by Jeff Vrolyks
Holly picked up the phone, wiped her eyes, dialed, and waited. She looked confusedly at the phone, redialed, and listened. Her eyes closed, which was a disclosure of shitty news. The phone slid out of her hand and smacked the wooden floor, startling me even as I had watched it fall. She groped a mobile phone out of her purse and powered it on. She dialed with the same result, only this time she barked expletives, and threw the mobile phone in her frustration. She cried into her hands, softly at first, progressing by the second.
A dead landline likely meant it was cut. And when in the history of the telephone had a phone line ever been cut with honorable intent? Her dead mobile phone was truly puzzling, there were no lines to cut. Short of a cell-tower being knocked over or on fire, it made no sense. Without outside communication, Alison’s only hope was a drive to the hospital. The thought of going outside made my stomach gnarl. But if there was one thing the Air Force taught me, and reinforced regularly, was that despising something didn’t make it optional.
Holly issued a wet nasally plea, sobbing through it. “My Sister… is bleeding to death. Please save her.”
She leaned against the wall beside her desk and slid down to the floor. She sat with arms hugging her knees and face buried in the made-nook, and wept.
Holly is a strong woman. If she had never lost her composure during this unfurling nightmare, I would have accepted it expectantly. Yet she was falling apart, and rapidly. It could only mean that she began coping with the understanding that blood loss to such a degree is hopelessly fatal.
As tempting as it was to embrace and console her, I needed to stay proactive and deal with this thing, if at all possible. There would be plenty of time for consolation, but only if we got through this. I touched her shoulder tenderly. “I’m going to see if there’s anything I can do for Ali.”
That got her attention. She looked up with a pink and swollen face, the wrecked countenance not of a mature woman, but of a child. “Please, I can’t lose her again. Please!”
Again?
I didn’t know what to tell her. I wanted to say everything would be all right, but I didn’t think it would be, and couldn’t conceive of an advantage in lying to her. I expected to find Alison dead in the hall.
“We’re going to have to make a run for the truck when I get back,” I said. “Stay here. I’ll only be gone a minute.”
She returned to her nook and sobbed.
I crossed the foyer swiftly, glimpsing the recently-and-profoundly-tested French door—there’s a company whose doors were worthy of a handwritten letter by me congratulating them on a fantastic product. There were yellow eyes. Four of them. Six of them. Eight of them? “Jesus…” I ran.
The corridor was as white, bright, and lustrous as Heaven is portrayed to be. Yet with Alison lying there in a pool of her blood, the heavenly tableaux was instead a mockery of God. His precious creation snuffed out as effectively as a cigarette butt grinding into an ash tray. And what made it worse is I had no idea who or what caused it. From my imagination I heard a distant maniacal laugh. A gloating chortle all inside my head that wasn’t as dreadful as it was infuriating.
A perfectly round puddle of blood like a red sun was centered under her head. It seemed too fantastic to be real. I felt like I was in a movie and a prop master with a half empty bucket of blood was standing just out of frame, awaiting orders to pour another pint. The head-dressings were soaked through. I knelt beside her and checked her wrist: no pulse. I pressed two fingers against her carotid artery and held my breath: no pulse.
“Please don’t, Alison.”
Right before I withdrew my hand, I felt a feeble push of blood against my finger. To me (as strange as it sounds) it was like her way of speaking one last time to me, or anyone for that matter, by pushing that blood across my finger; a farewell heartbeat. I caressed her sweet face with the awareness that it would be my first and last time touching her intimately. I was ashamed to not have known her well enough to fully appreciate her loss. My breath was convulsing, eyes burning. I let go and sobbed. Sobbed for Alison, for Holly, for our situation, and because I felt inept to handle it.
The first sounds of scraping and scratching came from the front door. Another meaty Thud at the glass French door. I waited for glass to shatter and amazingly it didn’t. It couldn’t hold up for long.
“I’m so sorry, Alison. We’ll be right behind you.”
Another loud thud at the glass door, the loudest one yet. The echo hadn’t run its course when another impact brought the strident sound of glass exploding, shards sliding across the floor.
They’re inside.
My best bet was to run to the office, lock the door behind me. A disturbing thought occurred to me: even though Alison’s life was at an end, what unthinkable things might be enacted upon her if I left her here to die alone? What if she awakened as they ravaged her? Eaten alive. I was indignant at the thought.
I scooped her up off the floor using my left arm to take the brunt of her meager weight. I leaned her body against my chest and stumbled from my awkward management. I moved as rapidly as my circumstance permitted. The decision made to relocate Alison would probably kill us (a realization neutralized by the probability of dying regardless).
The shattered glass door was visible from the foyer, and I couldn’t resist looking that way as I passed. Yellow eyes, several of them. A black mass entered from the veil of night. Two more followed.
Dogs? Friggin’ dogs???
A fourth appeared. Before the east hall blocked my view, I observed their long narrow snouts and bristly black coats. Not dogs, but something worse. Wolves. A pack of wolves.
Three more labored steps and we were inside the office. My foot hooked the door and slammed it shut, discerning the lightness of the probably-hollow office door. Alison’s limbs dangled under her and swayed like a rag doll. The door had no lock but that was all right, canines can’t open doors.
Holly bolted upright, snapping out of her despair. Her face was a battlefield of emotion, but her eyes were wide and alert. I placed Alison in the far left corner of the room, between desk and book shelf. Holly wouldn’t look directly at her.
The integrity of this shitty door concerned me. I gripped Holly’s insanely heavy desk with my left hand and attempted to drag it across the door. It didn’t budge. Holly stepped behind it and pushed while I pulled. With a chalkboard-like screech it gouged a trail across the wooden floor. The door was now barricaded. I was huffing from exhaustion, having accomplished more than I thought possible with a broken arm. My arm. Manageable chronic pain was now stabbing blinding pain. The pain was as merciless as it was indicative, and it brought tears to my eyes. We sat down shoulder to shoulder, leaning back against the desk cabinet to add resistance.
“Did you see it?” she asked. I nodded. “What is it?”
“Wolves.” The word felt alien rolling off my tongue. “I counted four of them, but there are more at the front door.”
“Wolves?” she said thickly, doubtfully. “In Vacaville?”
“Yes. Trust me, they’re wolves.”
I thought she may have been imagining being eaten alive by them. Her breathing increased. She stared at the room’s only window. She didn’t ask if I thought they could get in through the window, she knew they could. Her panic was setting in well. Mine nestled in deeply long ago and was now more of a polite passenger than a nagging backseat driver.
“What do you think they want?” she asked. Her naïvety was befitting of a child, not a woman as sharp as Holly. I glanced over to Alison lying dead on the floor. Holly did the same, then closed her eyes, displacing tears.
The pitter-patter of footsteps reached the door. They clawed at it two feet behind our backs.
I second-guessed what I had perceived to be wolves. I knew them to be wolves, but I am not privy to canines. Perhaps there are breeds of dogs sharing the same distinct characteristics. With their long snouts, bristled coats, and yellow eyes, it was hard to convince myself otherwise. It was an
easy call before that little agitator named logic offered a rebuttal. The likelihood of wolves being in Vacaville, let alone California, let alone the southwest, wasn’t just slim, it was nil.
The possibility that they had escaped from an animal trainer crossed my mind. If they were indeed wolves, it was the only logical explanation. If an animal trainer lost a pack of wolves, he or she (God willing) would be searching the neighborhood for them, preferably with a few dozen friends, preferably with tranquilizing guns, preferably sniper-trained crack-shots.
Holly stared at the phone below the window. She unseated, picked it up, and powered it on: no service. She mindlessly set it on the windowsill. Mid-stride of turning around, she froze in place. She stared out the window obliquely.
My heart beat faster. After a tense moment she cringed and lunged to me, glancing back at the blank window. I tried to get up but she countered me, insisted I stay put. Her eyes were wide, pupils pinpoints.
“Wolves?”
“No.” She sat next to me, stared raptly at that damned window.
“Then what?”
“Nothing, doesn’t matter.” There was naked dishonesty and fear imbedded in every syllable. Whatever her reason, I blindly obeyed, but stewed over it. She was nearly hyperventilating. Why wouldn’t she rally a course of action if she saw something just outside the window? It could only mean she felt hopeless to overcome it.
I understood her resignation to our ill fate but fell short of reciprocating it. I held on to hope. The situation was far too sensational to be random—or real, for that matter. It was akin to watching a magician saw, shoot, or impale a volunteer. You hold on to the chance they should perish as you look for trap doors, invisible wire, or a sleight-of-hand. Before you conclude that they’ve perished, or find a device that could aid the magician, a smug-sounding Ta-da! rings in tandem with the reappearance of the unscathed subject. Magic is achieving the impossible, a breach in the laws of physics as well as our reality’s boundaries. From the phone calls, to the shadowy figure, to this moment in the office, I waited for the Ta-da! that hadn’t yet come. I continually looked for fate’s sleight-of-hand, and I desperately wanted us to be the unscathed subjects returning to a boundary-enforced reality, but with each passing minute we were becoming the God-forsaken perished. Victims of a trick gone awry.
They clawed tirelessly at the door.
“I deserve this,” she said so softly that I had to replay it in my mind to grasp it all.
“How could you say that!”
No reply. She was trembling. I figured it couldn’t hurt to distract her from her consternation. Hell, I could use a distraction. “Holly, look at me.” Her glossy and distant eyes looked into mine. “Tell me how you met Alison.” I tried to sound upbeat but instead sounded phony. She was looking through me.
“Did you meet at school? Tell me about it, I want to hear.”
Her eyes found Alison. Alison looked like a sun-bleached Barbie without the smile and open eyes.
“Our junior year of high school. Mr. Tenneman’s economics class.” Her gaze never left Ali as she told the story.
“I was new to the school. Moved from Bend, Oregon, over the winter. My first day there was miserable. First day is always miserable; some more than others, I guess. You wouldn’t guess it, but I was shy throughout high school. Alison is probably the reason I came out of my shell. But back then, I hated to ask for directions. And when I did, I was usually given either shitty directions or an excuse.
“I had no idea where I was going. Girls gave me dirty looks—guys gave me dirty looks, too, but the other kind. Fourth period was economics. I couldn’t find the classroom in time so when I walked in, I was late. Very late. You know how in movies when something big happens and a record scratches to a stop and it becomes deathly quiet? That’s what happened. Boys whispered. One actually said something about—” She abandoned the thought. “I’ll never forget their icy stares. I felt so alone. I didn’t belong.
“There was only one seat available, in the front and on the far end of the classroom. I kept my head down as I walked to the seat. Going up the final aisle, a girl said something under her breath, then snickered. I looked at her, and in that second my foot caught someone’s book-bag and I tripped.” Holly closed her eyes.
“I wanted to disappear, hide, run, anything to get away from them. I could have ran out of class, but then where would I go? My books went flying everywhere. I fell to my hands and knees, bruised the hell out of my knees. They laughed at me. And I don’t mean one or two people, it was a laughing roar, continuing even as I took my seat. How is that funny? Do you know, Kevin? I don’t get it. Unless misery and utter humiliation can be considered funny.”
My heart was aching. Why are kids so damned cruel? I wished I could have been there with her. Things would have been different, I don’t know how, but sure as shit they would have. I put my hand on her knee.
“I hid my face in my hands and cried. I wanted to die. Literally. It was the only other time I can remember wanting to die. Alison Lewis sat in the seat behind me.” She paused. “She’s my guardian angel. I swear she is, Kevin.”
She cleared her throat, resumed her solemn tone. “The seat next to mine, a girl named Linda Bollinger—God how I was intimidated by Linda. She was a big girl—lots of rumors about her promiscuity, too, but that’s another story. She was so mean, always had something smart-ass to say. She laughed at my face. I didn’t see it, but I heard it. How could anyone be so cruel? They had no reason to hate me.” She looked at me for a brief moment, a tear ran down her cheek, and she said, “Kevin, I thought something was wrong with me. Like maybe I deserved to be ridiculed.” She shook her head and returned her gaze at Ali.
“Alison got out of her seat. I didn’t notice her until she was in front of Linda’s desk. Mr. Tenneman was a mild-mannered timid guy. He told the class to settle down but nobody minded him. He told Alison to sit down more than once. I peeked through my hands and saw this brave girl. She was so beautiful, so courageous, and like I said, my guardian angel. She just stood there with her book bag, standing there on my behalf. She was really pissed off.” Holly grinned. “Ali asked why she was such a fucking bitch. Linda was so stunned by this that she actually stuttered. ‘Wh-what?’ Ali slung her bag off her shoulder and swung it at Linda’s head. Linda shrieked! I don’t think anyone had ever stood up to her before Ali. Ali had emptied her bag, so I doubt it hurt Linda, but it scared the shit out of her. She covered her face, just as I had. Ali swung it at her head again. Linda begged her to stop. She did not.
“I replayed her pathetic pleas in my head a hundred times… hundreds of times. ‘Why are you hitting me? What did I do? Stop! Please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’
“She left Linda’s desk when she wanted to, not when the teacher told her to, and certainly not from anything Linda did or said. Ali went back to her chair and with the meanest most spiteful tone, jeered, ‘Look at Linda, everyone! What a baby! What a crybaby! Everyone point and laugh at Linda Bollinger the chubby-slut! Lindapotamus Bollinger, if you weighed a pound for every tear you shed and every boy you banged, you’d… oh wait, you do!’ The class was laughing again, but this time they laughed at Linda!” Holly beamed. She relived the moment again before continuing.
“The class eventually calmed down and the teacher called Alison back to his desk to have a word. Alison touched my shoulder from behind. She whispered, ‘It was worth a hundred detentions.’ She had the kindest, warmest smile. I couldn’t believe that someone so sweet, so warm, so noble, could be so mean!” Holly giggled. “Linda never spoke to me or even looked directly at me again.
“Ali and I clicked right away. She is the only person I’ve ever loved, besides family. And I do,” she said, looking in my eyes, “I truly love her to—” She looked at Alison and the past became present and crashed into her. She wept.
I squeezed her hand. I was trying to be the strong one, but her story touched me. I was struggling to hold back my own tears, and wasn’t do
ing very well. I put my arm around her and kissed her wet cheek. She rested her head on my shoulder. I murmured a heart-felt sentiment that doesn’t need to be repeated. I hoped she wouldn’t notice the yellow eyes staring at us from the window. I kissed the top of her head. She looked up at me with a sincere expression of gratitude. And love.
I gazed adoringly in her eyes. With them, I projected I love you.
She smiled. I love you too, her eyes said. I guess it is human nature to want to love and be loved during the final moments of your life.
Glass rattling diverted our attention to the window. Two wolves on hind legs were peering down at us. I hadn’t noticed the attempts at the office door had stopped. They found their way to us.
“I don’t know why this is happening to us,” I said, “but I’m eternally grateful that we met.”
In her expression was an echo of my sentiment. “I know why it spelled E-A-T-H-D and not death,” she said.
