5.
She hadn’t slept. As she stood in front of the bathroom mirror a little after five in the morning, at the time when the dark of the night and coming of the new day are balanced perfectly, she forced herself to look past the dark rings under her bloodshot eyes, and to ignore the pale white hue of her complexion. She tried desperately to look within, to find a way to pull herself together.
If I were a man, I would be starting a pretty good beard by now.
The thought made no sense, and its randomness frightened her. She felt as if she were clinging onto her sanity only by her fingertips. She closed her eyes, trying to rid her mind of the anguished voicemails left by Jane’s mother. Her words would haunt Terri forever, as would the guilt and the huge void that had had opened in her life. Unable to stand looking at herself any longer, she walked to the balcony, hoping the fresh air would clear her head. It was wonderfully quiet, and as she watched the contrail of an airliner arcing across the sky, she wished that she was on board, heading somewhere far away. Looking at the street below, she marvelled at how peaceful it was. Traffic was sparse, and aside from a few individuals heading off to start the workday early, it was graveyard quiet. She wondered for a split second if the world would miss her if she climbed over the balcony and jumped. Would it hurt? She shivered in the cool morning breeze, and tried to shake off the morbid train of thought.
Heading back inside, Terri was surprised to see the answering machine blinking, signalling a new message. She hadn’t heard the phone ring, and wondered if she might have actually dozed off during the night without realising. She quickly crossed to the machine, and played back the message.
“Terri, it’s Bob. I uh, I’m not sure what time it is there, damn time zones always confuse me. Anyway, just letting you know that this meeting was a damn waste of time, and I’m heading back early. I’ll swing by your place in around six hours, which will be somewhere between eleven and one on your time. So if you could have those new pages ready, I’ll take them with me and try to buy us some more time. See you soon, bye.”
She managed a small smile and switched on her computer. As it whirred and clicked into life, she made herself a fresh pot of coffee and decided she would at least try to appear human despite everything that had occurred. Once the coffee was ready, she returned to the computer, opening the latest draft of her novel, selected the new pages, and sent them to print. As the printer began to churn out her pages, she scrolled down to the bottom of the document, to the unfinished fifteenth chapter. Because she knew sleep would not come to her again that night, she thought she might as well try to get some work done, if only to forget about the horrors of the real world for a while. She would shower and get dressed, then settle down to try and finish the final chapter.
Thirty minutes later, and feeling infinitely better, Terri went to the thankfully now silent printer and picked up the pages, skimming through to make sure they were in good order. She was often unsure about the quality of her work, but on the rare occasions that she hit her stride, she felt immeasurably at ease. She slid the pages into a brown envelope and set it on the table for when Bob arrived. He eyes drifted to the wooden box, and that awful, cold, simmering feeling churned deep within her. With a frown, she turned her attention to the computer, grimacing at the screensaver and making a mental note to change it. It was a slideshow of photographs of her and Mark during happier times. Laughing together, holding hands on the beach, and various other snapshots of a dead relationship. She no longer had anything in common with the smiling woman in the pictures. She couldn’t stand to look at them anymore and moved the mouse, breaking the cycle of images.
At first, her brain didn’t register what it was looking at.
The page had been blank when she headed off to shower, but that was no longer the case. Now there were words—words she hadn’t typed. As she stared at the screen, she felt her flesh begin to crawl and her stomach start to flutter, and for a moment she felt as if she was going to vomit. She let her eyes drift across the words, so innocent in their composition, yet at the same time horrifically sinister.
Terri.
Don’t let the world get you down.
You know what to do to make it all go away.
She reached down to the outlet with a hand she couldn’t keep from shaking and pulled the plug on the computer, plunging the phantom words into darkness. Her skin was like gooseflesh, and once again she had the sick sensation of being watched. She turned slowly in her seat and looked at the box on the table. In her mind she imagined it looking right back at her, with a sick, sharp-toothed smile. Unable to hold it back any longer, she vomited noisily onto the carpet.
6.
The park was beautifully bathed in mid-afternoon sunshine as Terri fidgeted on the wooden bench. Still shaken, she couldn’t stand to be in the apartment anymore. She felt as if it had secret, hidden eyes and was watching her every move. She had partially convinced herself that it was the lingering smell of her vomit that had caused her to vacate, but knew deep down that wasn’t the case. It was the box. She didn’t want to be near it. It was as if the atmosphere around it was heavy and charged with some kind of unseen power. She had called Bob and asked him to meet her here instead of the apartment.
She was watching a young couple tossing a Frisbee for their enthusiastic Alsatian who chased it with determination. She enjoyed coming here. It was her haven against the harsh brutality of the city. The park itself was two acres of lush green, ringed by a path which was often populated by early morning joggers in their garish shades of luminescent spandex. Large birch and oak trees lined the outer side of the park, offering cool shade against the heat of the day. Bees hurried about their pollination duties, and the numerous species of birds seemed to be joined in endless song. She looked up and saw Bob striding down the pathway towards her. He had removed his jacket and was carrying it over his shoulder, three fingers hooked into the collar. He was covered in a light sweat as he sat beside her.
“Damn hot today,” he remarked, wiping his brow with his handkerchief.
“Tell me about it,” she said, handing him a coffee.
She was debating whether to tell Bob about the box, and decided that under the present circumstances, it was probably a bad idea. There was a comfortable silence as they both sipped their coffees and watched the Frisbee loving Alsatian run back and forth with its owners. It was Bob who spoke first.
“How are you holding up, Terri?”
Not bad, apart from the psychological torture I’m being subjected to.
“Not bad,” she said, neglecting to add the rest of her thought. “How about you?” She was on autopilot, and had said it only because it was the protocol in such conversation. She didn’t expect the answer that she received.
“I’m not great, to be perfectly honest.”
She looked at him and saw that he was trying to hide his own fragile state with a show of normality. Terri’s heart sank a little for Bob.
“Why, what’s wrong?”
“It’s Marge. She... She’s not doing too well right now.” He fingered his wedding band nervously, then realising he was doing so, folded his hands into fists and set them on his knees.
“Is she sick?”
He looked at her, no longer able to hide the sadness in his eyes.
“She’s dying, Terri.”
She wasn’t sure how to react, and was fumbling for the right words to say when he continued.
“Damn Alzheimer’s. She hardly even knows who I am anymore.”
“Bob, I had no idea. You never mentioned it.”
“I didn’t want it to be public knowledge. I had hoped she would recover, that maybe she would be different... but over the last six months she has deteriorated.”
“Bob, I’m so sorry,” she said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She could see that he was fighting back tears as he opened up to her, this being one of the few conversations between them that didn’t revolve around business.
“I mean,
she’s only fifty-one for God’s sake. I thought she might have the strength to hold on... It’s the blank stares that are the worst. The way she looks at me sometimes and doesn’t even know who I am... Sometimes I wonder if someone up there hates me,” he said, rolling his eyes skyward.
“Twenty-seven years we’ve been married. Can you imagine someone that you have shared so much with suddenly not knowing who you are? She called me Martin the other day. Martin was my brother; he died when he was a boy. I… I don’t think I can take this anymore.”
I wonder, Bob—if you had an Erase All button, would you push it right now? And here is the million-dollar question— if you did, what would happen?
“Look, Bob, I don’t know what to tell you... I’m sure you have done your best to look after her, but maybe it’s time to get some help?... Why don’t you take the advice that you gave me: take some time off work, recharge the batteries. You look like you need it.”
He snorted, shaking his head.
“I can’t... I’m up to my neck in work and I’m already struggling to keep up. I don’t know if I can do it anymore, I really don’t.”
Unable to hold them back any longer, his tears broke free, streaming down his round cheeks. Terri felt deep sorrow for Bob, and helplessness that there was nothing she could do to make him feel better.
“Listen, Bob, I really didn’t mean to contribute to your stress. I’m doing my best to finish the book, I really am.”
“No no no no,” he said warmly, managing a smile as he wiped his eyes.
“You are one of the few writers I’m proud to have on my books, and I really do mean that. I know you haven’t had a great time of it yourself, Terri. And no amount of makeup and hairspray can hide the exhaustion in your face. Something is troubling you, isn’t it?”
She almost told him then—about the box, about the writing appearing on her computer screen—but didn’t want to burden him.
“Not really,” she lied. “It’s just that on top of everything else, one of my friends was killed in a traffic accident yesterday.”
“I’m sorry. Were you close?”
“Really close. It’s kinda hit me for six, if I’m honest.”
“Life has a strange way about it sometimes, doesn’t it?”
She couldn’t disagree there. She decided to change the subject, perhaps give Bob something a little more positive to think about. She picked up the envelope containing the manuscript pages and handed it to him.
“Here you go. Two chapters finished and ready for the ruthless editor’s pen,” she said, and even managed a small smile.
“Thanks, Terri. I knew you could do it...” he already seemed more in control as he opened the envelope and leafed through the pages.
“This is good… Really good... Should get those pricks in the office off our backs, at least for a while.”
“I should have the final chapter for you in a day or two. In truth, I can’t wait to finish it.”
“That great, Terri. I really appreciate you coming through for me on this.”
The relief was as evident in his face as it was in his voice.
“Same applies, Bob. You just make sure to take care of yourself, and please see someone about getting help with Marge.”
“I’d say I will just to please you, but you know me too well. I don’t want her to spend her last months in some sterile hospital bed. I appreciate the concern though, I really do.”
She hugged him then, and he awkwardly returned the gesture.
“Look, Bob, I have to go. I have some errands to run before I knuckle down and do some work.”
Unless somebody has done some for you whilst you were away
She ignored her inner monologue as she stood, Bob following suit.
“I have to be on my way too—need to get back to the office and turn these pages in. Traffic will be hell soon... I’ll be in touch in a few days. You take care of yourself, Terri.”
She nodded and smiled, then tossed her empty coffee cup in the wire waste bin by the bench.
“You too. I’m sure things will get better soon.”
“You know what I was just thinking, Terri?” asked Bob with a haunted and reflective expression on his face.
“What?”
“I was thinking that if there was a way to go back in time and start things from scratch, I would take it in a heartbeat.”
It was an innocent statement, the words meant reflectively, but inside Terri screamed. Her reply was automatic, and her split second of horror didn’t appear to have registered with Bob.
“I think we all wish that sometimes... You take care, and give my best to Marge.”
She turned and left, fearing that if she stayed he would see through her and know that there was something truly, terribly wrong. Fighting back tears of her own, she quickly glanced over her shoulder to see Bob standing by the park bench, finishing his coffee. If there was a greater power, she hoped it would spare Bob from his misery. He was one of the good ones.
7.
The I55 highway stretched out in front of the silver Mercedes as it headed towards Seattle. Bob had the window cranked open, and was enjoying the cool breeze as he made good time. Although still upset, he was happy to have met with Terri. He had no children of his own, and thought of her as a daughter in a way. He was pleased to find the road surprisingly clear, and accelerating to a steady sixty-two miles an hour, he activated the cruise control and took his foot off the pedal, allowing the car to do the work. Sunlight glinted off the traffic in the oncoming lane, which was far more congested than the run Bob was currently enjoying.
Glancing over to the envelope containing Terri’s manuscript pages on the passenger seat, he picked them up and began to carefully scan through them, making sure to check the road ahead every few seconds. He was happy she had managed to get some work done. He had worked with some fine writers over the years, but had never known anyone with her potential.
Out of nowhere he felt a migraine sluggishly begin to form—a thick pulse behind his eyes, which made him feel nauseous. Suddenly an agonizing pain surged through him, causing him to spasm and kick out his feet, flooring the accelerator as the car veered over the median and into the oncoming traffic, where it met a school bus head on. The impact was violent, the crumpled Mercedes rolling several times before erupting in flames. Bob was already dead before the crash—killed by the brain aneurysm he had carried with him for the last seven years without knowing it. As the flames took hold of the car, and Bob’s body began to burn, his dead hand released its grip on the envelope containing the manuscript pages, and soon they were engulfed in flames.
8.
The bottle of Smirnoff was already three quarters empty, and yet Terri still didn’t feel drunk enough. She was slouched on the sofa, watching the news with glassy, half-closed eyes. They had been circulating reports of Bob’s accident all evening. She swigged from the bottle and looked at the T.V. images of the twisted and blackened wreckage, shot from overhead by a helicopter. Every time Bob’s picture came up on the screen a fresh flood of tears would course from her sore and tired eyes, and she would take another drink to numb the pain. She had never been much of a drinker, but simply didn’t care at this point.
She glared at the box, still sitting on the coffee table, and thought that if it were able, it would be smiling smugly right now.
Don’t be stupid, Terri. It’s just a box.
The thought felt detached and alien, and even through the alcohol induced haze, she was aware enough to feel a flash of concern for her sanity.
“This is all your fault,” she whispered under her breath as she took another long drink, unsure if she were referring to the box, herself, or Mark. She turned her attention back to the television, concentrating hard to bring it into focus. Now her picture was on screen, the horrible publicity shot from her first book. Even though she was watching without sound, she knew what the report was saying. It had been the same for the last few hours, repeating and re-repeating the same
information as they waited for a more exciting story to break.
“Free advertising. Thanks, Bob,” she slurred, taking another swig of the vodka. She was tired now, but knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. She couldn’t even remember the last time she slept soundly. She was tired of stalking around the apartment in the dark, wandering from place to place, not quite knowing what to do with herself. She had lost the two people closest to her in consecutive days, and knew she couldn’t handle much more.
Push the damn button then.
She was in the habit of dismissing her ever-bolder inner monologue, but on this occasion, she hesitated. What harm could it do? It probably wouldn’t do anything anyway, and she would have spent the last few days stressing over nothing. But something in her wouldn’t let her go through with it. The box didn’t feel like a cheap trick or a hoax. Although she still wasn’t sure how or why, she felt there was some kind of power attached to it. She decided it was a decision best saved for when she was sober.
“There I go again,” she whispered to the television screen as she saw her smiling promo photo. She felt the drink starting to take a comforting hold, and she finally fell asleep.
She dreamed.
Dreamed of the end of the world. Of cities burning, the earth being wiped clean. Buildings flattened, billions simply erased from existence. The oceans were drained. In the end, all that remained was a barren globe of brown rock, and her. Terri Browning—standing alone on a barren plateau, the box in her hand, button depressed between her thumbs. She could see faces. Faces of the dead. Jane with her misshapen face, stitched together like a macabre jigsaw puzzle. She saw her cancer-ridden mother, no more than a hollow, skin-covered skull. And she saw Bob, now no more than a shapeless thing, blackened and scorched. They were not alone. Countless other shadowy beings she couldn’t make out lingered in the background. They were all chanting to her.
Dark Corners - Twelve Tales of Terror Page 18
