by Lee Deadkeys
“We ready?” Jess asked but would not look at him. Frank felt a familiar annoyance with her flippant attitude toward these altercations, altercations that seemed to be increasing in frequency.
Sadly, he realized she hadn’t always been this way. There was a time, long ago, when he knew she believed people to be inherently good.
Even before Jacob’s death, she distressed over events most people suffered briefly and then moved on. Everything was personal, every misdeed an injustice. Her heart hardened, her pain crafted into resentments as she lost the ability to forgive mankind of its serious grievances against one another.
Frank had deep concerns about her after what happened to Jacob and Angel. It was the last straw, the last allowance she would make for a world that had turned on itself. She’d told him once, “We are on our own, God has left the building and nobody is getting out of this undamaged.”
Frank shook his head; this wasn’t the time to confront her with his concerns, not with Mason here. He sighed and said, “Yeah, let’s get moving. We’ll follow you in Mason’s truck.”
* * *
Frank waved to a few people he recognized while Mason maneuvered his truck through the long, narrow rows of units. Rounding the last row near the office, Frank saw Dick Cropp standing in front of unit 2060 holding a flashlight. The man was a sight. His shirt splattered with stains, hair a matted mess.
Dick nodded to Frank as he exited Mason’s truck and Frank took the opportunity to ask how he was.
Dick seemed irritated by the question. “Fine, peachy, just get that thing out of my unit.”
A terrible stench wormed into Frank’s nostrils, blanketing his tongue. He looked around and found that they walked in flattened circles of dog feces.
“Dick, why haven’t you cleaned up this dog crap yet?”
Jess and Mason looked down, their noses crinkling in unison.
Dick shrugged and bit at a dirty fingernail as he looked around them at the mess. “I have been, but there is always more, every night, more.”
Frank cocked his head, “You sure you’re all right, Dick?”
Dick stood stupefied, watching Jess as she bent to examine the lock on the unit, keys in hand.
She stopped and stood abruptly. “This lock has been cut.”
Frank was still eyeing the stains on Dick’s shirt; it looked like the man had eaten a boatload of fries and every dip of ketchup had ended up on his shirt and arms.
“Dick, why is our lock cut?” Jess demanded, arms folded in front of her.
“What’s all over your arms and shirt?” Frank asked.
“Dogs bit me,” Dick said. “I was checking on the box.”
“What the hell were you doing in there, Dick?” Jess took a step toward Dick and Frank grabbed her arm.
“I mean, the bulbs, I had to change the bulbs for you guys… and I got bit.”
“That’s your reason?” Jess asked. “You still had no right to cut our lock. We own the contents of this unit, and you have absolutely no business in there without permission.”
“Calm down, Jess,” Frank said, still looking at Dick’s arms and shirt. “You should have those bites looked at, Dick.”
Dick looked at his wounded arms as if shocked to see them. He nodded twice, before taking a step away from them. “I got things to do,” he said numbly, turned and jogged off toward the office.
“That was weird,” Mason said as he watched Dick jog, then sprint a few feet before resuming a slower pace.
“No shit,” Jess agreed. “Watching Dick run is about as creepy as watching a frog walk.”
Mason snickered, beaming down at Jess.
She smiled up at him and Frank thought she looked more beautiful than ever. She caught him watching and the smile vanished. Frank smiled at her, hoping to coax hers back, but it was gone.
“Let’s get to work,” she said and rolled up the door.
“Great… lights are out again,” Frank muttered, flicking the useless switch a few more times.
“What the hell? I thought he said he replaced them.”
“He did,” Frank replied and pointed to four shattered fluorescent bulbs lying in the corner.
“If he did, how are they burned out again? Those things last forever.”
Jess clicked on a flashlight and aimed it at the overhead fixtures. The beam from her flashlight dimmed after a few seconds and she batted it against her hand.
“You have a good light, Mason?” she asked.
Mason nodded and headed for his truck. He returned with a large black Maglite a moment later, turned it on and aimed a slightly brighter beam at the box sitting near the back.
Mason whistled. “Wow, what is it?”
Jess moved her dim light toward the box just as the sun rose over the roof of the building behind them, illuminating the first three feet of the darkened area but not quite reaching the strange box itself.
She clicked off her flashlight and stood staring in at it, sitting there alone in the half-light. Her eyes moved around the space, noting the lack of dust or cobwebs, wondering how long it had been locked up in there, alone and waiting to be found.
Mason walked into the unit, stopping a couple feet from the box. Frank and Jess exchanged an uneasy look and then turned to watch him move to one side of the box and then the other, sizing it up.
“Wow,” Mason said again, “What’s it made of? I don’t think it’s metal. Looks more like polished stone or maybe petrified hardwood to me.”
Frank took a hesitant step in and Jess followed him a second later. They approached the box, taking up places on either side of Mason.
The surface was smooth and marbled with reds, browns and other earth tones. Even in the dim light it glistened slightly, like polished river rock.
“I don’t see a lock or place to put a key. I don’t think it’s a safe, guys.” Mason walked around it again, his hand reaching out but not touching it.
“It doesn’t make sense that there is no way to open it,” Frank said stepping closer. He took the flashlight from Jess and shined the sick yellow beam on the box. “I think I found a seam.” Jess and Mason looked closer. “I bet we can just ease the lid off and have a look.” He handed the light back to Jess. “Hold this. Mason, give me a hand with the lid.”
Jess took the light and stepped back. “Be careful.”
Frank looked at her, curious. “Because it could be heavy?”
Jess shrugged, “Yeah, that too.”
Frank stretched out his hands toward the top of the box and then stopped. He rubbed his hands roughly together as if they were cold and tried again. He placed his palms against the smooth surface. It felt wet and oily, like the skin of an eel. He pushed at the lid and felt his hands go numb as a vibration played up the nerves in his fingers. He jerked his hands away and wiped them on his jeans.
“What happened?” Jess asked, coming to his side.
“Did you feel that?” He asked, looking at Mason, who stood beside him, hands resting on the lid, waiting for him to start pushing.
Without waiting for Mason to answer, Jess grabbed one of his hands and shone the light on it. “Feel what?” They both asked together. Frank gently pulled his hand free. “I thought I felt… something.”
Mason shook his head. “I didn’t feel anything.”
Frank inspected his hands again. Nothing, not a mark anywhere on them that wasn’t supposed to be there. No oily residue, no dampness. He shook his head. “Get the crowbar out of your truck, Jess.”
When she returned with it, Frank took it, jammed it into the narrow seam and pulled down with all his might. Nothing happened. He motioned for Mason to help and both of them put their combined weight into forcing the lid free.
After a few minutes, and a few more unsuccessful attempts they stepped away, their shirts soaked with sweat. Frank wiped at his face with a bandana he pulled from a back pocket. It was going to be a hot one today, maybe hitting 105 and no breeze to be found. Jess fanned at her face with one hand
and pulled stay hairs plastered to her forehead with the other.
They stood sweating in the musty, claustrophobic heat, marveling at the box with the bent crowbar sticking from it.
Day 4, Mid-Morning
Dick Cropp
Dick’s U-Store-It
Dick crammed another powdered doughnut into his mouth as he stared out the window, watching the three of them still dicking around in the unit. Delilah sat on the bed in the corner, probing a tear in the thin mattress. “What’s going on out there, Dicky?”
“Nunya business,” he said, and looked at his watch. They’d been in there for over an hour and still hadn’t loaded that thing up. “I’ll be back,” he said and opened the door, paused and then looked back over his shoulder, “Don’t touch my doughnuts.”
Dick heard his blood pumping loudly in his ears as he reached the unit; the temperature felt fifteen degrees hotter today.
They had their backs to him as he approached, engrossed in the box. He stopped before his shadow reached them and gave him away. Standing at the threshold of the unit he examined his shadow stretched out before him. The top of his shadow-head almost touched the heel of Jess’s work boots, if she stepped back she would be standing in it.
They were oblivious to his presence, three idiots standing in the dark. He could smell the faint floral scent of Jess’s deodorant mingled with the men’s aftershave. He thought about jerking down the big roller door and locking them in there, wondering how long it would take them to die.
He could picture them in there, in the dark, crying and begging him to let them out. He could see the box too. It was opening, something was coming out and now they were screaming. He felt his lips crack as they spread into a wide grin, tasted the tang of blood.
He reached for the rope dangling from the handle, his grin faltering, thinking of his shadow-self locked in with them and that box.
“What’s the holdup?” he said. They jumped at his voice and that brought back his happy grin.
“You sneaky little fu—” Jess started but Frank elbowed her.
Dick looked wounded, then angry. “You’ve been in here over an hour. What the hell have you been doing?”
Frank noticed that Dick wouldn’t look at the box and thought, not for the first time, that something was off about him.
“Can’t get the thing open,” Mason said and waved a hand at the ruined crowbar to emphasize their attempts. Dick looked around the unit, his eyes coming to rest on the dolly beside the door.
“Well, just load it up with the dolly and get it out of here. You can worry about opening it later. Later, like once it’s out of my unit.”
“Well, gee, why didn’t we think of that?” Jess said and smacked her forehead.
Frank turned to Dick, “Care to give us a hand moving it?”
Dick’s hands shot out in front of him. “No, no, I can’t touch it.”
“We can’t move it, we’ve tried.” Jess blew out an exasperated breath. “We can’t even tip it enough to get the hand-truck slid under.”
“What’s in it?” Dick asked.
“Like I said, we can’t get it open.”
Dick looked at them each in turn, his face suspicious. “All right, fine, don’t tell me. Let’s just get the damn thing out of here.” Dick approached the box, hesitated and then put his shoulder against it.
Frank shrugged and joined him at the box. Mason followed a moment later. Jess pulled the hand-truck over, intending to slide it under the lip if they managed to budge it.
“On three,” Frank said and they heaved against the box. It didn’t budge. Nothing, not even an inch. They could have just as well tried using their breath.
“See,” Jess said as the men backed away from the box.
“What the hell is in that thing?” Dick asked again.
“If we could ever get the top off, we’d know.” Frank scratched his head, “Maybe it’s bolted to the floor.”
Dick stuck his lip out, shaking his head. “They aren’t allowed to do that, it says so in the contract.”
“Well, you’re not supposed to hide dead bodies in storage either, but we both know it happens,” Jess said.
Dick propped his pudgy hands on his hips, “Not in my units.”
“Whatever,” Jess said, wiping sweat from her eyes. “We still have the same problem, we can’t get it out and we can’t get it open. What are we going to do?”
Mason spoke up, “I have an angle grinder in my truck-box. Maybe we could cut the top off?”
Frank clapped him on the shoulder. “Good thinking. Go get it.”
* * *
Jessica stood at the mouth of unit 2060, fingers plugged in her ears, watching the spray of orange sparks flying past Mason’s bent, sweat-soaked back. The noise of the angle grinder bounced around the walls, blasting through her before settling into a dull ache behind her eyes.
“Stop, already! It’s not doing anything!” she yelled over the deafening noise.
Mason cut the power to the grinder and studied the area he’d been working on. “Take a look, Frank.”
Frank inspected the place Mason indicated. There wasn’t a single scratch or scuff anywhere on the surface, even after burning through three cutting wheels and halfway through a fourth.
“I don’t get it. There’s not a mark on the blasted thing.” Frank looked back at Jessica. “I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this.”
Jess walked up to the box and stared at its smooth surface. “I called Ox when I realized this wasn’t going to work. He should be here any minute with a cutting torch. If he can’t get into it with that, we can’t get into it with anything.”
Mason stood and stretched his back, then ran a hand against the area he’d been cutting; it was smooth and cool to the touch.
“It’s not just that that bothers me,” Frank said, motioning to the pile of used cutting wheels. “It’s everything. Those dogs hanging around… the fact that we can’t move this blasted thing or even figure out how it’s locked… and the lights! Don’t even get me started on why we can’t keep the lights on in here. Even the flashlights don’t work for more than a half an hour.”
He looked up at the dead bulbs overhead as if demanding an explanation. “Something just feels, you know, wrong. Doesn’t it to you? And with Dick acting so odd, I dunno, I just think we should pack up and forget about it.”
Jess looked at him as if the last of his sense had been slapped out of his head. “Are you kidding me? Dick has always been odd.”
Frank had to admit she was right. Dick was weird even before they found the box. Dick’s odd behavior was one thing, the other strange events that had taken place in the last few days were harder to dismiss; they felt connected, like a series of warning signs before a collapsed bridge.
“Hey,” a voice boomed at their backs. “What the hell is that?”
“Ox! You asshole, what do you think you're doing?” Jess yelled.
Ox looked down at her, a curious smiled on his lips. “Hey, I was invited, remember?” He towered in the opening, green tank in hand, blotting out what there was of the light.
Jess stepped up to him, her head level with his chest, “I mean, what are you doing sneaking up on people like that?”
Ox set the tank down. “Look, I’m sorry if I scared you. The saw was going when I pulled up.”
“You didn’t scare me! I was thinking about you! What if I’d shot you, huh? It isn’t funny… stop laughing!” She protested, already beginning to chuckle herself.
“I don’t think he meant to scare you, honey,” Frank said.
“Yeah, it’s all fun and games until someone gets their head blown off.” Jess laughed, shoving Ox aside. “I’m going to get a drink, anybody else want one?”
They shook their heads and Jess headed to the vending machine in front of the office.
Ox crossed his huge arms over his even larger chest. “She seems a little jumpy today.”
“It’s not you. She’s been edgy since the robb
ery the other day,” Frank said and stepped out from the stale confienment of the unit and into the cooler, dog crap-scented air.
Ox stiffened, dropped his arms to his side and appeared to add an extra couple inches to his already massive 6’5” frame. “What robbery?” he asked evenly, but Frank detected an edge in his voice that sounded dangerous.
He looked up at Ox, who was watching his daughter at the vending machine. The big man’s posture had changed completely although he had barely moved at all. He was watching Jess with an expression Frank could not quite identify, a combination of sentinel and servant.
“Oh, I guess you didn’t hear. I walked in Phil’s Deli yesterday during an armed robbery….” Frank felt uncomfortable talking about it. He hadn’t really given himself time to deal with how differently it all could have gone and he didn’t want to start now.
“Is Phil all right?” Ox asked calmly, though his tone held the same quiet intensity as before.
“Yes,” Frank said. “Well, he’s okay physically. He shot and killed the robber… I don’t really know how he’s dealing with that.”
Frank glanced up at him again. “I didn’t know you knew Phil,” Frank said and turned to watch his daughter trying to feed a dollar bill into the vending machine.
“I haven’t known him that long,” Ox replied. “Maybe six months or so. I met him through Jess, not too long after….” He let the rest trail off.
Frank nodded, he knew exactly what Ox meant by after, they all knew. After was the term they had each unconsciously adopted for the days following the loss of Jacob from their world and their loss of Angel in it.
“Was it the guy?” Ox asked.
Frank looked back at Ox, “Was who, what guy?”
“The guy Phil killed, was he the guy?”
Frank felt a flash of shame. He’d missed it again. First Jess and now Ox had wondered if the robber in Phil’s was the same man responsible for murdering his son, and this was the second time he had failed to hope that it was.
“No, it wasn’t, he was too young,” Frank said. He looked away from his dead son’s friend and saw his daughter kicking the vending machine.
