He listened a moment. The voices had stopped.
Maybe I was still dreaming when I heard them.
Jeff closed his eyes and zeroed in on the downpour a while.
Through the soft hissing rain the voices returned, this time sounding like they’d been whispered from somewhere inside the apartment. He opened his eyes and looked to the door. It was open. He brought his hand down to his face, rubbed his eyes and fought a losing battle to suppress a yawn. Once it passed, he drew quiet, shallow breaths and strained to listen. Nothing…
His head tingled, and the sensation quickly moved through him, as if his entire body had fallen asleep. Jeff blinked a few times and ran a hand over his chest. Like Eden, he was damp with perspiration. He wiped his palm on the sheet and struggled up onto his elbows, propping himself into a semi-sitting position and focusing his vision as best he could.
Something shifted, separated from the darkness…something in the doorway. Or was it the door itself? Was it moving…closing?
Jeff squinted into the darkness. My glasses…
He knew they were on the nightstand where he’d left them, and his mind told him to reach over, pick them up then switch on the nightstand lamp, to call out and warn Eden that there was an intruder in the room, to jump from bed and confront whoever had broken into the apartment. But he couldn’t move. He tried to scream, but could only manage a choking sound.
The door swung partially closed, enough to reveal that someone had been standing behind it all along. An indistinct silhouette crept across the wall…
Foster Hope stood mere feet from the bed, glaring at him excitedly with the same yellow eyes the leopard had possessed in Jeff’s dream. But before he could fully comprehend what he was seeing, the old man’s eyes turned black and cold and his lips quivered into a hideously demonic grin. A tongue, impossibly long and black, darted from his mouth like a snake, slithering about as if for purchase.
I’m dreaming, I—this is a nightmare, just a nightmare—I’m dreaming.
Hope’s liver-spotted hands reached out through the shadows, the fingernails long and curved, shiny white talons of bone piercing darkness.
The razor-sharp tips dripped what could only be blood, and it wasn’t until he moved even closer that Jeff realized Hope, like them, was completely nude. But something had wrapped itself around the lower portion of the old man’s body and was clinging to his pallid legs. Something alive and moist, coiled about his knees and thighs, writhing and pulsing like some slimy creature, perhaps a skinned human appendage or a thick serpent-like entity with a network of spider-web veins traversing a mass the color of raw meat.
Hopelessly paralyzed, Jeff watched with horror as the man glided toward the side of the bed. Eden’s side. Struggling, Jeff tried to scream, but his throat constricted and felt as if someone was strangling him. Though he couldn’t see them, he felt the unmistakable grip of cold ghostly hands wrap around his throat and tighten like a vise. Familiar hands…feminine hands…
Others had joined them. But were they… people?
They moved swiftly beneath the cover of shadow, hurrying about beyond the bedroom doorway and throughout the apartment.
This is a dream, a—a nightmare—
“There are no nightmares,” the old man said, flickering tongue slurring his speech. “There is only the torment of darkness.”
Eyes wide, Jeff’s body bucked and convulsed against strangulation as spittle bubbled in a thick froth from his mouth.
The bed shifted. Small shadowy forms scurried up over the foot of the bed, growling and clawing at the lone sheet until it fell away and Foster Hope reached for Eden’s exposed flesh.
Deep guttural laughter filled the room, and Jeff’s mind splintered as he spiraled down into a boundless darkness the likes of which he’d never before experienced.
Madness, it seemed, had swallowed him whole.
-6-
Though he’d been more or less awake for several minutes, Jeff remained in bed, flat on his back, the sheet tangled around him like a toga. Despite the early hour the humidity was already high and hung over the room like a shroud. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so late. Sluggishly, he studied a series of hairline cracks in the bedroom ceiling a while. Distanced from his nightmares, they no longer held much power over him, but their memory remained vivid in his mind. Remnants of a headache scraped at his temples then faded as he turned his attention to the gliding motion of an oscillating fan on the bureau.
The sound of Eden’s heels clacking against the floor preceded her, and as she swept into the room with an enthusiasm and glee she hadn’t shown in a very long time, Jeff caught a whiff of her cologne. It was quickly dissipated by the fan. Makeup done and hair styled, she was dressed in a skirt and blouse and ready for work. “It’s alive!” she chuckled. “You were out cold and snoring so loud at one point the whole room was shaking.”
“A little too much wine, I guess.”
“You were having bad dreams too, you kept moaning in your sleep.”
“Yeah, had some strange ones last night.” He sat up and swung his legs around to the floor. “What time is it?”
“Little after eight.”
He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and snatched his glasses from the nightstand with the other. “Can’t remember the last time I slept this late.”
“Enjoy it while you can, you’ll be back in the rat race soon.” She leaned close, and they kissed. “Gotta run.”
Jeff slid his glasses on. “See you tonight. Have a good day, baby.”
“Love you.”
“I love you, too.”
She stopped at the door and looked back at him. “Jeff, I…I’m sorry things have been so tense these last few months.”
“Me too. But it’s over now, OK?”
Her smile lit up the room. “OK.”
“Everything’s going to be fine from here on out. I promise.”
After Eden left for work, Jeff had a bowl of cereal, watched CNN for a bit then showered, shaved and threw on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and sneakers. He was about to give Craig a call when the buzzer rang.
He looked out the window at the front steps and saw a young guy in spandex and a helmet holding a large manila envelope in hand, his bicycle chained to a streetlight a few feet away. Jeff raised the screen, poked his head out and called down to him. “Can I help you?”
The man looked up. “Oh. Hey. Courier service. Got a delivery for…” He glanced at the envelope. “Jeff McGrath.”
“That’s me. I’ll buzz you up.”
A few moments later he opened the apartment door to find the lanky, heavily tattooed courier had just made it to the landing. He was drenched in sweat and looked like he hadn’t bathed or laundered his outfit in several days. When he got closer the smell confirmed it. “This heat’s a bitch,” he said with the detached boredom of a teenager. “Just won’t let up.”
“Yeah, hopefully it’ll break soon, huh?”
With a nod, he handed Jeff the envelope.
Something about the kid’s eyes didn’t seem quite right. Was he stoned?
“Problem?” the courier sighed.
“No, I—sorry—do I have to sign or anything?”
A mocking smile spread slowly across the courier’s face as he pulled a bottle of water from his belt and started back down the stairs. “All set.”
“Thanks.” Jeff closed the door. Something creepy about that kid, he thought. But he dismissed it and quickly returned his attention to the envelope. It felt nearly weightless. His name had been written across the front in magic marker but there was no return address or anything that suggested where the envelope originated from.
He tore the top open. A silver disc slid out.
The label designated it a DVD-R and revealed the manufacturer’s name but offered nothing else. Confused and more than a little nervous, Jeff forced himself to the entertainment center on the far wall, turned on the television then slid the disc into the DVD playe
r. Remote in hand, he backed away to the couch and hit PLAY. Static filled the screen. Jeff was about to hit fast-forward when the screen blinked and the snow was replaced with darkness. An eerie and monotonous rumbling sound groaned through the speakers like the drone of some unknown machinery. A few bars of interference bent and rippled across the black screen, and then slowly, the darkness gave way to reveal grainy black-and-white footage shot by what appeared to be an old VHS camcorder of some sort. The frame blinked and became a hotel room.
Jeff’s hands began to shake. He wanted to hit the STOP button on the remote but his finger refused to cooperate. Throat dry and eyes watering with fear and rage, he watched as he and Jessica entered the room. They’d had breakfast, and after an hour of flirting, she’d insisted he come with her up to the room for a minute, using the excuse that she needed to get something for his interview before they left. He’d agreed, already knowing what was about to happen. And now he watched himself nervously fidgeting just inside the hotel room door as Jessica reached around him, purposely crushing her breasts against his chest as she hung a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the knob.
There was still no audio, only the continuous rumbling sound.
He watched as Jessica pulled the door closed, their faces nearly touching. And then they were kissing, their bodies suddenly entangled.
Jeff’s legs wobbled and he sank down onto the couch, remote still aimed at the television. He looked closer. Apparently the person filming had been on the far side of the room, near the bathroom, but how had he not seen him standing there? He and Jessica fell back onto the bed, him atop her. Free hand to his mouth, Jeff tried to breathe, watching as the camera moved closer. But he could tell from the motion that the operator hadn’t zoomed in, he’d actually stepped closer. So close in fact, that he was only a few feet away, standing right next to the bed where he and Jessica were rolling about, pulling at each other’s clothes.
It’s impossible, I—I would’ve seen the person standing there, I…
Slowly, the camera turned back toward the person using it.
An unsettling gaunt face filled the frame. Jeff recognized him as the tall thin man he’d briefly seen in the hallway of the building where Foster Hope had interviewed him. The man’s bald head, long face, emaciated and skeletal, tilted slowly to the right, dark sunken eyes staring at him as if he could see Jeff sitting there watching at that very moment, pale thin lips drawn into a horrifying grimace equal parts misery and cruelty.
The camera turned again, panned across the bed long enough to clearly show Jeff and Jessica nude and making love, and then continued on to the opposite corner of the room.
Someone else was there, standing in the shadows just beyond the nightstand. A liver-spotted hand reached through the dim light to a telephone there, lifted the handset then punched in a series of numbers.
The screen blinked, went blank for a split-second then came back into focus. This time it was aimed at the outside of Jeff’s apartment building and appeared to have been shot very late at night. The droning sound continued, became slightly louder and then the image turned back to snow.
Jeff sat staring at the TV until the snow switched to a blank screen, indicating the material on the disc had ended.
Shaken, Jeff rose from the couch, switched the television off and ejected the disc. He was still holding and staring at it numbly when the phone rang.
Without speaking, he raised the phone to his ear.
“Hello Jeff.”
A chill ran up his back.
“You can’t possibly be surprised to hear from me,” Hope said. “You just saw me dialing didn’t you? Who did you think I was calling?”
“What are you doing, I—what’s this all about?” Jeff squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to stop the room from spinning. “Who are you people?”
“It’s not as if we haven’t already met, Jeff.” The old man sighed into the phone, but it was forced, phony. “Of course I was very disappointed to hear you’d turned down my generous job offer. I thought perhaps I could persuade you to reconsider. Before you answer, you should know that as we speak, another copy of the disc is on its way to your wife’s workplace. It should be delivered to her any moment now. Should you change your mind and choose to come to work for me I could easily stop the delivery, but there isn’t much time, I’m afraid, so I’ll need your decision as quickly as possible.”
Jeff ran a hand through his hair and began pacing the room like a caged animal. “Why are you doing this?”
“What am I doing?”
“You know goddamn well what you’re doing. You’re blackmailing me!”
“Oh how distasteful, I’m doing no such thing. No one has forced you to do anything, and no one ever will. You’ve simply made choices, Jeff, decisions. You’ve made them on your own. No one forced you to speak to Ms. Bell. No one forced you to accompany her back to her hotel. No one forced you to have breakfast with her. No one forced you to sleep with her. No one forced you to come and interview with me. And no one is forcing you to do anything now. I’m presenting you with options. This decision, like all the others before and after it, is yours and yours alone.”
“I haven’t done anything to you, I—we don’t even know each other—why would you do this to me? It’s been a setup from the start, but why? What do I possibly have you could want? I’m broke, I don’t have any money.”
Hope breathed heavily into the phone, Jeff’s torment clearly exciting him. “We don’t have much time, Jeff. Should I have the delivery canceled? Or would you rather take your chances and allow your wife to see the disc?”
Jeff gripped the phone so tightly it hurt his hand. “No…don’t...”
“Don’t?”
“Keep Eden out of this. Cancel the delivery, I—I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Consider it done, Jeff.” A muffled sound as he covered the phone with his hand, and then: “Now, I believe you and I have an appointment, yes?”
“Yes.”
“You know where to find me,” Hope said evenly. “I’ll be waiting.”
The line clicked, died.
And in that moment, in many ways, so did Jeff McGrath.
-7-
Still badly shaken, Jeff fired up their computer and plugged both Foster Hope and International Facilitator, Inc. into numerous search engines. They returned no information on either. Foster Hope simply resulted in several plays on the words and websites for various charities in which the word ‘hope’ was used in their name or information. International Facilitator, Inc. led to several management consulting firms, international businesses and the like, but nothing by that name and nothing that indicated the company even existed. He next tried Jessica Bell, but because it was such a common name it returned literally hundreds of hits. He checked several, but none were her.
After walking the apartment, replaying everything in his mind and trying to figure out what to do, Jeff finally decided to go see Craig first. He obviously had no choice but to keep his appointment with Foster Hope, or another disc would certainly be delivered to Eden before the day was through, but he and Craig had been friends a long time and Jeff knew he could confide in him. Maybe he’d know what to do. A clear-headed, objective opinion of everything that was taking place was needed, and Craig could provide him with that.
Disc in hand, he hurried down the stairs and out the building. He looked around for the homeless man but he was nowhere to be found. His cryptic warning still lingered in Jeff’s mind, only now it had taken on even greater sinister meaning. You should stay away from her. “The one fucking time I want him to be here,” he mumbled, “he listens to me and stays gone.”
Jeff hopped in his car and pulled out, heading for Braintree, a town neighboring Boston Craig and his family had moved to a few years prior. As he moved through the midmorning traffic and headed out of the city, his mind raced uncontrollably with one frenetic thought after the next.
What the hell’s happening? Who are these people and what do they want wit
h me? Why me? I didn’t—why did I do this? Why did I go to that hotel room with Jessica? What the fuck was I thinking? Eden, I’m so goddamn sorry, I—what am I going to do? What does Hope want? And what’s with that creepy video? How could he and that other guy have been in the room? How could they—and the whole bit about dialing the phone and then mine ringing was obviously meant to frighten me and make it all seem—but no, it’s not even possible, none of this is. I would’ve seen them in the room, they—did they alter the tape maybe? There are all sorts of programs now where you can—I—wait—did they drug me? Could Jessica have drugged me, put something in my breakfast maybe? Did I leave the table at any point? No, I didn’t, I—could she have slipped something in my juice or coffee or—no—this is crazy. It’s all a setup. I’ve been the mark from the start, but why? None of it makes any sense. For Christ’s sake, I’m a salesman, what could they possibly want with me?
Just moments from the city, Jeff soon found himself barreling through the streets of Braintree. He’d tried calling Craig’s cell and home phones to let him know he was coming and needed to talk, but both went directly to voicemail, so he could only hope he was home and had simply missed the calls.
When Jeff turned at the top of Craig’s street he was relieved to see his car parked in front of the house, a modest raised ranch in a quiet working-class neighborhood. As he pulled in alongside Craig’s car, he noticed Katy, Craig’s wife, was in the passenger seat, and their two kids were in the back.
He waved. Katy returned it with an awkward, embarrassed, almost apologetic wave of her own then looked away as Jeff pulled into their driveway and stepped from the car.
Lugging a suitcase, Craig stumbled out the front door of the house. He froze when he saw Jeff. “What are you…what are you doing here?” he asked, voice shaking. He looked back in the direction Jeff had come, as if expecting someone else to pull in behind him.
“I need to talk.” Jeff hurried across the small lawn. “I’m in trouble.”
“I can’t.” He locked the door and checked the street again, his face a tapestry of panic and fear. Of average height, with dark red hair and a matching mustache, Craig normally possessed an extremely laid-back demeanor, but he was clearly terrified, something had frightened him beyond anything Jeff had ever before witnessed. “We’re going away for a few days before I start the new job.”
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