314 (Widowsfield Trilogy)

by A. R. Wise

  “Sure,” said Nancy, only half listening.

  “I used to be a doubter. I’m ashamed to admit it, but it’s true. I used to be one of those catty old crows sitting around and picking at anyone that dared stir my ire. Hard to believe, I know, but it’s the truth. I loved gossip, and bought all those celebrity rags, spent my time chatting on the phone with other women about who was fat, who was gay, who was cheating on who, and all that nonsense. Waste of time, honey. That’s all that is. And you know what turned me around?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Cancer.”

  Nancy stopped and looked back at Claire. She’d never heard anything about Claire suffering from cancer. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh yeah, honey. I don’t talk about it much, but I had quite a cancer scare a few years back. Nothing will ever set you right like getting up close and personal with the grim reaper. After something like that, I’ll tell you, you just don’t have the gumption to be a doubter no more. I pulled myself up by the bootstraps, beat the disease, and started focusing on what’s important in life. It took me most of my years to finally pay attention to what my granny said, but I haven’t forgotten it since.”

  Nancy was going to respond to what Claire said, but then she heard the beep of a new email as it showed up in her folder. She looked and saw that it was from her supervisor, Mike.

  “Aw fuck,” she said as she opened the tersely worded email. “How did he know I was running late? He’s not even here.”

  Claire rolled across the short gap between their cubicles. Her headpiece’s wire stretched to its limit as she looked at Nancy’s screen. “It’s the new system. He can track when you log in even when he’s at the headquarters in the other county.”

  “But I punched in at three on the dot. Two minutes early actually,” said Nancy as she pointed down the hall at the break room.

  Claire shook her head and pointed at the screen. “I’m talking about the computer. You’re supposed to log in ten minutes before your shift starts.”

  “Are you serious?” asked Nancy.

  Claire nodded and then rolled back to her cubicle. “Yep. Sorry, honey.”

  “I thought computers were supposed to make our lives easier,” said Nancy. “This sucks. Next thing you know they’re going to be installing cameras in here so they can watch us.”

  “What’s the email say?” asked Claire.

  “Nothing new. He’s just being a dick, reminding me that I’ve already been warned about being late and that our quarterly review is coming up.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  Nancy was about to put on her headset, but then set it on her keyboard and groaned as she rubbed her eyes. “I swear to God, Claire, this place is going to be the death of me.”

  “Don’t be a negative Nancy,” said Claire, and then she turned and chuckled. “That’s a funny name. Isn’t it usually negative Nelly? I’m going to change it to negative Nancy if you don’t cheer up.”

  “Thanks,” said Nancy with a groan. “Do you mind if I transfer my calls over to you for a minute. I need a quick smoke. I’m already having a shitty day.”

  “Go for it, I’m not going anywhere.”

  Nancy hit the numbers on the phone to facilitate the transfer. All calls that went into the center were routed to a free line first, which would ring for a few seconds before being sent back into the round robin exchange, ensuring that no call was left unanswered for too long. Every day a report was generated that showed how many calls each line answered to make sure no one was avoiding work, but Nancy had discovered that transferred calls counted as a hit on both lines, subverting the system. It caused a slight delay in the answer for the caller, but allowed her to catch much needed smoke breaks from time to time.

  She saw Darryl peering over the wall of his cubicle and gave him a snide grin. He shook his head and looked back down at his computer as she went outside.

  “Why don’t you go and fuck yourself, Darryl,” she whispered as she went out the door. She smacked her hard pack against the side of her hand until a cigarette sprung free. She quickly lit it and took a long, satisfying drag.

  Winter seemed unwilling to disappear entirely, and there was a chill in the air despite how sunny it was. She crossed her arms and shivered as she paced in front of the building. The ashtray had been pulled far from the entrance in an attempt to keep people from smoking by the door, surely a result of employees like Darryl complaining about having to walk through a cloud of smoke to get to work. Nancy flicked her ashes onto the pavement and flipped off the far away, waist-high ashtray as if it offended her.

  She glanced in through the front window, past the patchy bushes, at her empty cubicle. Claire’s seat faced the window, but Nancy could only see the side of her coworker from this vantage, the rest was covered by the fabric wall of the cubicle.

  The phone rang and the incessant buzzing was loud enough to hear even with the door closed. She watched as Claire shifted to click the button on the computer that would answer the call. Nancy took another long drag and looked away from the building, toward the small downtown area of Widowsfield. It was quiet, with only a few cars pulled up to the Salt and Pepper diner on the corner and a UPS truck parked in front of the Anderson Used Book Store. The Widowsfield Emergency Services building shared a parking lot with a credit union, but there rarely seemed to be anyone at the lonely bank.

  She closed her eyes and dwelled in her own thoughts for a moment. It had been a long few weeks, and there was no end in sight. She was stuck in a workaday world, at a job she hated, with a mountain of bills waiting at home and no prospect of relief. She felt like crying.

  The cigarette burned to the filter far too quickly. Her excuse for a break, minutes after getting to work, was over. She glanced at the clock on the bank’s sign at the entrance of the parking lot.

  3:14

  She looked for Darryl’s Chevy and then flicked her cigarette butt onto the hood before flipping off the car. A swirl of smoke wafted in front of her face and she waved it away only to see more smoke appear, as if her arm’s movement had cast a spell bringing with it a grey mist. She looked down and saw thick smoke filling the parking lot, like water moving slowly through the town.

  “What the fuck?”

  She kicked at it, and the mist wafted up where it sullied the air. A flash of green light erupted near her and an electric zap cascaded up the gutter on the side of the building. Dogs started to bark as the fog swept through the streets. Then a massive black shadow was cast over the ground as something flew by above, blotting out the sun for a second. She tried to look up, but the fog surged skyward to block her view.

  The dogs started to growl, and she saw black shadows zip through the fog in the parking lot. The movement caused the mist to ripple before a green wave of light flashed from within.

  Nancy quickly opened the door and ran inside as the fog snuck in by her feet. She kicked at it as if it were a corporeal entity. It dissipated around her leg as she pulled the door closed.

  Someone was groaning nearby. It was a wet gurgle, as if someone was choking. She saw Claire in her chair, rolled into the center of the space between their cubicles, staring at her. It took a minute for Nancy’s brain to register what she was seeing. It seemed impossible, and she blinked several times before accepting that it was real.

  Claire’s body was partially sunk into the chair and her headset was pressed into her head. The microphone stuck out of her throat and the headset jutted from her ear as if someone had plunged it into her, but there was no blood to be seen. Her arm was trapped in the armrest of the chair, and her left leg was below the seat while her right was above. She was twisted, and when she tried to speak only a gurgle came forth. Spittle dripped down her chin as her eyes darted back and forth, terror seizing her as she struggled to get free.

  Nancy screamed and backed away.

  That’s when she saw the creature outside. It was the size of a child, but with the head of a dog. The monstrosity cl
awed at the glass door with hands that looked neither human nor canine, but a bloody, pulpy mix of both. The creature snapped its jaws against the glass, spreading its lips wide to bare vicious white teeth. It seemed to be trying to bite her through the glass.

  “Somebody help,” said Nancy just before the windows broke all around her. Green electricity cracked through the room as the humanoid dogs rushed in from all sides. She tried to fight them off, but they held her down as their maws ripped at her clothes and flesh. They tore at her, shaking their heads back and forth, nipping at one another to secure a spot for the kill. Their nude, childlike bodies writhed over one another as their grotesque heads gnawed at her bones.

  Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a man standing near the bank’s sign in the parking lot. He was tall and thin, but his features were hazed by the fog. Then a flash of electricity illuminated him for just a moment. His lower jaw was shaking, and there was no skin on his cheek, revealing his teeth even from the side as he stared at something across the street. She could hear his teeth chattering and despite the horror she endured at the mercy of the dog-like creatures, she was relieved the man in the mist was focused on something other than her.

  She should’ve been dead, but nothing could end the pain. The fog swirled around her and lifted her head to force her to watch. The green electricity zapped in her ears, stinging and burning, as the creatures ripped her apart. She could see her bones, her intestines, her heart, and her lungs. She watched as the monsters fought over her meat.

  The fog wouldn’t let her die. The mist was capable of trapping her spirit, and she was conscious even though her body ceased to live. The flashing green fog kept her alive and forced her to witness every agonizing moment until the creatures plucked out her eyes. Then she was forced to listen.

  16 Years Later

  March 9th, 2012

  Alma stared at her apartment complex from the safety of her car. The yellow lights in the parking lot cast a hazy hue over the scene, as if a polluted mist had descended upon her life.

  “Are you here?” she asked as she chewed on her thumbnail. “Did you find out where I live, you son of a bitch?”

  She could see her apartment door, on the middle floor of the three-story building. Each section of the apartment complex was connected to the next by a concrete, railed landing with stairs that zigzagged down. From her vantage she could see her nondescript door as June bugs and moths fluttered around her porch light.

  Was her father hiding in the shadows? Was he waiting for her?

  She reached for her purse and got her cell phone. She flipped over to her page of contacts and thought about which of them might be able to help her. Several of her friends were out of town, and others didn’t answer her call. She kept trying, even selecting people she hadn’t spoken to in years. The few people that answered all had excuses as to why they were unavailable.

  Alma led a reclusive life, only venturing out to go to work and the occasional concert. She wasn’t socially adept, preferring the comfort of a late night movie alone than a party. She didn’t make friends easily, and when she did they usually tired of trying to convince her to come out. Alma always had an excuse why she was staying home for the night, and eventually the new friend would stop calling.

  There was always Paul.

  She looked at his icon on the phone. He had a wide, beaming smile and a stoner’s eyes. “Fuck it.” She tapped his icon and waited, half hoping he wouldn’t answer.

  “Yo,” he answered with a lethargic greeting.

  “Paul?”

  “Alma? Holy shit.” She heard covers rustle and assumed he was in bed. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  “Paul,” she sighed, regretting this already. “I need your help.”

  “You got it, babe. What’s up?”

  Alma had a mixed reaction to his voice. His lounging baritone, each syllable drawn out as if he savored them all, caused an equal amount of disgust and adoration in her. While their past convinced her to hate him, she couldn’t help but love him a little.

  “I need a place to stay.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Paul?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure. I heard you. Just, you know, thinking about it.” He sighed and she could hear him scratching at his scalp like he always did when conflicted.

  “Never mind.” Alma was annoyed and ready to hang up.

  “You can stay here, Alma,” said Paul. “You’re always welcome, you know that. It’s just that, well, you need to know that I’m not alone here. You know what I mean?”

  “You’ve got a roommate now?” asked Alma.

  He paused for a telling second before saying, “Sort of.”

  She understood what he meant, and didn’t know how to respond. “Maybe I’ll just get a hotel.”

  “You don’t have to,” said Paul. “You can stay here if you want.”

  “No,” said Alma. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

  Alma and Paul had been together long enough for him to become familiar with the underlying meaning of certain phrases. Every couple develops passive aggressive mannerisms, and Alma was as guilty of it as anyone else. Paul knew that when she said, ‘I’ll be fine,’ it really meant anything but that. And if Alma were being honest with herself she would admit that she deliberately used that tone to stoke Paul’s compassion. It wasn’t that she wanted to guilt him into helping her, but rather that she needed him to hear how hurt she was that he was sleeping with another girl. Even though they’d broken things off, for the third time, six months ago, Alma still hadn’t moved on and the revelation that he had was agonizing. Six months was far too long to dwell on a failed relationship, but Paul and Alma had kept in contact over the break, and she always thought they would end up together again. It was agonizing to find out that Paul felt differently.

  She could hear him push the covers off as he got up. “Babe, stop being silly. If you need help, I’m here for you. What’s going on?”

  “I just need a place to sleep for the night.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, sure, and I’m the first person you call? Come on, Alma, don’t treat me like I’m an idiot. What’s the matter?”

  “You weren’t the first person I called.” She had a spiteful bite to her words. “I literally called everyone else I could before I called you.”

  He stayed quiet, and Alma felt bad for attacking him.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” said Alma. “I’ve had a crappy day.”

  She heard his beard scratch on the phone and then a beer bottle hiss as it was opened. The cap clinked on the counter and she could imagine the scene, his kitchen littered with bottles, some upright and others overturned, and a seared pan on the stove, probably filled with burned macaroni. He was always a mess when they weren’t together.

  “Door’s open,” he said callously. “You know the address.” Then his tone softened and Alma could tell that he was sorry for being gruff with her. “If you want my help, I’ll always be here for you. I didn’t mean to sound nasty, I’ve just had a long day. A buddy of mine got in some trouble and I’ve been trying to help him out. It’s a long story.” He groaned and Alma could hear his beard scratching on the receiver again. “I want you to come here, Alma. I’ve been meaning to call you, but just haven’t worked up the courage. Come to my place and I’ll help you with whatever you need.”

  “You’ve been working up the courage to call me by banging some girl?” asked Alma.

  “It’s complicated,” said Paul.

  “I’m sure it is.”

  His voice lowered and he spoke quickly, “Look, babe, I want you here. The door’ll be open.”

  He hung up.

  She looked down at her phone in shock, as if he’d cursed at her. “You asshole.” She tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and then stared up at her apartment as if the conversation might’ve given her strength to attempt to go home, if for no other reason than to avoid gi
ving Paul the satisfaction of seeking his help.

  She grinded her grip on the top of her steering wheel as she looked up at the swirling bugs in front of her apartment door. If her father was going to hide, where would he do it? She looked at the shadows that plagued the space between her car and the apartment door. He could’ve been in the bushes along the building’s façade, or on the other side of a stairwell, faced away from the parking lot and out of her line of sight. Maybe he was already in the apartment. He could’ve lied to the office, and showed them his license to prove he was her father, convincing them that he was here to surprise his daughter. He could be in there right now, hiding.

  Had she left the bedroom light on?

  It was on now. She could see her bedroom window from the car. Had she left the light on this morning? She often did, but how could she be sure? What if it was him? What if he was in her room, searching through her drawers, planning his assault? He couldn’t have gotten here before her, could he? What if he did?

  “Nope.” She yelled out as if celebrating her decision not to chance fate. She put the car in reverse and sped out of the complex’s lot, a chill running down her spine the whole way as if she’d just barely escaped with her life. Whenever she finally decided to come home, she wouldn’t be alone.

  Alma intended to go to a hotel, but she passed them all on her way to Paul’s. His studio apartment was in the city, in a neighborhood that was in the midst of a planned renewal. It was going to be called ‘LoDo’, standing for Lower Downtown, and city officials promised that the rejuvenation would attract new business. They hoped to push out what they called the ‘unwanted element’ and restore a sense of pride to the neighborhood.

  Alma wondered what element Paul fell into.

  His studio was above a tattoo parlor, and was accessed by a stairwell in the rear. She parked next to a row of Harleys beside the parlor and could hear the raucous music as soon as she turned off the car. Tattoo parlors often stayed open late to host parties, and this one was no exception. When she’d lived with Paul, they attended several of the bashes that the parlor’s owner threw, and she had a couple lasting reminders of those nights on hidden parts of her body. It’s hard to turn down a free tattoo when you’re drunk.