by J. S. Bailey
The door swung open, and light from beyond filled the front end of the bedroom. “What are you doing in here, holding a séance?” Caleb stepped into the room but stayed near the doorway.
“Yeah, I was trying to contact the spirit of my old job. You can turn the light on.”
Caleb did, and when Bobby faced him he could see a knowing glint in his roommate’s eyes. “You got canned.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry about that.”
For some reason, Caleb’s lack of anger made Bobby feel even guiltier than if the guy had started screaming obscenities in his face. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I know you don’t make much at the bookstore, and—”
Caleb lifted a hand. “It’s okay. These things happen.” His relaxed attitude made it seem as though he’d anticipated the news and already come to accept it.
Bobby hadn’t expected it at all. If anything, he’d expected praise for what he’d done. Just showed what he knew.
He jumped to his feet, feeling a sudden need to pace. His blood began simmering again. “How is it okay? I do the best I can to get by. I work my tail end off so we can pay the rent, and then BOOM! I’m out of a job!” He marched out of the room and over to the refrigerator in their small kitchen. He grabbed a Sprite out of the door just to have something to do. He wished it were gin.
Caleb had followed Bobby out of the bedroom and watched him without comment. Some days Bobby wondered if his roommate was some kind of robot. The only time he’d ever seen Caleb display emotion was when they saw a story on the news about a young girl who had been brutally raped, stabbed, and left to die along the side of a nearby hiking trail.
Bobby remembered fear slicing through him as Caleb’s face turned red and the can of root beer from which Caleb had been drinking crumpled like foil in his fist. “I’m glad I’m not in law enforcement,” he’d said in a dark tone that made Bobby think that a very different Caleb Young lived inside the geeky college student. “Because if I caught him, I’d kill him just like he killed her.”
Later on, Bobby had found the smashed can and marveled at how tightly Caleb had crushed it. He’d tried it out himself by trying to crush an empty Sprite can but only succeeded in cutting his palm when the metal split.
“It won’t hurt you to lighten up a little,” Caleb said, returning Bobby to the present. “You know it isn’t the end of the world.”
Bobby took a long swig of Sprite. “Tomorrow’s another day, right?”
“You’ve just read my mind.”
BOBBY AWOKE to the smells of coffee and bacon. He blinked sleep from his eyes and saw that it was almost nine o’clock. He didn’t like the idea of having to get used to normal hours again. Job searches were best conducted during the daytime and that’s what he planned on doing as soon as he finished eating.
Hopefully his new job would be at night, too. Something about being awake while the rest of the country lay asleep in their beds calmed him and gave him time to think.
Except when men with guns came to the restaurant.
He pulled on a shirt and went to the kitchen, where Caleb sat at the center island reading a newspaper spread out before him. A plate of bacon and eggs and a mug of coffee sat at Bobby’s place. He sat down and murmured a quick thanks before taking a long draw of coffee.
“You might want to reheat that,” Caleb said, nodding at the plate. “I didn’t know when you’d be up.”
Bobby plucked a crisp piece of bacon from the neat little stack Caleb had made and popped it in his mouth. “It’s good enough for me. What’s with the paper?”
Caleb lifted an eyebrow. “You lose your job, you see me looking at the wanted ads, and you can’t figure out what I’m doing?”
Bobby chewed up the rest of the bacon in silence, not having an intelligent response to that.
Caleb’s eyes lit up. “Here’s one. Check it out.” He circled a block of text with a pen and slid the paper across the tabletop.
Bobby scooted his plate aside and leaned forward. “St. Paul’s Church is currently accepting applications for a maintenance position,” he read. “Must be at least 18 and have reliable transportation.” It told him to contact someone named Randy at the provided number.
Caleb watched him with great attentiveness. “Are you going to call him?”
“It’s a church,” Bobby said. Though he believed in God in the same way he believed the sun would rise in the morning, he didn’t particularly enjoy visiting God’s house for reasons he preferred not to contemplate at the moment.
“It’s a job.”
“I’m not a janitor.”
Caleb crossed his arms.
“Fine,” Bobby said to appease his roommate. “I’ll call the guy and see if they’re still looking for someone.”
“Now that’s the spirit, hermano,” Caleb said as a crooked grin crossed his face. “That is the spirit.”
ST. PAUL’S Church sat in an unfamiliar part of town along a street lined with massive trees. McDonald’s cups and Subway wrappers collected in the gutters and a broken mailbox lay prone on a cracked sidewalk four blocks before he reached the church.
Bobby wondered if the houses along the stretch came with barred windows and giant dogs named Spike to keep the local riffraff out.
It was almost eight o’clock. Why Randy, the man whose number he’d called, had chosen this time of evening for Bobby to come in for an interview was beyond him, but Bobby didn’t dare complain.
He whipped the car into the church lot with a squeal of tires and pulled into a space as close to the front steps and wheelchair ramp as possible, wishing he had a policeman’s nightstick with him in case any trouble arose. The only other vehicle in the lot was a nondescript blue Ford sitting about twelve spaces to his left and two rows back from the church. Clearly Randy had no fears about thugs attacking him for his wallet. Maybe the guy was seven feet tall and a bodybuilder.
Bobby, not even half the size of a bodybuilder, stepped gingerly out of the car and dashed up the cement steps. Randy had told him he’d leave the door unlocked, and Bobby was grateful that Randy had kept that promise.
A cluster of rosy lights hanging from the ceiling lit the church entryway. A long table pushed against one wall held an array of pamphlets, and a large mural next to the entrance of the inner sanctuary portrayed a lifelike depiction of a robed man on horseback with an arm thrown across his face as a dazzling light shined down from above. The Conversion of Saul, if Bobby guessed correctly. Along with the Resurrection accounts, it was one of his favorite stories from the Bible.
“You like that?”
The voice made Bobby jump, and he turned.
The man he assumed to be Randy stood about six feet away. The guy looked about thirty and wore a black t-shirt emblazoned with a skull and roses and black boot-cut jeans. He had disheveled coffee-colored hair and bags under his eyes that gave him the appearance of not having slept well in years. Though he had well-muscled arms, he stood under six feet in height and didn’t look capable of snapping anyone in half.
Bobby quickly regained his composure. “Yeah. You’re Randy?”
The man nodded. “The one and only.” He stepped forward and held out a callused hand. “And I presume you’re either Bobby Roland or a lost soul seeking spiritual guidance.” He winked, and Bobby felt himself relax.
They shook hands and then Randy checked his watch, which not surprisingly was also black. “And you’re right on time, too. Come on back and let’s get this started.”
Bobby followed him down a side hallway and through a door into a small office cluttered with a mahogany desk sitting perpendicular to the door, three chairs, a computer, and a bookshelf so full that tomes were stacked multiple rows deep on each shelf.
Randy took a seat behind the desk. Bobby sat in one of the chairs across from him.
The chair groaned when Randy leaned back to get more comfortable. Bobby remained sitting ramrod straight, hoping his posture would help inspire the confidence he didn’t feel.
The man studied him with hazel eyes. “So, Bobby, tell me why you’re interested in this job.”
Bobby took a deep breath. “Because I don’t have one.” That wasn’t quite the way he’d wanted it to come out, and he cursed himself for not having rehearsed every last detail of this interview. “And I’ve got bills to pay.”
“Makes sense. What’s your employment history?”
“I worked at Gold Star Chili for two years when I was a teenager. That was back in Cincinnati. I grew up there.”
Randy nodded. “I thought I detected some out-of-towner in your voice. Anything else?”
Bobby paused to check his mental resume, figuring that the few gigs he’d played in on the weekends here and there would bear no significance to this maintenance job. “I worked at a Burger King for about a week in New York. Hated the city so much that I got out of there in a heartbeat.”
“Don’t like crowds?”
“It wasn’t that. The guy who lived in the apartment next to mine was murdered in the parking garage. Three gunshot wounds to the chest. I had nightmares about it.”
Randy absently rubbed his right shoulder. “I can see why you left, and I’m very sorry to hear about your neighbor. That must have been terrible.” The man cracked a sympathetic grin. “I bet you thought you’d go to the big city to carve out a new life for yourself and didn’t realize you’d bitten off more than you could chew. Am I right?”
Boy, was this guy good at reading people. “That would be an affirmative.”
“So what else have you got?”
“I lived in Utah for awhile. Nice scenery. I worked at a music store.”
“And now you’re here in the great State of Oregon.”
“And now I’m here,” Bobby agreed.
During the following seconds of silence, something like a flung pebble tapped against the office window, giving Bobby a start. He narrowed his eyes as he studied the closed blinds. Just what had done that?
“How long have you been here?” Randy asked, paying the sound no heed.
“Just over a year.”
“And you haven’t had a job this whole time? I wouldn’t have pegged you for someone who’s been living in a box.”
Tap. The sound came again, further piquing Bobby’s curiosity. “I wouldn’t say I haven’t had a job. My employment was terminated last night.”
Randy’s eyebrows rose. “You were fired?”
“Terminated sounds more sophisticated.”
“No, it sounds more Schwarzenegger.” He shook his head. “What happened?”
Bobby’s pulse quickened. This interview would be over practically before it began. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m not willing to hire someone who has something to hide.”
Tap. What the heck was out there? “Let’s just say I violated company policy. I didn’t hurt anyone and I didn’t break the law, and if we could just forget about all that now, it would be great.” In truth, Bobby didn’t want to discuss what happened at the restaurant because he’d start ranting about the man who fired him and might say something that would make him look less desirable for this new job.
Randy rested his chin in one hand and continued to dissect Bobby with his stare. “Are you sure you didn’t do anything illegal?”
“Not unless it’s against the law to save someone’s life.”
This seemed to catch the man off guard. “What?”
“Forget about it. It’s over.”
“Fine, be that way. But since you obviously have no desire to sate my curiosity, could you at least tell me where you worked?”
Tap. This time it sounded like an object the size of a walnut hit the glass, and Bobby saw Randy flick an irritated gaze in the direction of the window, which if open would have given them a view of the parking lot.
“What is that?” Bobby asked.
Randy returned his gaze to Bobby. “Intimidation.”
“What?”
Tap. “Ignore it.”
“It sounds like someone’s throwing rocks at the window.”
Randy shrugged. “Rocks, sticks, whatever else they can find. I’m used to it.”
“Who’s ‘they’?” Tap. “Thugs?”
Randy surprised him by letting out a chuckle. “Sure. Thugs.” But if Bobby wasn’t mistaken, the man’s face had lost some of its color.
Tap.
Bobby stood up and went to the window to peer through the slats of the blinds, even though a voice in his head screamed at him to sit back down and finish the interview before Randy decided that Bobby shouldn’t have the job after all. All he saw through the pane of glass was his and Randy’s cars bathed in the yellow glow of the streetlights.
As he let the slats snap back into place, three louder taps sounded on the pane in quick succession like very large, very solid raindrops.
He yanked the slats apart again. Where could they be hiding? There was no way anyone could—
“Bobby, please sit down,” Randy said in a quieter tone. “You’re not going to see anything.”
“But—”
“What is the name of the place that terminated your employment?”
Bobby clenched his teeth and returned to the chair. “It’s called Arnie’s Stop-N-Eat. They’re open twenty-four hours a day so they get a lot of truckers and people who work the graveyard shift.”
Tap-tap-tap. “I know the place. Over on Seventh, right?”
“Right.” Tap-tap-tap-tap. “Don’t your thugs ever get tired of that?”
“I said you need to ignore it.”
“Why should I?” Bobby realized he’d been raising his voice, and his cheeks flushed.
Randy heaved a drawn-out sigh. “Do you know what poltergeist activity is?”
Bobby almost snorted. What kind of churchgoer would believe in that kind of thing, even if he was wearing a shirt bedecked with a grinning skull? “Sure. Angry ghosts throw your stuff around and make a mess of the place. You’re saying that’s who the thugs are?”
“Sort of, but not really. But it’s probably best if you think of them like that.”
Suddenly Bobby wasn’t so sure he needed this particular job. “Uh, yeah. Is there a way to make them stop?”
“Praying hard about it tends to keep them at bay for awhile. They’re like a bunch of bratty kids. You don’t have anything to worry about though, since it’s me they’re after. As soon as I’m gone everything will be just peachy around here.”
“What do you mean? I thought you might be the pastor.” Albeit a very modern, unorthodox one.
The man grinned, his eyes shining with mirth. “Me, a pastor? I’d feel sorry for the congregation. I’m the maintenance guy, and will be until I hire a new one.”
“Shouldn’t the priest or pastor be in charge of that?”
Randy shrugged. “Father Preston and I have an understanding. He trusts me to make the right decisions that pertain to my job.” He smiled. “For example, yesterday I decided not to hire an individual who showed up for his interview in flannel pajama bottoms.”
Bobby looked down at himself to make sure he still looked presentable. He’d been smart to wear a button-down shirt and a tie with his khakis. He’d even used the iron on them before heading out.
Randy must have read his mind. “Don’t worry, you’re in good shape as long as you know how to push a vacuum and clean toilets and remember to show up when you’re supposed to. Come on, I’ll show you around and give you the gist of the place. You like it, come back tomorrow and I’ll give you a key and your list of duties. You’ll be on church payroll in no time.”
As they rose from their respective chairs, it occurred to Bobby that the tapping sounds had finally ceased.
IT DIDN’T take long for Randy to give Bobby the grand tour, and soon they headed back to the parking lot, Bobby feeling immensely better than he had upon arrival. It was too bad that he and Randy wouldn’t be working together. Something about the guy’s jovial nature put him more at ease than
he’d felt since that long-ago day when he’d found his neighbor’s dead body lying on the parking garage pavement between a Smart Car and a Geo Metro.
“What made you decide to quit?” Bobby asked as Randy turned the key in the outer lock and jiggled the wooden double doors to test them. A light rain that started falling within the last fifteen minutes sent eddies of water across the parking lot and down a grate embedded midway between their cars.
Randy pocketed the key. “I need some time off to think about what I’m going to do with the years left in me. Strange as it may seem, employment isn’t the true meaning of life.”
“You’re retiring?”
“In a way, yes, but hopefully not forever.”
The statement startled him. “Wow. I thought you were only in your thirties.”
“Actually, I’m only twenty-six. Big surprise, huh?” A shadow seemed to pass over Randy’s eyes, but it vanished in an instant. “I’ll see you tomorrow night at seven.”
Bobby let the matter drop. “I guess I’ll see you then.”
Randy dipped his head. “Farewell, young Roland, until we meet again.”
Bobby remained standing beneath the overhang as he watched Randy retreat to his car. It occurred to him that the man had been somewhat guarded about himself. What had Bobby learned about him during the interview? Not much, except for the facts that Randy was some sort of poltergeist magnet and something had caused him to age prematurely.
Randy’s figure grew smaller as he drew closer to the blue Ford. Bobby wondered what thoughts passed through the man’s head. Was he sad to be leaving his job or would quitting come as a relief?
Bobby had been too focused on his own side of the interview to even ask. Not that it would have been his business.
Bobby loosened his tie and took one step toward his car when his breath caught in his throat and the too-familiar tidal wave of terror crashed over him and left him gasping for air.
The man kept walking, oblivious to any danger.
Those about to meet their end generally were.
“Randy,” Bobby said, but it came out barely above a whisper.
