by Amy Cross
“Come on,” I mutter, turning to Alison as I feel a breeze ruffling the back of my hospital gown. “Can we just get out of here? I have things to do!”
IV
“And I'll have my cellphone on all the time,” Alison says for the third time, as she heads to the door, “so just call me if there's anything you need, and I'll come home from work and -”
“I know, I know,” I reply, trying not to be too rude. Since we finished breakfast I've been pretending to be engrossed in the morning newspaper, when really I'm just waiting for her to get out of the house. “I get it, you're worried about me on my first day out of the hospital, but I'll be fine. Please, just go to work.” I turn to another page, only to find that it's filled with more depressing garbage. I swear, two years away and nothing has changed in the world. “Have a nice day.”
“You won't do anything silly, will you?”
Sighing, I turn to her. “Like what?”
“Like anything that involves physical exertion. You're still weak and -”
“I'll be a good little boy,” I reply, interrupting her. “I won't leave this room, I swear. Maybe to go to the bathroom, but that's it! I'll sit here all day, and I won't go anywhere.” Even though I feel sick to the stomach and weaker than ever, I force a smile. “I promise.”
***
Twenty minutes later, once Alison has finally headed off to work, I'm already limping along the side of the road, heading out of town and toward the nearby forest. I glance over my shoulder a couple of times, just to make sure that no-one's watching, but finally I pick up the pace and follow the winding road for a couple of miles until I reach the spot where I have to head off through the undergrowth into the forest. I considered driving this time, but my old instincts are hard to break and I can't afford for anyone to spot me out here.
My legs are agonizingly painful, of course. I don't know what kind of physiotherapy I received while I was in that coma, but it's clear that I was treated by a bunch of incompetent assholes. Half my muscles have visibly withered away, leaving my once fine physique looking more like that of an old man. I might be in my early fifties, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let myself go to pot just yet. After just a few minutes of forcing my way through the forest, however, I have to stop and lean against a tree for a moment while I catch my breath. I feel as if my lungs are burning.
This is not me!
I am not weak!
“Damn it!” I hiss, frustrated by how pathetic I've become. The doctors did their best to keep my body healthy during the two years I was unconscious, but my muscles have withered away and I look like a goddamn ghoul. I used to be so healthy, so fit, so impressive to look at, and now all of that has been taken away from me. Not permanently, though. I'll get it all back.
Setting off again, I force myself to push through the pain barrier. After two years away, I can't help noticing that a lot has changed out here, to the extent that I find myself wondering a couple of times whether I've come the wrong way. One part of the forest looks much like another and my instincts are still a little out of whack thanks to the chemicals that are in my system. Nevertheless, I spot just enough familiar markers to remain reasonably confident of my course, and finally I spot the shack up ahead. I slow for a moment, glancing around in case there's any sign of life in the area. Even though this place is well-hidden, I still can't quite believe that in the two years I was gone no-one happened to stumble across the shack. I mean, I get that this forest is usually left well alone, but...
No-one?
Looking in every direction, I can't help smiling as I realize that it's true. There's no hint that anything has been moved, no tire tracks, no footprints and, as I get closer to the shack, I realize that the window and door are intact. Without me, nothing happened here.
It's a goddamn miracle.
I walk all around the shack first, just to make absolutely certain that the place is untouched, before arriving back at the door and realizing that I can't delay the moment any longer. Reaching into my pocket, I take out the key and get the door unlocked, but as soon as I pull the handle and get a whiff of the air inside, I wince and step back. It never occurred to me that the smell would be so bad, but I almost start retching when I realize that the whole place smells dank and sweet. There are flies, too, crawling all over the walls and buzzing everywhere. The whole place is disgusting.
“Oh Glenda,” I remember telling her two years ago, as I was heading out for the night, “you and I are going to have such fun tomorrow when I come back and hand you over to your new friend.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I look for any hint that he might be here, but he's conspicuous by his absence. Maybe he forgot about me, or maybe he just assumed I wouldn't be coming back. Or maybe he's watching, waiting to reveal himself. Whatever he's doing, one thing's certain: he clearly didn't break into the shack and take the bitch.
Pulling the door all the way open, I force myself to ignore the stench. Waving the flies away to the best of my ability, I make my way into the cramped space and immediately open a window, hoping that at least some of the little bastards will leave.
The hatch on the floor remains locked, but there are hundreds of flies crawling around the edges and it's clear they managed to find a way down. To be honest, I just want to turn around and get out of here, but I know the problem will only get worse and I need to fix it so I can come up with a new plan. Reaching down, I use the other key to open the padlock and then I slide the bolt across, and then -
I pause, trying to imagine the horror I'm going to see down there.
“Dear God,” I mutter, hoping against hope that this won't be as bad as I'm imagining. “Do me a favor, okay? Just this once...”
Figuring that there's no point delaying things, I slowly start to open the hatch, while already wincing in anticipation of the mess. Before I can take a look, however, a cloud of flies comes buzzing out, filling the air and causing me to step back, waving them away as best I can. The hatch door slams shut as I feel flies crawling all over my face, but I brush them away and then I force myself to step forward and lift the hatch again, and this time I stare down the pit until I see the gray, soupy sludge at the bottom with human bones curled in a rough fetal position.
Glenda Rabindale.
Dead.
Fuck.
Well, to be fair, I knew she'd be dead. It's two years since I locked her away and promised to be back in less than twenty-four hours, but obviously that drunk driver caused quite a delay, so...
Fuck.
With no food or water, I imagine Glenda didn't last long down in the pit without my help, and she was probably dead of dehydration within three or four days at most. Waving more flies away, I lean a little closer and spot the dead woman's face, with the gag still tied tight over her mouth. There are flies crawling all over her body, of course, along with fat, juicy maggots, and I can see that most of her flesh has become a kind of pulpy mess. I was planning to climb down and haul her up, but given the state she's in I'm not sure whether that's a good idea. Her body would undoubtedly fall apart in my arms, and the remaining meat would simply slough away from her bones. Plus, I really don't fancy wading about down there, knee deep in maggots and pieces of Glenda's decomposing carcass.
Then again, what the hell else am I supposed to do? Just leave her there? Abandon a shack that has served me so well?
Reaching into my pocket, I take out a roll of black sacks. Feeling woefully ill-prepared, I check my watch and see that I have a couple of hours left before I need to think about heading home, so I head over to the shelf in the corner and start looking through the meager collection of bottles that I happen to have kicking around the old place. Finding a half-empty bottle of bleach, I realize that it won't be much use when it comes to dealing with the flies and maggots so, instead, I make my way back over to the pit and tell myself that there's no point delaying things. After slipping a pair of yellow rubber gloves onto my hands, I realize it's now or never.
Taking c
are not to slip, I sit on the edge and then lower myself down, grimacing as my feet sink into the gray mud at the bottom. In fact, I sink further than I expected, almost up to my knees, but by this point there's not really any point turning back. I wave more flies away while watching the maggots crawling over Glenda's body, and now that I'm closer I can see that she died with her mouth wide open, as if she was sobbing or maybe even screaming. Such a pity for her that there was no-one to hear her cries. Well, no-one who could have helped, anyway. Leaning down, I spot a particularly juicy, plump maggot rolling across her tongue, and I swear to God I feel for a moment as if I might be about to vomit.
Pulling the first black plastic sack from the roll, I open the end and then set it to one side before reaching down and taking hold of Glenda's head. As expected, most of the skin slips away and I'm left with just a grimy skull in my hands, although most of her scalp remains attached and her eyes haven't completed shriveled to nothing. Not really wanting to take a closer look, I drop the skull into the sack before looking back down at the corpse and seeing that with the skull gone, the top of Glenda's spine is poking out through the remains of her neck.
Jesus Christ, I could just leave her.
I could abandon the place.
Clean it for prints, make it safe, but abandon it. There are other shacks, I could simply move this little operation a few miles to the east, and then -
Suddenly I hear voices above me, and when I look up toward the top of the pit I'm shocked to see several police officers staring down, shining flashlights into the murky soup.
“What do you think?” one of the cops mutters, somehow sounding bored and disgusted at the same time. “Is she linked to the others?”
Staggering back, I stumble and fall against the wall before slithering down into the mud. Reaching out to support myself, I inadvertently place a hand on Glenda's chest and push straight through, burying my fingers in her maggot-filled chest.
“Gotta be,” the other cop replies. “Whoever did this, they sure knew how to clean up after themselves but... We've got a fragment here and there, now we've just gotta put the pieces together and we've got our man.”
My heart is pounding as I stare up at them, but after a moment I realize that they can't see me. Their flashlights are filling the pit with light, but they're not responding to my presence in any way at all.
“Someone's gonna have to go down there,” the first cop continues. “Jesus Christ, do you think there are more under her?”
“No idea,” the second cop replies. “How long do you think this place has been abandoned? Do you think the creep just walked away and assumed no-one'd ever find it? The arrogance of these assholes, eh? They always thinks they're so smart.”
Looking down at Glenda's body, I stare for a moment at my hand embedded in her chest. I can feel maggots crawling between my fingers, but at first I'm too shocked to react until, finally, I pull the hand out and thrust it into the mud, trying to get it clean. A moment later, realizing that the flashlights seem to have been switched off, I glance up and find that the cops have vanished.
“What the hell?” I whisper frantically, as I continue to clean my hand. “What the fuck did they pump into my brain at that hospital?”
Stumbling back, I keep my eyes fixed on Glenda's corpse before slowly starting to realize what's happening here. It's as if every time I make a decision, my subconscious mind farts up some kind of imagined consequence. When I was leaning toward abandoning the shack, I saw the end result of that decision, which was cops eventually swarming all over the place. Likewise at the hospital, when I considered staying in my bed like a good patient, I saw that the cops would come bursting in, and when I left I saw that bizarre scene with the girl in the store. Obviously these hallucinations can't be real, and they're most likely linked to my head injury, but they still might be worth heeding. Despite the chemically-induced fogginess in my head, my mind seems to be finding inventive ways to get through to me. One thing's for certain, I absolutely cannot afford to just abandon the shack and hope no-one ever finds it.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter finally, staring down at Glenda's rotting corpse as I realize that I need a better approach.
I need tools.
V
“God damn it!” I mutter, almost dropping the cup of coffee in my lap when my phone starts ringing. I set the coffee on the car's dashboard before reaching into my pocket, and I can't help feeling a wave of frustration when I see that Alison is calling to check up on me. I guess I knew this would happen, but still...
I'm not a child, and I don't need her checking up on me every five minutes.
“Hey,” she says brightly as soon as I answer, “how's it going?”
“Oh, fine,” I reply, looking out the car window across the busy parking lot. Damn it, I hope she doesn't hear where I am. “Just sitting at home, watching the mind-numbing garbage that passes for television.”
“You're not straining yourself?”
“Well, the remote is a little heavier than I remember.”
“I was thinking I might come back for lunch.”
Damn it. I knew this would happen. “Why?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
“To keep you company.”
“Don't do that,” I reply, my mind racing as I realize that there's no way I could get home in time. “I don't want to interrupt your routine.”
“Nonsense, I -”
“Please, honey,” I continue, “this is important to me. I know you're worried about me and I appreciate that, but I'm fine. We'll have a great evening meal together, okay?” I wait for a reply, as I feel a knot of tension in my stomach. The last thing I need is this kind of screwball complication. “I'm absolutely fine,” I add. “In fact, you might be surprised by this, but I think I'm actually enjoying myself a little.”
“You are?” She sounds shocked.
“It's good to have some time alone with my thoughts. I've even started thinking about digging out some of those short stories I wrote a few years ago and trying to knock them into shape.”
“You have?” Now she sounds stunned.
“But I need to be left alone for that,” I continue, knowing full well that she won't do anything to disturb me if she thinks I'm doing something she considers worthwhile. She's always been a sucker for my literary ambitions. “Just a few more hours, until you get home for dinner. I feel like I need to get into my own head some more, it's been far too long since I really felt like writing. Is that okay?”
“It's more than okay,” she replies, her tone having shifted. She sounds positively proud of me. “Just promise you'd tell me if you felt ill. If you get a headache, or nausea, or -”
“I'm fine,” I say firmly. “Stop fussing. Doctor Lucas said I'm basically fit as a fiddle, I just need to build up my strength slowly and that's exactly what I'm doing. The most exercise I've gotten day has been when I've headed to the kitchen to make some more coffee.”
“Okay, well I'll let you get on with that, then,” she replies. “I love you, honey.”
“I love you too. And I'll see you this evening.”
Cutting the call, I lean back and sigh. In truth, the drive over here was way more tiring than I expected and I've been trying for a few minutes now to summon the strength to get out of the car and go into the goddamn store. Still, I know I need a ton of tools and other items if I'm going to dispose of Glenda's body properly, so it's not like I have a choice. Grabbing my coffee cup, I climb out of the car and then slam the door shut before turning and limping toward the BarraBuy store.
***
As soon as I step through the doorway, I know that something's wrong.
Stopping for a moment, I look over at the cash registers and see a couple of bored-looking teenage girls sitting around tapping away at their phones, like the idiots that they undoubtedly are. I tell myself that I'm just reacting against the inanity of this place, but I feel as if the skin on the back of my neck is tingling and this store seems strangely familiar, even th
ough I've never set foot in the place before. I've driven past hundreds of times, but I tend to prefer a slightly more upmarket shopping experience. The only reason I'm here today is that I don't want to bump into anyone I know, but...
Somehow, this BarraBuy store feels startlingly familiar.
Forcing myself to stop worrying about the tingling sensation on the back of my neck, which is most likely just a side-effect of my recovering health, I limp forward, ignoring the overly-cheery greeter and instead heading to the aisles. If any more of these orange-shirted buffoons try to help me, I swear to God I'll tear them a new asshole, but as I limp along the first aisle I start to realize that this store is unusually quiet, as if most shoppers prefer to go to one of the mega-malls in the area. I guess that's a good thing if it means that I won't be disturbed, although -
Stopping suddenly, I spot a store worker up ahead, stacking shelves. She has that usual neanderthal expression that's always plastered over the faces of these people, but something about her makes me feel distinctly uneasy. I watch her for a moment, and gradually I realize that it's not her face that's interesting me but, instead, it's her uniform. She's wearing an orange t-shirt with the BarraBuy logo plastered all over the front, and finally I remember that the girl in my hallucination last night was wearing the exact same clothing. Obviously that's most likely a coincidence, since my misfiring brain probably dredged the image up from the last time I was unfortunate enough to see a BarraBuy commercial on T.V., but still, I guess the similarity might explain why I felt uncomfortable the moment I came inside today.
Damn it, when will the hospital drugs finally wear off?
Limping around the next corner, I start looking for the aisle with the chemicals I'll need. I have to admit, being out among such low-life scum is enough to fill me with anger, but I take great comfort in the fact that they're all far too stupid to recognize when they're in the company of a great man. Unfortunately, this store is laid out in a completely illogical manner, and it's clear that some ill-educated moron was set loose on the task, so I have to limp from aisle to aisle in my search. Finally, just as I feel my temper starting to boil over, I realize that maybe it would be quicker to ask one of the service idiots for some assistance, but of course now they're nowhere to be seen. I limp through to another aisle and then another, but there's still no sign of anyone, although when I reach the far end of the store I notice that a few of the overhead lights are off, as if none of the incompetent assholes has even worked out how to change a goddamn bulb.
