by Lee Deadkeys
Jess had stopped smiling and now wore a serious, concerned expression. The black man gestured up to the second floor then to Jess’s apartment, then to Jess and back to the second floor. He seemed agitated about something. Mason debated if he should join them and find out what was going on or wait for Jess to tell him once she got in the truck.
After a minute or two of this charade, Jess turned back to her apartment, unlocked the door and disappeared back inside, stranger in tow.
Mason slammed a hand on the steering wheel. It’s okay, Jess, don’t tell me what’s going on. Take a strange man into your place, I’ll just sit here like a chump and wait.
Five minutes later and still no one had left the apartment. His mind was whirling with questions, whether he should sit here a minute longer or barge in and find out what was going on. She would probably be pissed if he did, but then didn’t he have a right to be pissed?
She hadn’t even bothered to tell him she’d be back in a minute or if the whole date was off. Go home Mason, I’ve got secret stuff to do. Well, I’ve got better things to do than sit in my truck and wait for you, he thought, but then realized he didn’t.
Not able to take it any longer, Mason turned off the truck, got out and headed into the apartment, grabbing her duffle bag on his way. He stood at the threshold and peered into the small living room and realized his eyes were watering. A strong stench of ammonia filled his nose and he fought to hold back a sneeze. He wondered if Jess had a cat, the place smelled like a litter box.
The living room was empty, as was the even smaller kitchen at the opposite end. Her bedroom and bathroom were through a small hall on the left and he realized it was the corner of the building the stranger had been hiding behind.
He heard soft conversation coming from the bedroom area. Dropping the duffle, he walked quietly through the archway leading into the hall. He could hear their voices and rustling noises accompanied by the occasional squeak of her mattress. Now standing in the hall and looking at the partially opened door he wondered if he could stand it if he walked in on the two embraced, or worse. He didn’t think he could.
“Jess?” he called from the hall, his voice sounding weak to him. The voices stopped abruptly, an instant later the door flew open and Jess stood there, backlit by a lamp on the nightstand. He looked at her in the instant before she spoke and tried to read some guilt there. He saw none.
“Mason, can you help me?” she asked, turning back into the room. He followed, more confused than angry.
The stranger stood at the closet with a green metal box in his hand. Mason met his eyes with a challenge but the stranger just smiled and nodded. “You must be Mason, I’ve heard a lot about you, son.”
Son? This guy can’t be more than a couple years older than me. And how is it that he knows who I am and I have no idea who he is? Mason nodded, not knowing what to say.
“Oh damn, sorry. Mason this is Leroy, Leroy, Mason,” Jess said casually.
Leroy took a step toward Mason and extended his hand; Mason shook it and told him it was nice to meet him. Jess was throwing clothes into another duffle bag that looked like a twin to the one sitting in the living room.
She stopped when she noticed Mason looking at her questioningly.
“Mason, uh, is it ok if I stay at your place for a few days?” she asked, a little shyly.
Of all the things she could have said, that was not what he would have ever expected. He felt himself smile and didn’t try to stop; after all, it was more dignified than jumping up and down or doing a cartwheel like he wanted to. “Of course,” was all he said.
She seemed relieved that he’d kept himself under control and relaxed instantly. “Mason, you won’t believe what Leroy found in the apartment above mine,” she said and continued to toss clothes into the bag.
Without knowing how he knew, Mason said, “One of those box things, like the one in your storage unit.”
She looked at him, then at Leroy.
Mason could sense the thing up there now, sitting in the dark, waiting for someone or something to open it. He shuddered, wanting to get away from it but more importantly, wanting to get Jessica away from it.
“You can feel it up there, can’t you, son?” Leroy said, grabbing another green box from the closet floor. Mason nodded because, for a moment, he’d lost the ability to speak.
“Leroy, can you let me in up there? I want to get a look at that one,” Jess said. Both men looked at her, mouths agape, eyes as big as saucers. She might as well have asked permission to get a look under the blood-soaked death sheet at the scene of a fatal traffic accident.
“What on earth for?” Leroy asked, sounding truly horrified at her interest.
She looked at him, then at Mason, then off into some faraway place in the space between them. “I don’t know. Maybe it means something that they’re here. I kind of feel, I don’t know… drawn to them. Or maybe I’m just curious. Aren’t you?”
Both men answered in unison, “No.”
Jessica blinked, her face tightened and she lost that far away expression. “Fine. I just think there has to be a reason why these things are popping up all over the place.”
Leroy shook his head. “I don’t know why I think this, but I don’t want to be around when those things finally do open. All the neighborhood stray cats were hanging out in front of that apartment for days, hissing and spitting at anyone that tried to get in there. Mrs. Olsen had me set out poison, I didn’t want to do it but the cats were really acting weird and the smell, God the smell was terrible.”
Mason looked at him. “Really, cats hanging around, huh? Do the lights work in that apartment?”
Leroy looked at him, puzzled, and, he thought, a little afraid. “The lights work, I guess, it’s the bulbs that keep burning out.”
Mason snatched a pair of underwear out of Jess’s hand and tossed them into the bag. “Let’s get out of here.”
Day 4, Night
Mason and Jess
Mason's House
Mason walked out of his kitchen carrying two frosty bottles of beer, handed one to Jess, and then took a seat beside her on the couch. Her hair was still shower-damp and he thought he’d never seen her more beautiful. She sat crossed-legged on the old couch in faded blue jeans with holes in both knees and an ancient grey AC/DC t-shirt.
“Feel better?” He asked as she reached for the remote on the coffee table and flipped it to a news station.
“Yes, much better. Thanks again for letting me crash here. I don’t think I could’ve stood the stench of that cat piss.”
“Anytime,” he said and clinked his bottle against hers. “Leroy seems like a nice enough fellow,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound like he was prying.
“He’s a damn good guy. He’s educated, has a degree in engineering of some kind. I’ll never understand why he’s working as a maintenance man at those shitty apartments when he could be making six figures.”
“Maybe he enjoys the work.”
Jess gave him a look, “Yeah, because snaking toilets is everybody’s dream job.” She uncoiled her long legs and placed her bare feet on the floor. “And before you say it, I realize that picking through other people’s abandoned crap all day is not exactly living up to my potential.”
Mason moved closer, kneading the back of her neck. “You make an honest living, Jess. Nothing wrong with that.”
She picked at the label on the bottle, head down, her hair partially covering her face. She seemed withdrawn, melancholy, and he wanted to kick himself for bringing the subject up. Not knowing what else to say, he decided to make it worse.
“How did you get into this, anyway?”
She sighed and took a long drink. “After Mom died, Dad wasn’t right for a long time, none of us were. He was a contractor while Mom was alive, made good money. After she died, he sold the business and just kind of drifted for a while.
I planned on going to college but never pursued it. I guess I was drifting too. And then Jacob, after�
� I just didn’t care anymore. Just pay the bills, exist.”
Mason laid a hand on her leg, wanting to comfort, but not crowd her and risk losing this moment of openness. To his surprise she took his hand in hers, squeezed it once and began to caress the back of his hand with her thumb. Mason returned the squeeze and pulled her close to him, his other hand reaching out to touch her cheek.
Jess leaned closer and kissed him, gently at first then more intensely. She lay back, pulling him onto her as her fingers worked his belt.
The phone rang on the table beside the couch, startling him and causing their teeth to click together. Jess chuckled as she rubbed her lips with a finger. “Whoever that is, tell them they’re dead meat.”
Mason grabbed up the phone halfway through its second ring. “You’re dead meat,” he said, winking at Jess. She smiled and nodded approvingly. Mason smiled back at her, but as he listened to the voice on the other end, the smile died, replaced with a strained look.
Jess was mouthing, Who is it? as he straightened on the couch and faced the TV. He made clicking motions at the TV and she quickly found the remote buried between the cushions of the couch and handed it to him. Without looking at the buttons, he quickly turned up the volume.
The footage showed a news helicopter circling around a cordoned off area, a marbled box at its center. Huge flood lights had been set up, forming a perimeter. A robot like the one they’d seen earlier headed toward the box with what looked to be a satchel charge in its claw.
Jess was vaguely aware of Mason’s one-sided conversation as he informed the caller that she was here, before handing the phone toward her. She looked at it like she’d never seen one before.
Mason placed a hand over the mouthpiece, “It’s Frank. He tried calling your place and didn’t get an answer. He guessed you were over here,” Mason grinned and handed her the phone. “I think the cat is out of the bag.”
“Cute,” she said and took the phone. “Hey, Dad.”
There was a pause on the other end, filled with a popping static. Jess was about to ask if he was still there when he spoke.
“They found another one,” her father said. He sounded tired, diminished somehow.
“I know. We saw the news at Boomerang’s. They tried to blow one up in front of a Planned Parenthood but it didn’t work.” She debated on telling him about the other one she knew of, the one above her apartment, and finally decided that she was done keeping things from him. “There is another one in the apartment above mine. Leroy found it a couple days ago.”
“What? What in the hell is going on with these things?”
“I don’t know, Dad.”
Frank sighed and went on, “They said so many reports are coming in that the Feds can’t keep up. They had to close the airport when one was found in the maintenance area. I heard the word terrorist used more than a few times, too.”
“They think its terrorists?” Jess asked. Terrorism had never occurred to her.
“They don’t know what to think, but they aren’t ruling it out.”
There was a pause on the line and when Frank spoke again, he didn’t sound sure of anything anymore. “Do you think they’re… dangerous?”
She sat stone still, an icicle slid down her spine as the question she refused to ask herself was spoken in her ear. She didn’t have an answer for him so she simply said, “It’s not terrorists.”
“How do you know? I have my doubts too but, I just don’t know.
“It’s not, Dad. Have the Feds been able to open one? Or even move one?”
“No, not that I’ve seen. They’ve tried to blow a few up. When that didn’t work, they tried to x-ray it or something like that, but they said the results were inconclusive, whatever that means.”
“They won’t get it open, no one will until it’s time.”
“What? Why do you say that, Jess?”
She didn’t know how she knew it, but she did. She thought that deep down Frank knew it too; the edge in his voice told her it was so. The Boxes were an enigma, and it made them nervous.
There is comfort in knowing that a thing which causes us anxiety can be destroyed when we are done concerning ourselves with it. We calm ourselves with the unspoken assurance that everything has a weakness, some chink in the armor which can be exploited if the thing that causes us concern becomes too threatening.
These things, these boxes, had no known weakness; no way to simply move them out from under of our noses and into some military bunker where we could theorize about cover-ups and conspiracies. And maybe the worst of it was, these things had no birth, no known origin and so far, no death or hope of termination.
“I don’t know why I said that, it’s just a feeling.”
Frank said nothing for a few seconds, “I’m going over in the morning and get our tools out of that unit, then I’m shutting it up and forgetting I ever clapped eyes on that damn thing.”
“Mason and I will meet you there, say around nine?”
“No, I don’t want you near that thing.”
She smiled to herself. “We’ll see you around nine. Don’t go in without us, you have to promise or I’ll just show up earlier.”
Frank sighed, “Nine it is, good night,” and hung up.
Jess handed the phone back to Mason.
“Sounds like I just got volunteered,” he said.
“Yeah, sorry. Take me to bed and I’ll make it up to you.” And he did just that.
Day 4, Late Night
Sam Story
Home
Sam Story ran through cellblock five as something unseen pursued him through the darkness. Emergency lights flashed and alarms blared. Gotta get out! Gotta get out! The urgent impulse pounded through his skull, beating in time with the hammering of the alarms. Every cellblock he ran through shifted behind him, maze-like and inescapable. He was being herded deeper into Wormwood.
Through the next corridor he saw the silhouette of a man standing at the far end, backlit by one of the security lights. The shadow-man beckoned him to follow before disappearing around a hidden corner. Sam ran for the place the figure had been, part of him relieved not to be stuck alone in this nightmare, the other part terrified to be lost in here with an unknown.
Sliding around the corner, he saw squat shapes hunkered at the end of the corridor. Someone sat, back against the wall, as two other shapes knelt on either side. Sam approached cautiously. As he passed the nearest security light, he was relieved to see that the man sitting in the middle was the rookie, Chad. The shapes on either side were still drenched in darkness but he relaxed a little when Chad smiled at him.
Do you know how to get out of here, kid?
Chad shook his head, no.
Do they know how to get out of here?
Chad nodded, yes.
Why are we trapped in here?
Chad shrugged, raising his arms at his sides as he did. A noise from behind Sam caused him to whirl around, heart pounding, his hand reaching for the baton that was no longer on his hip. He stared into an empty cell. A large smoking hole was in the floor and Sam thought it looked as if something had recently crawled out, leaving a slick, oily swath in its wake.
Dear God! We have to get out of here, kid!
He turned back to Chad who was still on the floor, arms raised in a frozen exaggerated shrug. The two men on either side, no longer hidden in shadow, were busy chewing the fingers off the younger man’s raised hands. Sam took a jerking step backward.
Don’t puke! he reminded himself in the odd logic of dreams. If you puke when you’re asleep, you’ll choke and die.
Both men turned and looked at Sam; it was inmate 2012 on the left and Dr. Thomas on the right, both happily munching the rookie’s fingers to nubs.
Doesn’t that hurt? Sam asked.
Chad nodded, yes.
Then why to Christ are you smiling?
Chad only stared at him and then the smile faded. He opened his mouth and the quiet corridor was blasted with a piercing ring.
Sam jerked awake with a yell. The bedside phone rang again. Sam recoiled from it, and then realized it would make that horrible sound again if he didn’t answer it, so he did.
“Hello?”
“Sam, Sam I need you to help me!”
“Who’s this? What time is it?” Sam glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 12:20 a.m. flashed repeatedly on the digital readout. Had the power been out? he wondered. Sam rubbed viciously at his sleep-gummed eyes and looked at the clock again. 12:19 a.m. flickered briefly, then faded and died. He shook his head, confused.
“Sam, please. It’s Chad, I’m in the hospital still. Something is happening here, something bad. Please, you have to help!”
Sam almost screamed into the phone, Is Dr. Thomas eating your fingers?! He ran a hand down his face and then smacked himself hard enough to make his eyes water. “What’s wrong, kid?”
Sam thought he heard a distant scream from the other end of the phone, then the closer sound of Chad’s rapid breathing.
“Did you hear that, Sam? People have been screaming all night, I can’t take it anymore, you have to help me!”
Sam tried to think; he threw off the damp sheet and walked to the living room for his cigarettes.
“Sam?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” He exhaled a plume of blue smoke. “What hospital are you in?”
“Phoenix Bapti… ssshhh be quiet Sam, someone is coming… I have to go.”
Sam heard a click as Chad hung up. He held the phone out in front of him, looking for an explanation.
“Kid must be on some really great drugs,” he said to the empty room. Still, I should go check on him tomorrow, he thought as he flopped down in his chair with no intention of returning to dreamland. He turned on the TV and found a station showing a M*A*S*H marathon. He set down the remote and waited for daybreak.
Day 5, Early Morning
Ox
Hwy 95, 10 miles south of Searchlight, NV
Thump, Ox heard the sound again, louder this time. His neck was broken in five places, at least. He tried to move but decided against it when pins and needles shot through his shoulder and into his hands. THUMP.
