackmail? A letter bomb? The day was warm, but my fingers felt cold as I unlocked the mailbox and slowly lowered the front panel.
