by Ray Wallace
Cassie gazed at the couch with longing and then leaned against the back of the kitchen chair to peek through the half open laundry room door. Dirty clothes were stacked in three big piles on the floor. Waiting for her. She sighed. Well, she could put a load in and then close her eyes for a minute. Last night’s shift at the clinic had been rough. Some kind of mini-epidemic going on, or another flu running rampant.
She heaved herself up, stretched, and put her mug in the sink. As she began to turn away, movement from outside the window caught her eye. It looked like someone had just slipped behind her neighbor’s house. Had it been Mr. Shapiro? He was retired and home most of the time, and did a lot of yard work, but still, there had been something off in the movements. Something awkward and…unsettling. Cassie frowned and leaned closer to the window, going up on the toes of her canvas sneakers, her stomach pressing against the cold porcelain of the farmhouse-style sink. A long, misshapen shadow trailed out from behind the tiny tract house next door. Was it someone (something) standing just out of sight? Was it–
Her phone shrilled. She jumped with a small yelp and whirled toward the sound. Then she laughed at herself and put her hand at her throat. Her pulse beat hard and fast under her fingers–adrenaline rush.
Her phone shrilled again and vibrated, chattering aimlessly across the kitchen table. She snatched it up. The insectile buzzing seemed too loud and the phone’s erratic movement reminded her of something dying. She pressed her thumb to the screen and it glowed to life.
A picture of Donna’s face appeared, smiling under the fuzzy bunny ears she’d put on last Easter for a joke. Cassie’s best friend. She’d probably been watching the news just like Cassie. They liked to make fun of the overly earnest Alicia Farrah.
“Hey, Donna!” Cassie said. “Did you see Alicia’s report from the prison? Ha! She–”
“Cass…you have to go get Lucy,” Donna said, her voice flat, like someone in shock. Reflexively, Cassie looked at the clock again. Ten fifteen.
“It’s only a little after ten,” Cassie said and started back to the window. “Girl, are you already drinking? Listen, I get it…it’s five o’clock somewhere, right?” Cassie grinned in anticipation of her friend’s good-natured groan, but the line stayed silent. She tried to get the conversation back on track. “Hey, I just saw that goofy Alicia Farrah doing a live report from Philly and she–”
“Cass…go get her. Go now before–”
Cassie pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at the screen as though the picture of Donna could give her some clue as to Donna’s confused words. Her friend smiled at her, one ear up, one ear down as the counter counted the call time above her. Cassie and Donna had been coloring eggs with the kids when Cassie had snapped that picture; Lucy’s little elbow was just in the frame. Although the holiday was no longer federally recognized, she and Donna had still gotten together mostly out of habit and for something fun for the kids to do.
She pushed the video call button and waited for it to switch over. She had to see Donna’s live and actual face. Something was wrong. As she thought that, her mind cross-patched and she remembered the weird shadow behind Mr. Shapiro’s house. She looked out the window again. The shadow was gone. “Hey,” Cassie said, the word a faint protest. She looked back to her phone. The call had dropped. She pushed redial, turned, and leaned against the counter with her back to the window. It somehow made her feel better. Once again, her mind cross-patched to a picture of herself as a little girl, pulling the covers over her head. The monster unseen was the monster defeated.
The phone burred twice, clicked to an open line. Cassie said, “Donna? Hello? Donna?” A faint hiss, interrupted by a gurgle. Cassie had heard that gurgle before, but she shied away from the association. “Donna! Donna? Are you okay? Listen, I’m coming over there…Donna?” Cassie headed for her front door with her stomach knotting, but glad she was dressed, and glad her best friend lived only one street away. “Donna? I’ll be there in ten seconds. Hold on, girl, hold on.” She opened the front door.
A man in a colorless suit stood on the edge of the shallow front porch, his back to her, swaying gently. Cassie nearly dropped the phone. “Hey!” she said and took a startled non-step, almost a stomp. Her hand tightened on the doorknob. A strange man on your front porch was something to be cautious of. Very cautious. Since the depression, homelessness had become rampant, despite the many laws restricting it.
The man’s head jerked as if he’d heard a loud but distant sound. For a brief second, Cassie had trouble reconciling the man’s flat profile, and then her synapses finally interpreted what her eyes saw: his nose was gone. Car accident, her mind supplied with relief and the explanation appealed deeply to her. It was a concrete problem with a concrete solution. It was probably this man’s shadow she had seen next door. Most likely, he’d suffered a head injury and was wandering aimlessly. Looking for help, but confused. Of course.
Despite her mind’s authoritative assurance, her hand–ruled by an older part of her brain–began to push the door closed. The man turned and stumbled toward her, his arms coming up. His nose was gone, yes, and one of his ears. Black, coagulated blood slicked his neck, but his eyes were…aware. Not sharp, but…
Cassie pushed the door, dropping her phone in order to use both hands. The man’s weight landed against it with a dull thud and she screamed. She pushed harder as her stomach contracted in panic. The door thudded again and yawned a few inches wider. “No!” Cassie screamed, unaware that she did so. “No! NO!” She pushed, throwing her shoulder and all her weight against the door, her sneakers digging into the hardwood. It finally closed, but with a click that seemed unreliable. She turned the deadbolt and jumped back.
Thud. Thud.
Thud.
Each slam against the door made her heart race. She took tentative steps back, trying to slow her whistling breath. Her mind whirred emptily, like something cut loose.
Thud.
Each thud was progressively weaker, as though the man was losing interest in forcing his way in. What if he’s dying, her nurse’s instincts whispered. He needs your help, Cassie. He’s been in some kind of accident. You’re a nurse! You have to help him!
Cassie shook her head no, even as she took a step toward the door. Then she froze, held in place by indecision. She blinked and ran her hands over her face, pulled her hair from the elastic, and then gathered it back into a ponytail and looped the elastic around it, tightened it.
The thumping stopped.
Was he gone?
She went on tiptoe to the front window and twitched a section of curtain aside. She had to press her cheek to the glass to get to the angle where she could see the area just outside the front door. The man was still there, facing the house. He had quieted, but there was something implacable about his swaying stance. He was not leaving any time soon.
Head injury from a motorcycle accident, her mind told her, but that internal voice had grown less authoritative and more desperate. Trying to convince. It explains the odd behavior. It explains his nose, his eyes…the…the…
“He had eyes like an animal,” Cassie whispered. Like a hyena, or a lion–not cold, exactly, but just not…not…human. Whatever had happened to the man had swept his humanity from him.
She remembered the phone and bent to retrieve it from where it had slid up against a baseboard. The screen was cracked, but the phone still worked. She dialed the police. Her hands were shaking and that surprised her–she was handling this well, thinking it through, following logical steps to resolution…wasn’t she? Her body didn’t seem to agree.
The phone rang three times, and then the call dropped. She dialed 911 again. It rang once and dropped. Bullshit…the call shouldn’t drop. She was on the town’s Wi-Fi. Bullshit, bullshit. Rage, terror, and a distressingly blank helplessness washed over her, making her feel faint. She squeezed the phone in both hands, and a scream that she wouldn’t allow locked her chest and gritted her teeth.
She looked out the win
dow again. The man was still there, still swaying, but now he faced the side yard.
Think, Cassie, think. She squeezed the phone harder as if to press ideas, solutions from it. Dan. Call Dan. Call your husband. He wouldn’t answer, though, because no cells were allowed in the classroom. She wished she could text him, leave him a message that way, but texting-enabled phones had been outlawed while Cassie was in college. Now it was numbers or nothing. Most people didn’t even bother to have cell phones anymore because the plans had become prohibitively expensive as the economy had worsened.
Call Lucy’s school.
…go get her. Go now before–Donna’s voice. Why had she said to go get Lucy? Why didn’t 911 answer? What was going on? A deeper unease–brought on by the shadow, Donna’s call, the man, his eyes, no phone–stirred her guts, almost to nausea. She glanced into the kitchen and the stack of neatly folded towels looked like something from another life. Something had changed. Something big and it was more than just the noseless, soulless, bright-eyed apparition desecrating the suburban peace and normality of her front porch.
The car was parked in the garage behind the house. Just to be safe, she would drive to get Lucy, and then go to the police. The ladies at the care center might look at her as if she’d lost her mind, but so what. Better safe than sorry.
She would call Dan on the way and leave him a message. Once she had Lucy, maybe she would drive to the Vo-Tech to see if she could get in to see him. Get him to come with her and Lucy and…why was she thinking about getting them all in the car?
More importantly, why was she still standing here?
Move it, Cas, she told herself and with that small, authoritative command, she was moving through the house, gathering purse and keys. There were ten long strides between the laundry room door and the garage. Always before she had lamented the lack of a decent back yard and she had told Dan a hundred times that they should sell this house and buy one of the houses in the country with football field-sized yards, but not anymore. Not with that boogieman on the front porch, and that…whatever it had been…that had cast that long shadow behind the Shapiro’s house. How many ‘whatevers’ were out there? Had one of them gotten Donna? Maybe the homeless had finally risen up, just as the Clergy Party always said would happen. She’d never paid attention to their nonsense before; they were too strident, too reactionary. But they might have been right all along. There were so many homeless. Cas had always felt bad for them, but…
Her hand was on the knob of her laundry room door and she just stood there, frozen. She’d paralyzed herself with the thoughts of a homeless uprising.
Jesus, Cas, will you please just MOVE?
She glanced as far left and right as she could by pressing her cheeks to the cool glass–the little yard was clear–and she turned the knob to ease the door open. Her nerve endings sizzled with red caution, the small hairs on the back of her neck waved and tickled. The day was a nice one, weather wise, nice for June. Not too hot, not yet. Stop stalling!
She stuck her head out, looked left and right again. Cas, go…go, go, GO…
She went, pulling the door closed behind her and stepping with deer-like tentativeness onto the concrete steps. From there, she made her way to the garage.
Startup Z is available from Amazon here.
Table of Contents
Title page
Also by Ray Wallace
Copyright info
Summer
Sunday, June 21st
Monday, June 22nd
Tuesday, June 23rd
Wednesday, June 24th
Thursday, June 25th
Friday, June 26th
Saturday, June 27th
Sunday, June 28th
Monday, June 29th
Tuesday, June 30th
Wednesday, July 1st
Thursday, July 2nd
Friday, July 3rd
Saturday, July 4th
Sunday, July 5th
Monday, July 6th
Tuesday, July 7th
Wednesday, July 8th
Thursday, July 9th
Friday, July 10th
Saturday, July 11th
Sunday, July 12th
Monday, July 13th
Tuesday, July 14th
Wednesday, July 15th
Thursday, July 16th
Friday, July 17th
Saturday, July 18th
Sunday, July 19th
Monday, July 20th
Tuesday, July 21st
Wednesday, July 22nd
Thursday, July 23rd
Friday, July 24th
Saturday, July 25th
Sunday, July 26th
Monday, July 27th
Tuesday, July 28th
Wednesday, July 29th
Thursday, July 30th
Friday, July 31st
Saturday, August 1st
Sunday, August 2nd
Monday, August 3rd
Tuesday, August 4th
Wednesday, August 5th
Thursday, August 6th
Friday, August 7th
Saturday, August 8th
Sunday, August 9th
Monday, August 10th
Tuesday, August 11th
Wednesday, August 12th
Thursday, August 13th
Friday, August 14th
Saturday, August 15th
Sunday, August 16th
Monday, August 17th
Tuesday, August 18th
Wednesday, August 19th
Thursday, August 20th
Friday, August 21st
Saturday, August 22nd
Sunday, August 23rd
Monday, August 24th
Tuesday, August 25th
Wednesday, August 26th
Thursday, August 27th
Friday, August 28th
Saturday, August 29th
Sunday, August 30th
Monday, August 31st
Tuesday, September 1st
Wednesday, September 2nd
Thursday, September 3rd
Friday, September 4th
Saturday, September 5th
Sunday, September 6th
Monday, September 7th
Tuesday, September 8th
Wednesday, September 9th
Thursday, September 10th
Friday, September 11th
Saturday, September 12th
Sunday, September 13th
Monday, September 14th
Tuesday, September 15th
Wednesday, September 16th
Thursday, September 17th
Friday, September 18th
Saturday, September 19th
Sunday, September 20th
Monday, September 21st
Tuesday, September 22nd
About the author
Startup Z excerpt
Table of Contents
Title page
Also by Ray Wallace
Copyright info
Summer
Sunday, June 21st
Monday, June 22nd
Tuesday, June 23rd
Wednesday, June 24th
Thursday, June 25th
Friday, June 26th
Saturday, June 27th
Sunday, June 28th
Monday, June 29th
Tuesday, June 30th
Wednesday, July 1st
Thursday, July 2nd
Friday, July 3rd
Saturday, July 4th
Sunday, July 5th
Monday, July 6th
Tuesday, July 7th
Wednesday, July 8th
Thursday, July 9th
Friday, July 10th
Saturday, July 11th
Sunday, July 12th
Monday, July 13th
Tuesday, July 14th
Wednesday, July 15th
Thursday, July 16th
Friday, July 17th
Saturday, July 18th
Sunday, July 19th
Monday, July 20th
Tuesday, July 2
1st
Wednesday, July 22nd
Thursday, July 23rd
Friday, July 24th
Saturday, July 25th
Sunday, July 26th
Monday, July 27th
Tuesday, July 28th
Wednesday, July 29th
Thursday, July 30th
Friday, July 31st
Saturday, August 1st
Sunday, August 2nd
Monday, August 3rd
Tuesday, August 4th
Wednesday, August 5th
Thursday, August 6th
Friday, August 7th
Saturday, August 8th
Sunday, August 9th
Monday, August 10th
Tuesday, August 11th
Wednesday, August 12th
Thursday, August 13th
Friday, August 14th
Saturday, August 15th
Sunday, August 16th
Monday, August 17th
Tuesday, August 18th
Wednesday, August 19th
Thursday, August 20th
Friday, August 21st
Saturday, August 22nd
Sunday, August 23rd
Monday, August 24th
Tuesday, August 25th
Wednesday, August 26th
Thursday, August 27th
Friday, August 28th
Saturday, August 29th
Sunday, August 30th
Monday, August 31st
Tuesday, September 1st
Wednesday, September 2nd
Thursday, September 3rd
Friday, September 4th
Saturday, September 5th
Sunday, September 6th
Monday, September 7th
Tuesday, September 8th
Wednesday, September 9th
Thursday, September 10th
Friday, September 11th
Saturday, September 12th
Sunday, September 13th
Monday, September 14th
Tuesday, September 15th
Wednesday, September 16th
Thursday, September 17th
Friday, September 18th
Saturday, September 19th
Sunday, September 20th
Monday, September 21st
