Transfer_An Urban Fantasy Romance

by Jordan C. Robinson

  “I’ll let you get your beauty rest,” Daichi stood. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Text me when you wake up.” He left and I found myself drifting away before he even left the room.

  Seven

  Will

  The next morning I felt absolutely fine and was discharged, leaving nurses confused in the wake of my speedy recovery. Energized, I even worked with Daichi for a couple of hours on the truck.

  However, my first true dash of excitement for the day was after work, as I hopped out of the truck. I would get to see Kristen again. Just interacting with her made me happy. For the time being, I was easily satisfied. I opened the door and heard the TV coming from the living room. An incidental smile crossed my face as I walked through the hallway (I still wobbled unsteadily, though).

  I came into the living room and spotted Kristen, which was just as exciting as I imagined it would be, but she was with a guy, presumably her boyfriend Cooper. My smile faded. He was a bit shorter than I was, so about five foot nine inches, with a round face. His plaid shirt, big belt buckle, and cowboy boots didn’t do much to change my premature—and irrational—prejudice against him. He stood and offered me a hand when he spotted me. I took it and introduced myself.

  It wasn’t the ideal situation to come home to, but as everyone wishes they could mean, I was happy as long as she was happy. It was probably good I got this reality check before I allowed my daydreams to get a hold of me. I noticed a bit of an awkward silence so I excused myself, not wanting to intrude. Cooper offered for me to take a seat on the opposite couch, but it was still too early to third wheel it.

  I reached my bedroom in an indifferent state, and picked up my latest book find: The Name of the Wind.

  I was brought out of my reading to the sounds of firm voices about thirty minutes later. It wasn’t exactly yelling, but I could tell something was amiss. Shortly after the raised voices began, I heard the front door shut. That was odd, I thought as I picked up my book and resumed where I left off.

  I got half a page in before a quiet knock sounded on my doorframe. Kristen was standing there with a sheepish smile.

  “Sorry about that,” she said.

  “Oh, no worries. You should hear my family go at it.”

  “I could use a TV buddy now . . . if you’re free.”

  I nodded and placed my book down. I could come back to it. I’d read it twice now anyway. I followed her upstairs. We sat on opposite couches and watched some random reality show in silence. Silent except for her sniffs that would have been inaudible without my sickness senses.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  “Yeah,” she answered.

  I waited for her to expand. She opened and closed her mouth twice before speaking again.

  “Do you know anyone that just doesn’t listen?” At my nod, she continued. “I tell him something, once, twice, even three times, and it doesn’t matter. He still doesn’t hear me.”

  “And he didn’t listen today?” I asked.

  She sighed loudly and pulled her hair behind her ears. “He didn’t.” She hesitated once again.

  “You don’t have to keep talking if you’re not comfortable.”

  “It’s not that, I just don’t want to TMI you.”

  I laughed. “Those are the most interesting tidbits; now you have to tell me.”

  “Well, before you got home, we were just up in my room hanging out. Lately, he’s bit a bit more aggressive.” She laughed a little. “It’s funny. Usually he’s so lazy.”

  “But?” I asked.

  “He hits me.”

  That was not a juicy tidbit. It was infuriating. I let my head fall into my hands and groaned. Unfortunately, it looked like my douche-radar was accurate. “How many times?”

  “I’ve lost count now. At least four,” she said grimly.

  “Why do you—” I rubbed my temples. “Why are you still with him if he can’t respect you?”

  “He’s a good guy otherwise. I don’t know . . .”

  I stood and paced the room with my arms crossed. “I hate that,” I mumbled. “I can’t even watch Game of Thrones because of all the shit they throw in there.” My voice inadvertently got louder.

  “It’s okay, you don’t have to worry. It’s rare.”

  “Rare is still too often, Kristen,” I said, finally sitting back on the couch.

  “I know, but we’ve been together for like, ten years and everything else is good.”

  “Okay. Just be careful.” I let the subject drop, even though I knew I’d be bothered by it for the rest of the night. The dull ache of a headache parked itself in the front of my skull. A lingering effect of the injury or frustration, I wasn’t sure. We turned our attention back to the TV, or at least, she did.

  Now I know for sure he’s no good. She deserves better, I thought. I’d have to make sure she got what she deserved. She didn’t need protecting; I could tell she was a strong person, but Cooper was not right for her. And damn it if I’d have to think of her upstairs being disrespected by him.

  Eight

  Will

  That night, I lay in bed, unable to sleep. My thoughts swirled from making this year something different than my past twenty to Kristen and Cooper. Operation One Year Left certainly hadn’t started as carefree as I had imagined. My feelings for Kristen had even pushed thoughts of my accident to the back of my mind. I had plenty of time; I could worry about it later.

  My thoughts were interrupted when I heard a faint thump from upstairs. I sat up and listened, but no more noise came until I received a text. It was from Kristen.

  Spider(s) in my room. send help.

  Before I could respond I heard a light knock at my bedroom door. I threw on a T-shirt and opened the door. It was Kristen.

  “You know,” I began, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I am no help when it comes to things with more than four legs.”

  Kristen, who made a pair of basketball shorts and a T-shirt look extremely cute, switched her weight from one foot to the other. “Ugh, what good is your super strength then?” She grinned.

  “Sorry, I have many talents but bug catching is not one of them.” I paused to think. “The best I can offer you is a retrieval mission of your mattress and dragging it down here for a sleepover. And even that’s pushing my mental health.”

  “Well, that leaves my only other option as the couch, and that’s not doable. Believe me, I’ve tried. So, I accept.” She gave a thumbs-up and an exaggerated smile.

  Beginning the lonely walk up the stairs, I was already filled with regret. How many spiders was I going to encounter? Could I even move a mattress while under spider attack? Shit, what kind of spiders were they? My stomach turned and I suddenly wanted to throw up.

  The walk up the two flights of stairs was a long one. Believe it or not, my hands began to sweat, adding to my discomfort as I turned the final corner to her room. The door was cracked open so I pushed it farther, regretting not having her come up with me. The mattress was there with no spiders in sight. That looked innocent enough, but not-seen spiders were probably the worst type. I crept into the room and made it about halfway in before I was distracted by the realization that I was in her room. I stopped and took a brief look around. It was harmless enough, not messy, but there were a few records and shirts strewn on the bed.

  I returned my focus to the mattress so I could get out of there before any arthropods could make an appearance. I shook my head, wondering why I’d agreed to do this (even if she was the human personification of my type). I reached out for the mattress—essentially a poke—before withdrawing quickly, just in case. No spiders showed themselves, so I grabbed the edge of the mattress and dragged, trying to avoid knocking into her desk or the TV in the corner of the room. I really should have gotten more detail about the intruder before eagerly jogging up here. The mattress came easily off the frame. It was an odd experience trying to control my strength while exerting it at the same time. She’s lucky she only had a twin mattress oth
erwise I’d have dragged her up here to help.

  I froze for a brief moment, allowing my eyes to scan the room and the mattress for any spiders looking to hitch a ride. When the coast was clear, I pulled the mattress through the hallway and attempted to slide it down the stairs.

  About halfway down, I felt a tingle crawl across my arm and released the mattress. It slid from my grasp, catching my foot so I fell the rest of the way down the stairs. I frantically checked my arm for something but found nothing. I stood up, my backside sore from the fall, and continued with the mattress down the last flight of stairs.

  I deposited the mattress safely inside my room and did a brief check to ensure no uninvited guest had come along. I stood up after I did my inspection and rubbed my temples. “Hope you’re happy, as I’m sure you heard—it was quite an adventure.” I gave her a brief half smile and fell on my bed in relief. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths.

  We both settled into our respective beds and silence came over us for a brief minute or two. Was I allowed to talk? I was terrible at falling asleep during sleepovers.

  “Hey, Will, I’ve got a question for you.”

  Oh, thank God. “Yeah?”

  “It’s actually not a question,” she said quietly, “but the driver of the teal car committed suicide today.”

  The room fell silent again.

  “Will?”

  “Yes?”

  “If you want to talk about it, I’m here. Suicide is an awful thing. I can’t pretend to understand why he did it, but if you ever have trouble processing it, listening would be the least I could do for my knight in shining armor,” she said.

  “Thank you. But first, I think we’re equal with you saving my head, and second, don’t ever call me again for anything, and I mean anything even remotely resembling a spider. Call a twenty-four seven exterminator next time. Or Cooper.” I rolled onto my side, feeling my head sink into the pillow. I wrapped my legs tighter around my body pillow. It kept my knees from knocking. One of the only real advantages a body pillow had over real cuddling. But knocking knees or not, I wished it were Kristen on my mattress. It was easy to put the suicide out of my mind when in her presence. I’m sure it would pop up in the forefront of my thoughts tomorrow, but tonight, I was able to forget about most of my worries and enjoy her company.

  “Exterminators don’t live right downstairs,” she said, continuing our conversation. “And Cooper’s not available anymore. I broke up with him.”

  She spoke up once more before I could question her. “I should set you up with one of my friends.”

  I didn’t respond right away. I want you, though. “Did you have one in mind?”

  “I was thinking, maybe Sue.”

  “Is she, like, forty? Because I don’t know anyone born in the last forty years named Sue.”

  A pillow flew over my head and landed on the opposite side of my mattress.

  “Kristen, that wasn’t even close. I bet that was your only pillow too,” I teased, wholly distracted by the fact that my new dream girl was available.

  Nine

  Kristen

  I opened the computer and did a few cursory searches. The man who killed himself was John Mead. His obituary had been updated rather quickly. He seemingly led a normal life. Survived by his wife and three children. Involved in the community. There was nothing to see there. Well there was, but any more and my mood would be affected.

  Will didn’t seem concerned, but I couldn’t go about my life without doing a little research. I had heard of people committing suicide after an accident in which they were responsible for a death, but Will had survived. Maybe the man was already on his way out. There was no way for me to know, I was probably making something out of nothing.

  I went to shut the laptop when an advertisement caught my eye. It was nondescript and plain except for a few words.

  Feeling down? Does nobody understand you? Call PISP. We can offer you help; the type of help that a hotline can’t provide.

  Wasn’t PISP the doctor Will went to before the accident? I copy and pasted PISP into the search bar and hit enter. There were very few results. One was a direct copy of the ad I just saw. The next two were similar, but one was titled PISP Dentistry while the third and final result described getting help for some of the symptoms Will had described. Is this how he found them? This institute sure offered a lot of services. I clicked on the dentist result and was brought to another plain landing page. It had little more than their phone number. Did they get many clients with a page like this? I plugged the number into my phone.

  “PISP Dentistry, Charles speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hello,” he said, his voice flat. “How can I help you?”

  How could he help me? “I’d like to set up an appointment, please.”

  “Today at noon?”

  I paused. I guess I could use a teeth cleaning. “Uh, sure.”

  Charles hung up. Interesting.

  At noon I found myself inside PISP Dentistry, waiting in the chair for my dentist. I had arrived early to the plain office, nearly missing it due to a lack of advertising. I walked in and was immediately greeted. I had a page of paperwork to fill out and then a strange, mask-wearing man took me from the waiting room, turning left down the hall to a room where I waited for the dentist.

  The room resembled the brief description Will had offered me. Only the necessities and lots of white. Besides the chair I sat in, there was the supply cabinet, sink, and the tool tray attached to the chair. I didn’t wait long as the doctor walked in during my room inspection.

  “Hello,” she said, “I’m Doctor Randle. Dentist Randle. Either works.” She smiled and I was immediately at ease, forgetting about the sketchy appointment call with Charles or the eerie minimalism of the building.

  “Kristen,” I said, offering my hand which she shook.

  “Just in for a checkup?” She glanced at my paperwork. “Everything looks good so far. Let’s take a look.” She pulled a stool from the corner of the room and sat down. My chair reclined and I heard the clink of metal as she fiddled with her tools. I sat back and stared at the ceiling. There was a certain zen when at the dentist, except when they put molds in your mouth—that was gross. I had fallen into such a state of relaxation that I forgot I was here to complete a bootleg investigation.

  When Doctor Randle reappeared in my vision she had pulled her mask over the bottom of her face. She asked me to open wide and held a mirror and another tool I didn’t quite recognize.

  “Open wide,” she said in such a cheery tone I could tell she was smiling behind the mask. I opened my mouth obediently and she bent to her task. Was she always this happy? “My assistant is out today, so you’ll have to forgive me if I’m a bit less efficient than usual.” Her face disappeared from my view as I heard her rustling through the toys. “I need your help, though.”

  “What?” I asked, lifting my head.

  “Don’t look at me,” she snapped. I laid my head back down, frowning. “Sorry,” she said, her head reappearing in my vision. “I need you to text a number, please.”

  Her tools entered my mouth which prevented me from saying anything she could understand. Although, I realized that was likely her intention as she continued talking.

  “Four-One-Zero,” she said. “Four-Nine-Zero,” she paused. “Touch your tongue to the mirror if you’ve got it.” I hesitated. “Okay, here it is again.” She repeated the first six digits and then added the last four until I got it down. “Text that number tonight.”

  I left the dentist and entered the mysterious number in my phone as soon as I left the building. It seemed like there was something with PISP after all. Hopefully the text would shed some more light on the situation.

  I opened my phone, ready to request an Uber when footsteps approached me. I looked to my left and saw a hooded man gesture to me. I hesitated, as any girl would with such a sketchy situation, but I eventually took two steps closer. “What?” I lo
udly whispered when I was still a couple of feet away. I didn’t want to get too close.

  “If you’re interested in more about PISP then meet me here at eight tonight. Bring any ‘sick’ or affected friends you may have that are interested in learning the truth.” The man dropped a card and briskly stepped into an alley. I cautiously approached the card and picked it up. It was a business card, blank apart from a name and number on it.

  Ten

  Will

  I whistled unconsciously as I walked out the front door. It was a beautiful Sunday morning. I wasn’t supposed to be this happy. Especially when it resulted from false hope. Yes, she was single, and yes, she might have even enjoyed our improvised sleepover, but no, I would not be sucked into yet another saga ending in a broken heart.

  I heard Daichi before I saw him. It sounded like he’d equipped the truck with a clown horn. That, and he’d forgotten to get the brakes checked. The truck rolled down the street, newly decorated with a large stripe of bright-blue, neon-yellow, and green splitting the truck in half. He brought the truck to a stop, and I stared at him through the windshield. To my surprise, there was an actual clown painted on the passenger side. I should have expected this.

  “Daichi . . .” I groaned.

  “Yes?” His eyes were wide with feigned innocence.

  I made my way into the truck and buckled my seatbelt, struggling to keep the corners of my mouth from curling up. I didn’t respond. He would enjoy a response too much.

  “So, what chores do we have to take care of today?” I asked.

  “Nothing. It’s opening day, actually.”

  I whipped my head to look behind the cab of the truck. I froze, mouth agape. By some miracle, it was fully furnished.