Severance

by Ling Ma

  Manny looked up in surprise when I exited the elevator in the lobby. They let you leave! he said.

  Yeah. They chain me to my desk all day.

  He smiled. Any exciting plans tonight?

  You know it, I said, as I walked through the revolving doors.

  The crush of Times Square greeted me. The city was so big. It lulled you into thinking that there were so many options, but most of the options had to do with buying things: dinner entrées, cocktails, the cover charge to a nightclub. Then there was the shopping, big chain stores open late, up and down the streets, throbbing with bass-heavy music and lighting. In the Garment District, diminished to a limited span of blocks after apparel manufacture moved overseas, wholesale shops sold fabrics and trinkets imported from China, India, Pakistan.

  In Jonathan’s apartment, we used to watch single-woman-in-Manhattan movies, a subgenre of New York movies. There was Picture Perfect, An Unmarried Woman, Sex and the City. The single heroine, usually white, romantic in her solitude. In those movies, there is almost always this power-walk shot, in which she is shown striding down some Manhattan street, possibly leaving work during rush hour at dusk, the traffic blaring all around and the buildings rising around her. The city was empowering. Even if a woman doesn’t have anything, the movies seemed to say, at least there is the city. The city was posited as the ultimate consolation.

  Tonight, Times Square seemed dim.

  I walked a few blocks to Duane Reade. It was closed, which was odd. And wandering farther, I saw that so was the CVS. The sign said they had new hours, which were more curtailed. Finally, I found a random general store in Koreatown, where I bought an off-brand Korean pregnancy test. I bought two, just to make sure.

  I took the N and transferred to the J at Canal. I took the J train all the way back to Bushwick. I was home before I knew it. In my bathroom, I tried to read the test instructions. They were in Korean, but the diagrams made it pretty clear. Two lines meant positive, and one line meant negative. It took three minutes in each case for the results to come back. I stood over the sink as I waited, looking at myself in the mirror. I waited five minutes to be sure. Seven minutes. I had to look.

  Two lines, two lines.

  Shit, I said. In the mirror, I didn’t look pregnant, whatever that meant. I didn’t look different. But my period had skipped this month. And I had felt moody, angry one moment, despairing the next. Case in point: I burst out crying. The sobs heaved out almost euphorically, like air bubbles in seltzer water, that first crisp sip, as I gripped the sides of the sink, doubling over. My face touched ceramic. I wanted to disappear down the drain.

  I didn’t know what to do, so I pushed it to the farthest corner of my mind. I went to sleep. Then I got up. I went to work in the morning. I went home in the evening. I repeated the routine.

  15

  Memories beget memories. Shen Fever being a disease of remembering, the fevered are trapped indefinitely in their memories. But what is the difference between the fevered and us? Because I remember too, I remember perfectly. My memories replay, unprompted, on repeat. And our days, like theirs, continue in an infinite loop. We drive, we sleep, we drive some more.

  After two more days of driving, one loop ended. We had arrived at the Facility.

  Todd pulled into the parking lot, following the snakelike caravan of vehicles into the sprawling, debris-littered parking lot. Evan and I watched from the backseat. Everyone was parking, painstakingly, carefully executing their most fastidious parking maneuvers. We were all on our best behavior. Todd parked in the handicapped spot and we stepped out of the car gingerly.

  We were standing in front of Deer Oaks Mall, a beige complex with signs boasting a Macy’s, a Sears, and an AMC movie theater with eight screens. This was supposed to be the Facility?

  Well, it is huge. He didn’t lie about that, Evan said.

  All afternoon we had driven through the deserted canyons of the Chicagoland suburbs, crawling by deadened Olive Gardens, IHOPs, Kmarts, the H Mart with the parking lot littered with exploded jars of kimchi. And now this. On our road trip, we had passed so many other places. Many other places would have worked. Why here?

  I glanced at everyone else to gauge their reactions.

  He brought us to a mall? Genevieve said to Rachel incredulously.

  It’s weird, I chimed in.

  They pretended like they hadn’t heard me, turning away and lowering their voices. No one really spoke to us—Evan or me—since the events at Ashley’s house. Our interactions were cursory, perfunctory, functional.

  Bob was the last out of his car. He had parked up close, in the handicapped spot, and he disembarked alone from the SUV. For a moment, he stood staring at the Facility as if in disbelief himself. Finally, he tore his gaze away and looked around at everyone. When he got to me, he looked right through me, as if I wasn’t even there. In fact, we hadn’t spoken since we’d left Ashley’s house two days ago.

  Well, we made it, he said, his face breaking into a grin.

  Cheers erupted from the group. I cast a dubious glance at Evan, but he was actually clapping, smiling with the rest of them.

  So, congratulations to everyone, Bob continued. We have arrived, as they say. We had a few hiccups in our journey—here, Bob’s gaze darted toward Evan and me—but in the bigger picture, we got to where we needed to go.

  A smaller wave of clapping began. I glanced at Evan. He continued clapping, his eyes straight forward, unblinking.

  Bob’s grin disappeared. We don’t have a lot of time before it gets dark. So let’s get started. We need to stalk this thing before it gets too late.

  We paused. Wait, we’re still stalking this thing? Todd asked. Isn’t this, like, a secure location?

  Precautionary measure, Bob answered.

  But we’re staying here, right? he pressed.

  Of course.

  It was late afternoon already, the sun low in the sky. I thought about the long stretch of unpacking and moving and cleaning before us. I didn’t want to do it.

  Bob looked at us expectantly. Let’s circle around, he said.

  I glanced at everyone else. They had to be skeptical too, but no one wanted to be the first to express their doubts. It would break the mood to say, This is just a mall. Did we have to come all the way to the Midwest for this?

  Adam began to take off his shoes. We looked at one another, in slight disbelief. Todd followed in taking off his shoes, then Rachel and Genevieve. Then Evan. Finally, I cast off my sneakers too, wondering whether my pregnant bulge showed through my baggy sweatshirt.

  We made a circle and held hands. Bob began the recitation, his voice low. We spoke our full names. I kept thinking, Ashley Martin Piker. Janelle Sasha Smith.

  As always, Todd and Adam went in first, with Bob close behind. The revolving door was blocked with trash, but Todd and Adam jiggled around with the locks of the double glass doors, which cracked open. We watched them enter the Facility, one by one subsumed into the darkness.

  Five minutes passed, then ten. Fifteen.

  In order to really stalk, Bob once said, you have to engage your memory. Before you go inside, visualize it. Visualize what’s inside. Visualize opening the door and walking in, the sound of your footsteps clattering across tile, or muffled by thick carpeting. Ghost from room to room, from store to store. You know what’s here. You’ve been here before, if not this exact place, then variations of it. The mall directories mounted on those upright, lit-up billboards, the plastic trays at the food court, the mannequin display at Express, each one modeling this season’s new office trousers. The hours of roaming around, waiting for your mother to finish trying on cardigan twinsets at Talbots. The chemical smell of Sephora, with its walls of perfumes and colognes, arranged with tester bottles and paper strips. The kiosks selling cell phone covers or beauty products made from Dead Sea–sourced mud. The Orange Julius and the Auntie Anne’s, next to each other. The feeling of walking into a mall before you’ve spent any money, the sense of prom
ise that always diminishes gradually, as you go into the same stores, looking at the same merchandise.

  You are not accumulating new knowledge. You are remembering, even though you have not set foot in a mall since you were a teenager. And whether the memories source from some collective memory (enshrined in movies, books, magazines, blogs, shopping catalogs) or from personal memory, try to see as much as you can. Try to remember as much as you can. And because memories beget more memories, you always remember more than you think is even there. The ones that are hidden from ourselves are the most revealing, give you the most information. Let your feelings fall away from you. A stalk should never be personal. It is about envisioning.

  At least half an hour had passed.

  The double entrance doors opened again. To everyone’s relief, Bob, Todd, and Adam emerged. Adam drew his thumb across his neck, conveying that this was a dead stalk.

  Okay! Adam yelled. You guys can come in now!

  Passing through the entrance, we walked carefully on the cracked beige tiled floor. The mall consisted of two levels of shops. There was a large skylight cut into the ceiling, but the glass was grimy, casting the light with a grayish tint, the perpetual feel of a rainy day. A swampy scent, as if of a zoo or a greenhouse, hung in the air. Here and there were still-green potted trees that, upon closer investigation, were just silky simulations of ficus and maples.

  Todd and Adam both turned on their flashlights, leading the way. We turned on our key-chain flashlights.

  Welcome to the Facility, Bob said.

  We walked past an empty fountain. At the bottom was a dried copper crust of pennies for all the wishes made. The sound of our footsteps on the tile echoed through the place. We looked around at all the familiar stores. There was Aldo, Bath and Body Works, Journeys, all boasting desperate sale signs typical of the End. Everything was 50 PERCENT OFF, BUY ONE GET ONE FREE, CLEARANCE. The mall must have remained functional up until the End. Though there were vacant storefronts, the other shops were still full of merchandise, covered in dust.

  Everything we want is here, in these stores, Bob said, gesturing to the stores as if he owned them. We have endless supplies.

  Bob, how much does a mall like this go for? I asked.

  A trillion dollars, he answered facetiously. I’m part owner.

  So how much did that come to for you?

  Bob shrugged. My friend was one of the developers. He got me a good deal. It was a business opportunity.

  As we walked on, it occurred to me that maybe the only reason we had come all the way out here was because Bob part-owned this place. Did he think owning this place still mattered?

  The first floor led to the food court, its signs once ablaze with TACO BELL, CHICK-FIL-A, WENDY’S, FALAFEL GRILL, TOKYO PALACE. Brown liquid seeped out of defunct freezers. They would have to be cleaned later. The Formica tables remained, but no chairs could be found. We came across a two-tier platform of gum-ball machines, still filled with an assortment of candies and mini party-favor toys.

  No one had any quarters, or any money for that matter, but Todd ran back to the wishing fountain we’d passed earlier and returned with a handful of calcified silver coins. The first machine he tried yielded a blue gum ball. He popped it into his mouth and chewed.

  Gross. Genevieve made a face. How old are those? They probably haven’t been changed in over six months.

  Still good. Todd grinned, chewing. They’re shelf stable.

  That was all it took. The tension broke. We swarmed around the machines. There were so many candy options: marbled jawbreakers, Bananaramas, Skittles, M&M’s, Wicked Watermelons, Hot Chews, Hot Tamales, Reese’s Pieces, Good & Plentys. Then there were the toys: little alien figurines, temporary tattoos, sticky hands, neon bouncy balls. The best part was in choosing, in deciding what to get. We sent Todd back to get more quarters. Buoyed by the sugar rush, the mood brightened. We could all feel it, even me. I hadn’t had candy like this in forever.

  Todd hurtled fistfuls of bouncy balls at the columns and walls around us, and we ducked, laughing, trying not to get hit as they bounced back, hitting us from all sides.

  Okay, let’s keep going, Bob said. It’s getting late. We should think about how to allocate this space.

  We quieted down, murmured consent as we followed Bob up the stilled escalator.

  The general idea, Bob continued, is for the department stores on the first floor to serve as communal spaces. And the smaller boutiques on the second floor here could serve as personal rooms. Why don’t you each pick your rooms?

  Dibs! I call dibs! Genevieve yelled as soon as we got to the top. She indicated the J.Crew, a corner store at our right. Inside, the store boasted blond-wood floorboards and built-in shelving, displaying shoes and handbags. The studio lights no longer worked.

  Now we couldn’t help ourselves. Everyone ran around the second floor, calling dibs on our rooms. Rachel went with the Gap. With its white walls and beechwood floors, it reminded her of a beach house. Todd picked Abercrombie and Fitch, which resembled a dim club. Adam went with the Apple Store, with its clean, modern interior and glass doors. Evan got Journeys. Bob selected Hot Topic, with its cavernous black interior and faux-iron doors.

  I chose L’Occitane, one of the smaller spaces. It seemed cozier than the others, with faux-wood-lined walls and red tiled floors. Advertisements hung in the display windows; lavender fields in Provence. It was quaint and old-fashioned; perhaps that was what helped it sell skin care. I knew that I wouldn’t be staying there for very long. I would find a way to leave soon, with or without Evan.

  *

  We went out to the parking lot and moved the packed boxes inside. In the expanse of Deer Oaks Mall, our pilfered belongings seemed meager and junky, kitschy. We took only what we needed for the night, including electric generators and space heaters and LED lamps. Todd and Adam went from store to store with manual bicycle pumps to inflate each air mattress. We unpacked pillows and sheets and comforters.

  In L’Occitane, I was packing away the merchandise on the shelves, clearing the way for my own stuff, when Bob came in. Hi, Candace, he said, casually.

  Hi, Bob. I also tried to sound casual.

  He put down his carbine and leaned against the shelves. I just wanted to take a moment with you, he began, now that we’ve arrived at the Facility, to talk about how we can make this new arrangement work for us.

  What do you mean?

  He leveled his gaze. Evan tells me that you’re pregnant.

  Evan? I repeated in disbelief.

  How far along are you?

  I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know if it was a sure thing, I lied. I’m maybe five months?

  It seems like a sure thing at this point, he said flatly, then softened. First of all, let me congratulate you. I just wish I had known earlier, is what I’m saying. Because this is a blessing.

  After everything that’s happened, I didn’t think it would take.

  That’s my point. It’s miraculous. The fact that you’re pregnant, it means something for our group. Maybe you don’t know it, but it does. It makes us feel hopeful. I know everyone will be happy to hear about it.

  Thank you, I allowed.

  I glanced at the doorway, where Todd and Adam had suddenly materialized. How long had they been standing there? Bob turned toward them and said, Back up for a moment, will you, guys?

  He turned to me again. But I didn’t come here to talk about this. I came in here to present you with my dilemma. Which is this: I can’t have you leaving.

  I forced a laugh. I’m not going to leave, Bob. Where would I go, at this point?

  His expression was stark, severe. But you intend to leave. You told Evan. And now that you’re with child … He trailed off, before catching the thread again. The point is, right now I can’t trust you. And Candace, honestly, it’s for your own good that we keep you in here. It’s very dangerous out there.

  My breath caught. Keep me in here? I repeated.

  Starting
tonight, he confirmed. And don’t worry about anything. We’ll take care of you, provide for you. You’ll carry your baby to term.

  How long do you plan on locking me in for? I asked, and as soon as I asked, I knew it was going to happen, I was going to get locked in. Asking acknowledged his authority to do this to me.

  Like I said, until you carry your baby to term. And starting tonight we’ll keep watch over you.

  Right, I said, and proceeded to walk out of L’Occitane, my heart pounding. Todd and Adam both grabbed my arms, their grip firm and intentioned.

  Don’t hurt her, Bob instructed them, as they walked me back into the store.

  So you’re saying that I don’t even have a choice, I said, trying to keep cool, to play along.

  Bob’s voice escalated, betrayed anger for the first time. Everyone has a choice, Candace. Ashley had a choice. Janelle had a choice. You all had a choice when you decided to go on your little road trip that night. And all those other nights when you guys did stalks without telling anyone. He took a breath. Look, you’ve shown that you had no problem breaking the rules of the group.

  It took me a moment to find my tack. Arguing only seemed to make him angrier. Better to appear meek and fearful, better to assure him of his power. I began this way: I’m sorry that—

  So starting tonight, he interrupted, you’ll stay here. For the duration of this confinement, you should work on showing me that you can follow the rules.

  Adam and Todd were unhooking something in the entrance. They tugged at a metal-link gate that slid down from the top of the frame.

  You’re imprisoning me, I said in disbelief.

  Try not to look at it that way, Bob said. You’re safe. You’re healthy. You’re going to be a mother. As soon as this baby comes, we’re going to celebrate it.

  With that, he spun around and walked out. He passed Todd and Adam at the entrance. Then they pulled down the metal grating, sliding it from the top of the doorway to the floor. They took a combination lock and snapped it closed.