by Andrew Mayne
Mitchell played his out music, flipped a switch and turned the station over to Bonnie.
It was still dark outside. As he walked toward his car, he contemplated sleeping in the parking lot, but then the kicked-in door made him decide to put some distance between himself and the station.
He’d decided to park a few blocks from Rachel’s house and nap there. He’d then give her the key and his life could go back to its pathetic trajectory to nowhere.
5
Mitchell found a parking spot two blocks away from Rachel’s apartment and pulled in. He’d become somewhat adept at sleeping in his car. When Rachel had asked him to leave, he’d told her with foolish pride that he had some other place to stay. The other place being his old Toyota.
A friend of his had helped him find a small place in a former retirement community. It was a virtual ghost town where most of the residents were shut-ins or absentee owners holding out for property prices to go back up. The rest of the units were in foreclosure.
In the three weeks he had been living there, he could recall seeing another neighbor maybe three times and always at a distance. Afraid of anybody under the age of 60, they’d scurry back into their apartments and lock the doors.
For Mitchell, the lack of neighborly contact wasn’t a bad thing. He kept such odd hours it really didn’t make a difference. Another upside for him was that the complex was next to a grocery store accustomed to dealing with the elderly and homebound people. He could order anything he wanted online and have it waiting on his doorstep when he got home. That alone kept him from starving while he’d been sick the past few weeks.
He unfolded the sunshade and placed it into the windshield to keep the morning sun out of his eyes. It was cool enough now that with the windows cracked he could turn off the engine and not worry about suffocating from the Florida sun.
His after-work meal consisted of a bottle of iced tea, a stick of beef jerky and a power bar he’d bought at a gas station by the radio station. The meal had become such a routine that the old Haitian man who worked at the gas station would place the items into the tray as soon as he saw Mitchell’s car pull up. Mitchell would drop his money in the slot and get his change, never having any kind of an exchange other than a friendly nod.
Still feeling a little bit anxious about what happened the night before, he pulled out his iPhone. He opened up a browser window to pull up the local newspaper. He spent several minutes reading the crime bulletins looking for anything that might refer to the incident the night before.
Nothing came up that sounded like what happened. There was the usual shoplifting, DUI and domestic disputes, but other than that it looked like it hadn’t been reported. Although that didn’t mean she hadn’t filed a police report, Mitchell felt better knowing that it wasn’t front-page news and there was no active manhunt.
With that little bit of peace, Mitchell pulled the lever on his seat and leaned back to go to sleep.
Mitchell was awoken by the angry bee buzz of his iPhone as a text message popped up on the screen.
It was from Rachel: what the fuck? r u dropping them off or not?
He’d forgotten to set the alarm, and now he had to deal with the pissed-off wrath of Rachel. There was a time when she could make him feel good about himself and also like a complete asshole. Now it was all asshole, all the time.
His chance to drop the keys off and act like it was all no big thing was shot because he knew she was going to read his hesitancy like he was still holding out for things to go back to the way they were.
He yawned and then typed in a reply: Sorry. Overslept. Almost there.
A moment later she texted back: how long? bout to take a shower after rick.
For fuck sake. Why did she have to add that? He felt the knife go into his side.
Intellectually, he knew it was her way of saying not to make the thing into something stupid and awkward. It still hurt.
For a fleeting moment, he had the childish idea of texting back, “got to drive girlfriend to work. can’t stay to talk.” But he knew she’d just say something positive about him having a new girlfriend and have the upper hand back.
He thought one way to make her doubt herself would be to tell her he was seeing some other guy. She’d write back that she always knew he was gay but secretly feel inadequate. Or at least he imagined she would.
That was a horrible idea, he realized.
Since the passenger side door didn’t reliably lock, he took his backpack with him and headed toward her apartment. He could smell the ocean air as a breeze swept by. He had missed living that close to the ocean. Not that he ever went there all that much, it was just nice knowing that it was near.
He’d slept through the morning rush hour. The streets were empty of life except a woman across the way struggling with two dogs and a delivery truck that flew by.
When Rachel’s apartment building came into view, he felt a little butterfly in his stomach. He panicked for a moment thinking he forgot her keys. That would have been great, showing up at her doorstep without them. He could only imagine how big of an asshole she’d make him feel like if that happened.
On the first floor, he looked over at the apartment where the two little boys lived with their mother. Mitchell used to sit out there and play Transformers with them after school while they waited for their mom to get home. He’d been meaning to stop by and say hello but never got around to it.
He reached the foot of the stairs leading up to her apartment and paused. Could he time it so her new boyfriend was in the shower? The last thing he wanted to see was another guy standing in the apartment, filling the role he used to fill. Worse was the idea of meeting this guy and finding out that he was better looking and younger than him.
Rachel was five years younger than Mitchell, which wasn’t a big gap, but the idea that she broke up with him partly because of his age was a nagging feeling he had.
He did a slow walk up the stairs and pulled open the screen door to knock. In his mind he rehearsed what he was going to say. She’d ask him how he’d been. He’d leave out the part about being sick because he knew it would only make him sound even more pathetic. Instead, he’d tell her he’d been busy with radio station stuff and tell a white lie about getting an offer to go to a bigger station in a bigger market.
He knew she’d say he should take the job to either call his bluff on the lie if she saw through it or to get him as far away from her as possible. He’d already thought of a follow-through for that when he was home sick on his couch. He would reply that he loved South Florida and the station was thinking about putting him on earlier in the day. Like early enough that she would be driving home from work and turn on her radio and accidentally flip to his station and hear his voice. He grinned at the idea of her being afraid to turn on the radio at the risk of feeling remorseful about the breakup. Or better yet, have his face up on billboards around town.
His grin faded when the sad reality that it was a fantasy brought him crashing down to Earth. He’d be lucky to still have his job in three months. An earlier time slot with people who weren’t insomniacs or alcoholics was more far-fetched than any one of Rookman’s conspiracies.
Rachel’s dog began barking from behind the door. He could hear footsteps and then Rachel’s voice yell at the dog. From behind the door she called out, “Hold on, Mitch.”
He could hear her undo the chain and then unlock the deadbolt. She opened the door and a wave of longing swept over Mitchell as he saw her how he’d seen her a hundred other mornings in her shorts and tank top. A little sleepy, but radiant and beautiful.
She gave him a half smile. The smile turned into a snarl. He’d seen that expression before but never on Rachel. That was the look the mad girl last night had given him before she tried to rip out his throat.
Rachel’s eyes opened wide as her mouth seemed to unhinge. She lunged forward at Mitchell and let out a scream so shrill he felt his knees go weak.
6
Mitchell too
k a step back as Rachel leaped forward. Her fingers came at his chest, clawing like an animal.
His right foot overstepped onto the stairs and he stumbled backward. He felt the railing with his right hand and clung to it so he didn’t fall down the steps.
One of Rachel’s hands grabbed his shirt and yanked at it. He could feel the elastic neckband burn against his neck as she pulled. His trip had actually helped him stay out of her reach. Rachel overshot where he stood and fell down on the edge of the stairs with the upper half of her body hanging over them. The aluminum railing made a gong-like sound as her spine hit it.
Frustrated and furious, she let out a scream and started kicking at his shins. Mitchell jumped up, spreading his legs to avoid the blows.
“Rache...” he started to ask.
He was trying to understand what was happening. Had she fell? Was it like the night before?
All he could do was react.
She looked up at him and reached a hand toward his belt and tried to pull him toward her.
The hand slid and latched onto his ankle. Mitchell yanked his foot away and reflexively stomped on it, pinning it to the ground.
Rachel’s left foot hit him in the knee, and he let her hand go.
She was beginning to pull herself up.
Mitchell looked at the open door. Should he try to make it inside and lock her out?
Just then a male voice called out from inside. “What the fuck is going on?”
Mitchell ran down the stairs in two bounds.
Rachel got up and chased after him.
He rounded the edge of the complex and headed down the sidewalk. He could hear her running behind him.
They used to jog together. He was the faster sprinter while she had better stamina.
Behind him he heard her pace quickening. She was gaining. He made a quick left and ran down a shortcut he used to take. Rachel overshot it before turning around.
He could hear her snarling behind him.
Mitchell ran down the gap between the buildings and took another turn. He’d made some distance from her, but she was still gaining on the straight-away.
Across the street he could see an apartment complex with a white metal gate between an alley. The gate was open. If he could reach the gate, he could close it and separate Rachel from him, at least temporarily.
Mitchell ran up the steps and jumped through the entrance. He shut the gate as Rachel’s body slammed into it.
The latch had no lock on it so he held it shut with his hands.
Rachel pulled at the bars and screamed. Her eyes widened as they saw where his knuckles were vulnerable on the outside of the bars. Her mouth snapped at his fingers, trying to bite them off. Mitch pulled his hand free and her head slammed into the metal bars. She furiously banged her head against the gate and then she tried to bite his other hand. What the hell?
Mitchell moved his hand to another part of the gate and tried to hold it shut. How long could he do that before she bit one of his fingers off? He hoped somebody would call for help soon. The entire neighborhood had to hear her screaming and the sound of her body thrashing against the gate.
He could hear the sound of someone running down the alley he had just came from.
Her boyfriend, Rick, ran into the street. Still in his boxers, he was Mitchell’s height but much more athletic.
He looked over at them and came charging.
Rick let out a guttural cry, leaped up the small set of stairs and slammed into the gate with his shoulder. The concrete fitting where the gate was bolted into began to crack. Bits of painted plaster fell away in chips.
Rachel stretched her hands through the gate and tried to claw at Mitchell’s throat. He let go of the gate entirely and stepped back. Rick charged at the gate again. Mitchell could hear the sound of metal bending.
Mitchell looked at them confused. Their eyes were bloodshot and their teeth bared all the way to their gums.
Something was going to give. He could either stay there and wait for help to come or use what time he had before they bothered to just undo the latch and come for him.
Screw it. Mitchell ran down the alley and hopped over the low wooden fence that separated it from the service road in back of the complex. He spotted a large trashcan and pushed it in front of the fence. It might trip one of them up if they didn’t see it.
He headed up the service alley and came to the cross street. A car drove by. He tried to flag it down. It kept going. From behind he heard the sound of aluminum hitting the ground. The crashing gate echoed down the canyon of buildings that lined the service road.
Mitchell turned around to see Rick leap over the fence and pass right over the trashcan. Fuck.
Rick looked to his right, then to his left and stared right at Mitchell. He pumped his arms and came at him like a sprinter out of the starting blocks. Mitchell ran into the street, not caring about traffic, and ran straight down the middle.
His best hope was to spot a cop or someone who could help.
Already in pain, his body was crying out to stop. He could feel bile build up in the back of his throat. He couldn’t keep this up much longer.
The only thing that kept him going was the thought of what would happen if Rick caught up with him.
The sound of bare feet hitting the pavement was getting louder. Rick was letting out the loud puffs of air sprinters sometimes do when they are trying to use their lungs as a muscle to pull themselves forward.
A smaller set of footprints was farther back. Rachel was following them.
Mitchell heard a scream right behind his ear. Something reached out and touched his backpack. The adrenaline gave him a burst of energy. For a brief moment, he felt something of a high.
He reached another intersection. A car was driving across it. Fuck, it was going to be close.
Mitchell jumped. His could feel the wind of the car. The driver slammed on his brakes as Mitchell flew past his windshield. The driver turned to watch as Mitchell kept running. He never saw the other man run into his car at full speed.
The front bumper sent Rick flying into the ground. There was a snap as his right leg broke from the impact.
Mitchell turned around and saw Rick crumpled on the asphalt. His leg was at a funny angle. Rick was still staring right at Mitchell. He struggled to his feet and fell down. Blood spurted from where bone stuck out of the skin.
Rachel ran around the car and blew right past Rick as he struggled to get up. She never looked back.
The fear, the adrenaline, it all went numb as Mitchell saw Rachel ignore Rick as she dodged between him and the car without missing a beat.
Mitchell ran down the next service road. He immediately took a turn through another alley and toward his car. He hoped this would confuse Rachel when she got to the service road.
On one side of the alley was a wooden maintenance shack. He ran around the back of it and waited.
He could hear footsteps as Rachel raced to where she last saw him. The footsteps grew louder and then passed where he was hiding.
Should he call for help now?
He reached for his iPhone and then froze when he heard another sound. It wasn’t as fast as Rachel, but it was definitely footsteps.
Near the entrance to the service road he could hear a footfall and then the sound of something being dragged. Step. Drag. Step. Drag.
Rick.
Mitchell decide to break for his car and call for help from there.
He rushed down the alley and onto the street where he parked his car.
He prayed that Rachel didn’t decide to emerge from the service road as he ran by.
Finally he reached his car. He opened the passenger side door and slid in as he caught his first relieved breath of air.
A tire squeak made him jump. He slid away the sunshade as a parking enforcement officer pulled up in her three-wheeled cart to ticket the car in front of Mitchell.
Thank god for meter maids, thought Mitchell as he got out of the car to ask for hel
p.
7
Mitchell went to open his mouth. He hyperventilated as he tried to think of what to say. The parking enforcement officer, a middle-aged stocky Hispanic woman, was typing something into her handheld computer.
“Excuse me!” Mitchell called out.
She looked up at him from the other car. It was a defensive expression she’d shown a thousand times to people who thought they could plead for a break.
She just looked at Mitchell and raised an eyebrow. No, “How can I help you?” or anything resembling courtesy.
“I’m being chased by two people. ... I think they’re trying to kill me.” He made a conscious choice not to say ex-girlfriend and her boyfriend.
Mitchell looked over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure if he was more frightened about seeing Rachel running toward him with murder in her eyes or Rick slowly plodding along with his bloody mess of a leg and bone poking through.
The officer walked to the driver’s side of Mitchell’s car and looked at him from across the hood.
She could see the terror in Mitchell’s eyes. There was a fleeting moment of humanity.
Mitchell tried to figure out how to explain what had just happened. But even he didn’t understand it.
The woman reached for her radio. Then her face lost all expression.
Oh fuck, thought Mitchell.
The woman’s lips pulled back as she bared her teeth.
Passenger side door still open, Mitchell leaped back in and slammed it shut. The officer jumped onto his hood and started slamming the radio into his windshield as she screamed.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he shouted.
He looked over at the driver’s side. He started to climb into it when he heard the windshield crack from the impact of the radio.
He looked back out and saw the radio break apart as it made a hole the size of a soda can in the glass. The parking enforcement officer reached a hand through the opening, scraping the skin off her knuckles, and grabbed Mitchell’s hair.
She started to yank it.
