What in the hell is going on?
Turning my attention away from the conundrum, I faced the rest of my apartment. Nothing had changed since I went to sleep the night before. The ugly floral wallpaper was still peeling off the walls, the sink still tapped out a steady rhythm from the drip I couldn't figure out how to fix, and the mismatched furniture was still as broken down and gaudy as it had always been.
Shaking my head, I gave up. I needed coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. Surely I'd be able to function with a little caffeine running through my system. I ventured around the small divider separating my bedroom from the rest of the apartment, intent on showering, getting dressed, and downing an entire pot of Folgers in order to start my day. But as soon as I stepped foot into my room, I stopped cold.
There, in my bed, was the covered figure of a person. If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn I'd gotten rip-roaring drunk the night before and had some company of the female variety. But that didn't explain why I'd woken up on the kitchen floor instead of in my warm bed with someone's arm draped across my chest.
Padding my way across the floor, thankful that my socked feet didn't make a sound atop the well-worn carpet, I bent down to wake whoever was in my bed. I didn't want to frighten whoever was snoozing, but I did want to know who it was. Maybe it was someone I knew. Maybe a buddy had needed a place to crash. Or maybe it was a beautiful woman I didn't remember inviting over. Not that I'd ever invited a girl into my apartment before, but there's a first time for everything.
Softly clearing my throat, hoping I wouldn't startle the mysterious visitor, I nudged what I assumed was a foot beneath the covers. “Hello?” I said, barely above a whisper.
No movement. I tried again. “Excuse me, uh... person? Rise and shine. Time to get up.”
My head fell back with an exasperated sigh as I realized that whoever it was, was a deep sleeper. Hoping that whoever it was didn't sleep in the nude, I made my way around the side of the bed where the covers were drawn back.
“Hey, buddy, can you-”
My entire body jolted to a stop as my words fell on deaf ears.
Or dead ears.
Wide, unblinking eyes stared into the nothingness behind me as I shook, as I fought for clarity, as I gazed down at the pale, lifeless skin of a man- a man I knew all too well. Clutching my chest, I stumbled away from his body. I was dreaming. I had to be. There was no other explanation.
RING
My head whipped toward the sound of my landline.
“What the hell is going on?”
RING
My feet moved on their own, dragging my body across the room toward the blaring noise coming from my ancient phone.
“Impossible. This... this is a prank or something. It has to be!”
RING
I reached the phone and instinctively grabbed for the handset. On contact, the already loud ring shot up to a high-pitched squeal, crackling and fuzzing like radio interference. I watched as the dial pad slipped through my trembling fingers again and again, eluding my touch just like the coffee table.
RING... BEEP
“Ryan, it's Quinn,” my sister's worried voice boomed through the answering machine speaker. “I haven't heard from you in almost a week and it's really starting to freak me out. Call me back, please.”
“Quinn! No, I'm here! Don't hang up!”
I tried to grab the phone again, but my fingers found no purchase. I may as well have been trying to hug a hologram. It was there. I could see it! But I couldn't feel it. I could barely feel my own hands.
Panicking, I spun on my heel and turned to face all the things I'd acquired throughout my overly-materialistic life. Reaching for one thing after another, I tried to grab something, tried to touch, tried to feel. First a book, then a coffee mug, then onto my favorite jacket, my empty wallet...
But my hands wouldn't cooperate. Everything I touched slipped through my fingers without moving even a fraction of an inch. My brain kicked into overdrive.
“What's happening?” I screamed as I thrust my hands into my hair and spun around the apartment, waiting for something to reach out and trip me, to wake me from this awful nightmare.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
Jerking out of my panic, I sprinted toward the door. Something told me I wouldn't be able to answer it, but I had to try. Grabbing for the knob, I tried over and over again to wrap my fingers around the brass orb, but the only thing that registered my touch was the door itself. I beat against the barrier, screaming in frustration, intent on tearing it down, but it didn't budge. It didn't even make a sound.
I prayed that whoever stood behind that door held the key to the answers I needed. I needed them to come inside, to acknowledge the lifeless pile of flesh and bones melting into my mattress. I needed them to see, to explain. Because that wasn't just any corpse wrapped in my four-hundred thread count sheets.
It was my truth.
“Mr. Callahan?” Alice Whitlock, my landlady, called out as she continued to pound on the door. “Ryan? You're sister just called. She's worried. Could you open the door, please? Ryan, are you in there?”
“Yes! Alice, I'm here, I'm right here! Can you come inside? Do you have your key?”
“Ryan, I'm coming in.”
I stepped away from the door and braced myself; legs shoulder width apart and hands fisted at my sides, waiting for Alice to wiggle her key into the lock and enter my apartment. I hadn't been able to make heads or tails of anything happening around me, but maybe she could. Maybe this was all a sick joke and she was there to deliver the punch line. Or maybe I was dreaming. Maybe I just needed to wake up.
Standing there, praying to God that what I feared wasn't true, I willed Mrs. Whitlock to meet my eyes. I was ready to smile, tell her how sorry I was for worrying her, and make up some lame excuse about oversleeping before sending her on her way. I was ready for her to nod and make a joke about lazy young men before pulling me into one of her famous hugs.
But that didn't happen.
Alice Whitlock stepped into my apartment and looked right through me. Her light blue eyes scanned the rooms, sweeping side to side, searching for my presence. Pushing the door closed behind her, she took another step and immediately scrunched up her nose.
“Ryan, what have you been doing in here?”
“Nothing! I haven't been doing anything!” I said. “Mrs. Whitlock? Alice? Hello? Can you see me? I'm here. I'm right freaking here!”
I waved my hands around the side of her face, but she didn't stop, and I felt like collapsing in on myself. She couldn't see me, couldn't hear me. Reaching out, I tried to touch her shoulder, but couldn't. I lunged for her, grasping at nothingness as I tried to keep her from walking into my bedroom, but my hands met empty, stagnant air.
As frustration built inside my chest, I felt as if I would explode at any moment. I was usually a laid back, go with the flow kind of guy, but none of this made sense! I was standing right beside her. I could see myself, hear myself, even touch myself. But she couldn't? The truth of the situation kept trying to reveal itself to me, but I refused to acknowledge it. I flat out refused.
“Ryan?” Alice marched straight to the bed, and something deep inside me, deep in my soul, told me that her world, as well as mine, was about to be shattered. “Ryan, sweetie, time to wake up. Your sister is worried si-”
I stopped a few feet away, wringing my hands as I watched Mrs. Whitlock reach down and softly shake the arm of the body laying in my bed.
“Ryan?”
An uneasy air filled the room as she straightened her spine and a sharp gasp pierced her lungs. I could hear her fighting for breath as a weathered hand flew to her mouth and her shoulders began to shake. Instinct told me to go to her, to comfort her, to wrap my arms around her tiny frame, smooth down her silver hair, and assure her that everything was going to be okay.
But I couldn't. And it wasn't.
Feeling completely lost, helpless, and more alone than I'd ever been in my entire life, I d
ropped to my knees as I watched poor Alice Whitlock scream and run for the door.
Steady Page 17
