by J. L. Salter
“We don’t… can’t. We control our blog, except for the comments.” Christine’s face scrunched up briefly. “Well, we can delete offensive comments and block nasty bloggers, if we want.” She waved her hand. “Anyway, our blog spawned those other blogs. And they link back and forth. It’s a parallel universe with connections, sort of.”
“And we have absolutely no control over those other universes?”
Christine shook her head. “Let me show you.”
Amanda got up from her chair so her friend could demonstrate.
“Okay, here’s my post from yesterday.” Christine moved the curser down. “Here’s the new comments. See, one of them links to another blog.”
“What’s in the other one?”
Christine sighed. “More comments, I guess. They probably wish they’d thought of this therapy protocol themselves. Uh, let’s see.” She clicked. “Oh!”
Amanda peered closer. “Yikes. I thought the language was bad on our blog comments.”
“Well, these aren’t all bad. Look, here’s one.” Christine began reading. “Uh, ‘Marty ought to get off the couch and jump Missy’s bones.’ See, a romantic. And here’s something unrelated… they jump around a lot: ‘Marty ought to hitch up his big girl panties and leave.’”
“I looked at the links to those other blogs today. I saw a new one: Lighten Up, Missy! Tally was up to three when I first noticed it. Click it.” Amanda pointed.
Christine clicked. “Uh, you’ve doubled. It’s now at Lighten Up, Missy! — 6.”
“When I looked earlier, Kick-Marty was nearly twice as popular as Free-Marty.”
“As it should be.” Christine nodded. “Wonder if it will hold?”
* * * *
Jason’s right forearm rested in the sling portion of a huge, garish bandana around his neck when he greeted Amanda that evening.
“What on earth happened to you?” She’d just walked in the door.
“Hurt my shoulder throwing something.”
“You been playing ball with little No-Neck? You’re not supposed to romp in your condition.” She eyed him closely. “You’re supposed to rest and recuperate, unless you’re well enough to go home to your place.”
Jason shook his head and coughed twice. Then he shrugged. “I don’t think I could explain it.” He didn’t want to clarify because he hoped he’d be able to wrangle another candy bar out of the neighbor supplier — he’d finally found a pusher.
His next fix was tomorrow after Amanda left for work.
Amanda put down her purse and keys and kicked off her Saturday sneakers. She walked over to the couch and sat, wiggling her toes. “What’s this stuff?” She pointed to a sprinkling of tiny black crumbs on the cushion beside her.
“Don’t know.” He’d forgotten it was there. “What does it look like?” Jason hoped Amanda would come up with something.
She licked a finger, dabbed it on the crumbs, and held them near her face, like they did in movies. “Have you been snorting black cocaine?”
“Huh? Does it come in black?”
She examined it closely. Then sniffed it, very tentatively. “Not enough material to generate a specific odor.”
“Uh, I think that’s been here the whole time.” He shrugged.
“Nope, you’ll need a better story than that. I vacuumed this couch shortly before you invaded.”
Jason just looked around the room. Maybe something in sight would give him a hook to hang on. “Sorry, I got nothing.” He rechecked the walls and ceiling.
“Well, I don’t know what that’s from and I can’t figure how else it got here. But I’ll bet it’s something edible, and probably tasty. Which means you’ve been cheating on your diet. Which means you’re deliberately scotching your own recovery. Which means you’re prolonging your stay in my apartment. Which means you’re headed over to my dark side, since these are my Hell Weeks at work.”
“Uh, mold!” He’d finally thought of something as his eyes moved upward. “Black mold from the air vents. Since the A/C is off all day, that mold has a chance to creep down to the duct opening to take a look around. You know, wondering why the unit isn’t running during the daytime in August.”
———
Amanda turned her head to keep him from seeing her smile. Actually a very creative effort. She’d have to remember to tell that whopper to Christine for the blog.
Amanda went to her bedroom to change clothes. She emerged with shorts and a tee-shirt, since it was still so warm inside, even though she’d reactivated the compressor earlier. Coming back to the main rooms, she stopped in the kitchen for a drink of juice. “Jason, I see a candy wrapper in this trash can. Where’d that come from? Not on your diet.” She waggled her forefinger.
“Uh, I found it… or something.” He squirmed on the dining chair.
“Hmm. Found it, huh?” She eyeballed him closely. “Men are usually pretty good liars, but during this debilitation, your lies are very transparent. You didn’t find a candy bar. Where’d you acquire it?”
He shook his head slowly and watched her warily.
“Jason!” Again, she used her mother’s tone, though the name was different.
“I can’t say. I’m protecting someone else.” He acted like a captured spy undergoing interrogation.
She circled him slowly, a bit like a sinister interrogator. “So, you won’t reveal your supplier. Very well. We have ways of making you talk.”
Secret agents are trained to resist the most heinous tortures for up to twenty-four hours, to allow their colleagues to escape. Jason likely wondered how long he could hold out.
Amanda continued pacing. “We’ve found our hemp is very persuasive…”
Jason lasted about two minutes. “No, no, not the rope cereal again! Okay, I’ll talk. It was No-Neck, from five doors down, I think.” Jason’s head sagged against the back of the chair as though he’d just endured a terrible beating.
“I know him. He actually does have neck bones, you know. It’s just that his neck is shorter than normal and nearly as thick as his skull. He’ll probably be a good lineman someday, if he grows up.” She wanted it to sound sinister. “So, what’s the going price these days for black market candy bars?”
Jason groaned. “I paid three bucks for that Snickers bar and it was at least a year old. I checked the lot number.”
“This no-necked supplier — is he planning to return?”
“He said it’d be at least four bucks tomorrow. What a crook, and not even in sixth grade.”
“Well, we shall have to cut… off… that… supply.” She spaced it out like a Hollywood Gestapo agent.
“What are you going to do to little No-Neck?”
“I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.” It was a shame to mix the movie images, but the first Godfather film had such a wonderful archetypal line and one rarely ever has a chance to use it.
“Look, there wasn’t really a crime anyhow. I only got one bite before Rosita sprayed it with Blue-Glow cleanser.”
“Rosita?”
“Those cleaning ladies you hired… they came today.”
“Oh.” Amanda hadn’t known any particulars about the cleaners’ visit, except as part of the general outline Christine had rushed past her on Day Two. “I forgot their schedule. Wonder how they missed those black crumbs.” Two cleaning ladies arranged by Christine meant there were now eight individuals in on their secret plan. Plus Maria and Sunny from the crop party — that made ten!
Amanda checked her watch and groaned. In preparation for the upcoming card-and-game night, she began cleaning the dining/kitchen/living spaces.
Jason watched. “What’s going on here tonight? Rotary Club? International Order of Oddfellows?”
She sighed. “Just a couple of my friends coming over to play cards and such. It needn’t concern you. You know Maria. Sunny has her young niece in tow.”
“Are they bringing any food?”
“Probably. Somebody usually brings something. I would ha
ve picked up an already-baked pie or cake at the grocery, but I hustled home to check on you.”
He didn’t thank her. Jason noticed something and held his hand up near a vent. “Hey, the air’s on again! Cool!”
“Oh, yeah, meant to tell you. The technician brought that borrowed part back over and said I could use it for a couple of hours this evening.”
“When? I’ve been here all day and I didn’t see anybody.”
“He was arriving about the same time I did. I guess he just installed the thingy and left.” She held up her own hand. “Yeah, it’s working.”
“How come the air conditioning only runs when you and your friends need it? It’s off all day while I’m here sweating and dying and listening to Missus Yodel through wide open windows.”
“Well, I’ve already told you all I know about her yodeling, and I did explain about the problem with the broken part on my unit. He’s not allowed to sell the last one, the new ones haven’t arrived yet, and the rest of the Spiros outfit is in Greece for the funeral.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard all that, but something’s fishy about him loaning you the part several different times. He’s not looking for any, uh, fringe benefits from you… is he?”
“Jason! I’m offended and shocked! Do you really think I’d trade sexual favors to an A/C tech for the temporary use of a part he can’t sell me?”
“Well, when you put it like that, maybe not. But something smells funny.”
“It’s probably you, Mister Sickie. Have you bathed since Thursday evening?”
“Can’t remember. But I want to talk to this guy next time he’s here. Maybe I can bribe him to leave the part here. You know, he could pretend like he just forgot it somewhere.”
“Well, you better find a belt for those PJs. If you offer him money with those jammies hanging down around your pubes, he’s liable to deck you. Hard to recover from an illness like yours with a busted nose.”
Amanda straightened a few more things. “My company’s coming soon. You’d better head back to the guestroom since you’re not dressed. There’s a little girl in this group, you know.
“Any supper plans for me?” Jason held out his lands like a beggar. “Or do I have to suck on my toothpaste tube all evening?”
“Ever tried baba ganoush?”
“What? Sounds like that kooky uncle on those Danny Thomas reruns — Uncle Tonoose. Is it Lebanese?”
“Not sure. Middle Eastern, I think. You start by roasting some eggplant…”
“Hold on.” He shook his head. “Anything that starts with eggplant is definitely off limits. I’ll stick to the toothpaste.” His stomach was evidently shrinking as a result of six days on that involuntary diet.
“You don’t even want to hear about the tahini paste? What about the khubz bread or pita points?”
———
Jason raised his hand like a stop sign and turned slowly. Then he trudged down the short hallway while barely holding up his pajama bottoms.
It was only a few moments before they arrived. As he had on the other evenings when banished to the guestroom during a hen party, Jason sat on the floor with his ear to the door.
He heard female voices; they were playing a card game of some kind. Christine, Maria, and Sunny. Sunny’s niece had brought a volleyball — or something similar — which rolled down the hallway and smacked the linen closet door several times.
The card players were just about to start eating and Jason strained at the door to hear the food being consumed. It was a bit of self-torture.
Suddenly… Boom! The ball bashed into the guestroom door right at his ear! He thought he was in a submarine being blasted by depth charges. He slowly shook his head to loosen the cobwebs.
He’d never strangled a child before, but he certainly would have punctured her volleyball if he’d had a knife accessible. On second thought, Jason realized if he did have a knife, he’d probably just slit his own wrists. Creepin’ crud.
* * * *
Curing the Uncommon Man-Cold
Day Six
Marty’s supper was spare, as usual. More rice cake crackers and another stalk of celery spread with toothpaste.
Two of Missy’s other friends came over to play the lively card game golf and dice game farkle. One of them brought a niece.
We all brought snacks, of course, but carefully removed every excess crumb so Marty couldn’t have any. After all, if we feed the creature, he’ll never leave! I ate an extra couple of cheesecake tarts that I didn’t even have room for. Can’t leave anything for Marty!
I’ve noticed there are lots of bets on a side-link about how long he’ll stay in Missy’s apartment. You won’t get any help from me. I would have put good money that the bag of unusual groceries I brought over on Day Three would have run him off. But it didn’t. He’s managed to survive somehow. Must be sneaking in some edibles. We’ll have to stop that contraband. Time for a shakedown.
Check back tomorrow for more updates.
Almira Gulch
Chapter 11
August 16 (Sunday)
Amanda woke to Jason’s shriek. “Amanda!”
She rushed across the hall and slapped at the guestroom light switch.
Jason was huddled in the small bed with his knees tucked tightly and his arms around his shins.
“What on earth is wrong?” It was 4:25 a.m.
“Panther! Panther… on me! Tried to… tear my… face off!”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You were dreaming again.”
“No! Real! Here!” Jason could only manage one or two syllables in his panicked explanation.
“Now, settle down and tell me what happened in your dream.”
“No dream! Panther… here! Clawed my face!”
With exaggerated movements Amanda looked around the cluttered room. “Don’t see any wildlife now. Maybe the light scared it off.”
“I’m serious, Amanda!” Finally words with more than two syllables. “Panther on my chest again!”
“What size panther this time?”
“Same as last one. At least fifty pounds. Hard to say. He was breathing on me again, and then he started whacking my face with his claws.”
“I don’t see any bloody rips in your flesh.” She yawned largely.
Jason felt for lesions. “Well, maybe not claws. It patted my face with its paws.”
“So it’s a friendly panther.” It was difficult not to smile. “In dreams, animals can represent danger or friendship. This little panther wants to be your buddy.”
“No! It wasn’t a dream and he doesn’t want to be friends. He tried to claw my eyes out!”
“Well, skip ahead to that part. I need to get back to sleep.”
“On my chest, breathing into my nostrils, then he patted my face. I wanted to look, but I was too scared, so I kept my eyes shut.” Jason shuddered. “Then he reached with his paws and raised up my eyelids! It was horrible!”
“Well, both eyes seem present and in working order. Maybe the dream panther didn’t want to keep your eyeballs. Perhaps he was just counting them.”
“Why would a panther count my eyeballs unless he planned to eat them?” He shuddered again and gripped his shins even tighter. “And it wasn’t a dream!”
Amanda sighed and yawned at the same time. Her airway got confused and she nearly coughed. “Well, I’ve never heard of panthers — whatever their size — pulling up human eyelids for optical exams. Maybe that’s his way of waking you up.”
“He nearly scared me into a shock-seizure.”
“What exactly is that?”
“I don’t know all the medical stuff, but it’s caused by being scared to death by panthers.” He made it sound almost authoritative.
“Whatever. I’m going back to bed.”
“Leave the light on!”
“Okay, but I’m closing your door so the light doesn’t bother me.” Amanda sighed and closed the guestroom door slowly. From the corner of her eye, she saw Diabla rubbing against the so
fa in the living space. It looked like she was ready to go outside again. Amanda tiptoed down the hallway and stroked the long black fur for a moment. The huge feline hunched her back with every stroke. “Good job, Diabla, my little guest panther. Mission accomplished. You can go home now.” She opened the front door quietly and watched the miniature black predator slowly melt into the darkness.
Amanda closed and locked the door, yawned again, and used the bathroom before she went back to bed.
* * * *
Amanda’s provision of daily breakfast was becoming an exercise in imagination. With Christine’s able assistance, Amanda had produced something differently awful for the past five mornings. So far, her favorites were the scrambled tofu on Day Four and yesterday’s hemp granola. Today she had an added treat.
Jason dragged himself into the kitchen area and slumped into a chair at the table. He hit the seat just about the same time his sagging pajama bottoms slid halfway down his gluteus maximus. The chair was cool, so he squirmed enough to cover his exposed flesh with the faded, striped flannel.
“Were you able to get back to sleep after that panther dream?”
“Not a wink. I kept imagining him pulling up my eyelids with his paw-fingers.” Jason shuddered again. “And it wasn’t a dream. I found more black panther hair on my shirt.”
“Like I told you, vivid dreaming. It can seem so real that you actually find real-world evidence of the situations you dreamed about.”
“Not a dream. He wanted to suck out my eyeballs.”
Amanda changed the subject. “Christine helped me locate something to go with your cereal besides that unsweetened prune juice you’ve been griping about.”
“I bet it didn’t come from a cow.”
“Correct.” Amanda pointed to the quart container. “It’s dairy-free and gluten-free.”
“What does that leave?” He leaned closer but refused to touch it. “Is it even liquid?”
“Well, it’s sort of a pale cousin to milk.”
