by VK Fox
Jane stood by the freight entrance with the scanner as her coworkers carted box after box of toys from the back of the dingy trailer. The night was refreshing, the changing leaves scenting the air with autumn. The driver held out the clipboard manifest as the last handcart of boxes rolled out. Jane signed and called out, “I’m going on a smoke break.”
Her shift was almost over. Fifteen minutes to closing, and then a quick setup for the graveyard crew. Jane took a minute to entertain a graphic fantasy about her pillow: how soft and cool it would be, all fluffy and plump. She could get a solid night’s sleep, and tomorrow would be so much better. One thing at a time.
The Altoids tin was woefully empty. Patting down every pocket twice produced no cigarettes either, but, treasure of treasures, a couple coins were hiding in her flannel.
“Doug! Any loosies?”
Doug flashed a grin filled with braces. “For you? Absolutely.”
He strode toward her, carefully stepping around a small oil stain on the asphalt. His limited-run Nike Air Max sneakers remained spotless. Jane gave the footwear minor side-eye. She could not fathom paying $100 for sneakers, but Doug was a wiz at ducking tobacco tax, and his money motivation to fund his shoe habit translated to cheap single cigarettes for her.
He joined her against the brick wall, digging into the pocket of his old Adidas jacket and producing several individual cigarettes in baggies.
“How many do you want?”
Jane held out thirty cents between her thumb and forefinger. She bit her lip, shrugged, and raised her eyebrows. Overtly adorable usually dropped the price. Doug chuckled while taking out four cigarettes, neatly refolding the bags before tucking them back in his pocket.
“Thanks, you’re the best.” She clicked her tin closed with three of them tucked safely inside and leaned over for a light on the fourth. They stood smoking for a few minutes, enjoying the chilly evening air.
“Hey, we’re supposed to set up a display toward the front of the store with the Halloween junk.” Doug flicked his butt into the lot. “Can you handle it?”
“Yeah. Where’s the display?”
“It’s still boxed, but I stacked the boxes at the right spot.” Doug stuck his hands in his pockets, slouching. Chin-length brown hair fell over his eyes. He came up with a box cutter after a few seconds. “Here you go. You just got to unpack it and put it on the end cap in a way that will drive sales and shit.” Doug pushed his hair back. “Um, is your shoulder okay?”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” She laughed nervously and waved away his question with her good hand. “But thanks for asking. I’ll get on those end caps.”
Jane’s footsteps slapped against the linoleum as she strolled along the toy aisle. The store was dead this time of day. Doug’s box stack was easy enough to find. Her coworkers were laughing and joking back by the loading docks, their voices filtering slowly through the empty space. She mentally blessed Doug for this project, far away from her peers who would obligate her to respond and work cooperatively and act normal.
The boxes were full of paper decorations of the store’s mascot, a toy soldier, in various Halloween costumes and splashy, colorful signs like “Thirty Percent Off All Marked Products,” and “Buy One Get One on Children’s Costumes.” She grabbed a roll of packing tape and hung signs with her good arm, pausing after a few minutes to examine her slightly askew handiwork. Hopefully Derek would think the off-center angle made it scarier.
“Oh boy!” A high-pitched electronic voice chirped from a nearby aisle. “That tickles!”
Jane startled and dropped the tape dispenser. Those dolls were so creepy.
“Seriously, no one wants to be tickled.” Jane retorted in the robot’s direction. She bent to retrieve her tools from the poorly lit floor. A peal of tiny, animatronic laughter rang out with a partly stifled bass chuckle almost hidden underneath.
What sadistic customer was here five minutes before closing? No one needed a Tickle Me Elmo that badly. She sidled toward the noise, pretending this scenario didn’t remind her of the beginning of several B horror movies. Maybe this was her jovial boss. She could hope.
“Derek? It’s not funny.” Screwing with the staff was Derek’s wheelhouse. Jane wagered he couldn’t wait to employ those stupid dolls in one of his famous practical jokes. She gritted her teeth. What fun.
Ten feet down the aisle, a man was sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding a scarlet Elmo doll in both hands. For a fraction of a second, Jane’s strongest impression was of antlers sprouting from his head, but it must have been a twist of the shadows, because it cleared when she blinked.
His appearance without them was not measurably less unusual. Short, dark, curling hair, dark skin, close-set dark eyes, but the size of him pulled her up short. The toy appeared ludicrously small in his hands. His T-shirt sported the slogan “Don’t Hate, Meditate” and was testing the limit of the physical properties of fabric over shoulders and arms broad and muscular enough to necessitate turning sideways through doors. His face had a bemused grin when Jane came around the corner, which was smothered by surprise, as if he was taken aback to find Jane in the toy aisle where he was perfectly at home.
Jane reversed a couple steps. “Are you lost?” She blinked several times, got a handle on her surprise, and tried to sound more customer oriented. “I mean, can I help you?”
He gaped at Jane for half a second longer before replying in a warm voice that had something in common with distant summer thunder. “You’re so young. How old are you?”
“What? Who cares?” She absently bumped a display of Skip-It toys.
“Hey, hey . . . It’s okay! I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sure you’re super capable and mature for your age. I pictured you old. Or older, anyway. My mistake.” A pretty grin spread across his face as he absently cradled the doll in the crook of his arm.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m sorry, let me start over. My name’s Ian.” He stood in a fluid, easy way, and in an instant he was a little shy of seven feet and extending a hand the size of a catcher’s mitt. “I wanted to meet you. Can we talk?”
Jane stopped herself from jumping back and tried to put on a poker face. The Muppet was awake again and loudly remarking “Oh boy!” and buzzing while Ian absentmindedly bounced it in a soothing rhythm. He must have an explanation. His extended hand hung in the air for a minute, and when Jane left him hanging, he occupied himself by patting Elmo a few times on the back.
“I’m here because I want to help. You’ve been having a hard time lately with things you don’t understand, right? I’m hoping to talk with you and provide some answers.”
Jane mentally groped for the thread of the conversation. Man, the sparkle in his smile was distracting. Like something lovely was going on.
“Are you here because of the revival? You’re not with that bullshit reverend, right?” Someone claiming they had answers was the most promising thing to come Jane’s way so far, assuming he wasn’t the extra-large size of evangelical usher-bouncer hybrid. With gauged ears, a shirt promoting meditation, and Middle Eastern features, he didn’t look the part. Jane fidgeted with her bracelets, carefully cradling the tiny glitter of hope under her overwhelming nerves.
Ian chuckled a little, infuriatingly relaxed. “I’m not even Christian. Wouldn’t you notice someone like me if I’d been hanging out in the same circles you were?”
“Hey, Jane, do you need help up front?” Doug called from the back.
“Fine! I mean, no, I don’t. It’s fine! I’m almost done!” Jane called back.
“Hang on a sec,” Ian bypassed a beeper and walkie-talkie on his belt to pull a card out of his pocket. He extended it in her direction. “I understand if you don’t want to talk right now, but here’s my pager number. Send me a message. We can have a coffee, and I’ll get you up to speed.” She took the card. Ian gave her a wink and exited the store. Elmo’s giggles faded as he made his way down the hall.
Chapter Four
Jane turned the card over. Answers were only a phone call away. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? He must have found her because of the revival. She publicly cured one case of pediatric cancer, and the weirdos were coming out of the woodwork. Why hadn’t she waited and met them in the parking lot, out of sight? But, no, she’d made a scene to show up Reverend Asshole, and now word had spread. Was that a good thing?
Jane locked the security gate between the toy store and the mall a few minutes early. Ian knew something about her, and he wanted to connect, and that opened a whole new avenue of possibilities. When Jane imagined meeting someone who would believe her, who could tell her what the hell was going on, she pictured a maternal figure: a middle-aged woman with graying hair and sensible clothing who would sit with her over a cup of tea and listen to her pour her heart out. She imagined someone safe, someone with a handle on life. Not someone with playful eyes who rocked Muppets to sleep and weighed in above three hundred pounds.
From one of the store’s mirrors, her reflection peered out. Dark circles under her eyes contrasted flushed cheeks. Even with her hair up, the chunk missing was obvious. A sad little sling made of a couple of bandannas cradled her injured arm. She’d lost weight again, and baggy, wrinkled clothing didn’t cover all her bruises. She was in no condition to seize the day. All she could do right now was keep herself together.
Jane stared at her reflection and forced her expression to change. She glared her sad little self down until she appeared confident, determined. She could quit on Monday. She could get her apartment deposit back and move to another town before the end of the month. Her solution was temporary, but it was a solution. The change in scenery would give her the time she needed to sort things out, make a long-term strategy, maybe find some friends who were . . . normal. Or she could go have coffee.
“Jane?” Doug’s yell was concerned. “Are you there? Is everything okay?”
Jane stirred and started toward the back of the store. “Yeah, I’m still here. Just a sec.”
Doug lapsed into an awkward slouch as they fell into step. “Is something wrong?”
Jane waved the question away. “I’m fine. I had a rough night last night. I guess I’m still feeling it. I know it’s not time to clock out yet, but can you give me a ride home now?”
Doug frowned and his eyebrows knit together. He started to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but the motion petered out partway there. “Yeah, sure. I’ll tell Derek on the way out.”
Five minutes later they were hiking across the parking lot, making a beeline for Doug’s beat-up silver Toyota hatchback. He searched for conversation and landed on an awkward topic. “Did you see the big guy who came in at closing?”
“Yep.” Jane’s steps quickened, and Doug matched her pace. This topic made her stomach flutter, landing it firmly in the category of things she didn’t want to talk about with a coworker. Could she walk fast enough to discourage conversation without looking like a total basket case?
She could not.
“Did he talk to you? What did he say?”
“Not much. Weird, giant triangle man.”
Doug followed in silence for a minute. “Did he steal a Tickle Me Elmo?”
Jane rolled her eyes. “Yeah, he did. Maybe he has a kid? Who even likes those?”
Doug laughed. “That is some psycho level shit right there.” The night air was damp and a little chilly with the moon and stars hiding under cloud cover. Jane could see the car in a not too distant space.
“Maybe giant triangle men are the target market!” She laughed and turned to him, looking for a shared smile. Doug’s brow wrinkled briefly before he put in a stronger effort to appear apathetic.
“Why do you keep saying triangle man?”
“Because he’s all shoulders and arms with a tiny waist. Like a tri-an-gle.” She drew the shape in the air with her good hand. “Stay with me here!”
Doug fished in his pocket and pulled out his car keys, face still blank.
“You just don’t know funny,” Jane muttered as she scanned the parking lot for other people. Doug opened the car door and climbed in, leaning over to unlock the passenger side.
Jane performed a last sweep of the lot and was rewarded for her vigilance. Or punished. On the one hand, the figure approaching—hands at his sides and striding with purpose—didn’t take her by surprise. On the other hand, if she had spent less time being vigilant and more time booking it, maybe they would have been gone before he arrived.
Jane gritted her teeth and jiggled the door handle. “Doug, open up.”
Doug, still leaning over the seats, tried the lock again. “Sometimes it sticks when the weather gets cooler.” His apologetic voice was muffled by the car door, still firmly shut.
“Hey, kids, hold it a minute.” The stranger’s voice wasn’t unfriendly, but he was issuing a command, not a request. Jane took in his balding pate and rounded chin, brown hair, and blue eyes. He had the physique of someone who had been athletic in his younger days but had become comfortable. In a polo shirt and khakis, the man was a little overdressed for an evening in the mall parking lot. He was obviously packing: probably a concealed handgun.
“Not interested, dude. Move along.” She pulled hard at the handle.
Doug glanced up. “Friend of yours?”
“No!” She hissed. “My friends are not strange, creepy men who hang out at malls after dark. Open the door!”
“It’s open! You have to lift while you pull—”
“It’s Libby, right?” Polo Shirt seemed a little winded, but he’d closed the distance, finally coming to a stop a few feet away.
Jane froze. “I don’t know what you mean.” The latch released and the door finally opened.
“Hmm, not Libby? Is it Jane, then? My name is Frank. I have a few questions for you. Cigarette?” He pulled a pack from his pocket and offered one.
“What do you want?” She opened the car door but took the cigarette and lit it.
“Just a conversation.” Frank put the pack away without indulging.
“You and the rest of the world. Are you a cop?”
“No, I’m not a cop. Look, I know you’re an adult and you can make your own decisions, but you’re lucky, you know, Jane? Do you see what I’m getting at?”
“I do not.” She blew the smoke toward him. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“You have a family who cares about you. They cared enough to hire me to help you reconnect—to tell you they miss you and they want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Doug, let’s go.” She flicked the cigarette onto the pavement near Frank’s shoes and bent to get into the car.
“I’m a private detective, Jane. I get paid for finding you, and I’ve done my job. But I’d like to be able to tell your parents you’ll sit down with them for a chat. Can I do that?”
“Ha! No fucking way!” She stood. “Hell. No. Do you know what happened last time we chatted? Did they tell you?” Jane paused significantly. Her liar mom had committed her to a mental hospital against her will, but if this guy was clueless, there was no reason to loop him in. “You’re right. I’m an adult, and I’m not talking to them. You got anything else, Frank?”
“You’re angry. I get it. Family can be complicated, but it’s usually worth it. You won’t reconsider? Life’s short, but family’s precious. You may wish you had one day.” The detective popped a piece of gum in his mouth, and his eyes flicked beyond Doug’s car. “Are you expecting friends?”
“Is this a joke?” Jane stared him down. “Or a trick? I’m not doing it. Sorry you wasted your time.”
Frank’s stance shifted, his feet at shoulder width, his hands loose at his sides. Loose but not relaxed. His blue eyes fixed on a point somewhere behind Jane where a voice called out, “Well, hallelujah! She lives!”
Jane jumped and turned around, wide-eyed. “Doug, start the car. Now.” She reached into her purse and gripped her keys between her fingers like she’d heard on the radio.
Had anyone, anywhere successfully fought off an attacker with keys?
“Working on it—” Doug was doing something with the ignition. His efforts were not resulting in the kinds of lively engine noises Jane had her heart set on at the moment.
“Seems like the whole world is showing up here tonight, preacher!” Another man chimed in. Jane almost didn’t recognize the usher from the revival. It could have been because he lacked his linen jacket, or it could have been because focusing on anything other than the tire iron in his beefy hands was difficult.
“Gentlemen.” Frank’s voice was clear and unwavering. “I strongly suggest you turn around and head home.”
“What the hell is wrong with your car?” Jane scanned the surroundings as Doug struggled. Orange security lights cast long shadows on the crumbling asphalt, staining the night amber. There were trees and a fence behind her, the mall’s freight entrance in front, and an empty parking lot left and right. Wind picked up and rustled maple leaves and litter.
“Hello again, friend.” The reverend’s eyes fixed on Frank, and Jane could tell the dick measuring was about to commence while she stood by, ignored at her own clusterfuck.
“Doug!” she whispered loudly. “Get us out of here! What are you doing?”
The reverend continued to stride forward, empty hands extended. The move would have been more convincing if he didn’t have a wingman wielding a metal club.
“Nice to see you earning that license you like to show around,” the reverend said. “I thought I spied your car. We had a bit of a bet going about whether you’d follow the clues to the same place we did. I guess we’ve all been blessed with insight today.” The end of this little speech was punctuated by the tire iron slamming down on the rear windshield of the ’86 Toyota.
Doug and Jane both screamed as the glass fell into the hatchback. Doug instinctively covered his head with one hand and swore, twisting at the keys, vocally praying for it to turn over. “Stop!” Jane yelled at the reverend. “Stop! This is insane.” This was not her life. This could not be happening.
