by Mac Flynn
The packing was finished before another, more important duty interrupted the task: work. I climbed into my beat-up old piece of junk of a car and drove to those towers of human achievement. The commercial district was a hub of activity as everyone scurried to their places of work. Buses and taxis sped past my car as other vehicles like my own surrounded me. I was boxed in, trapped like a rat in a maze of mankind's own creation. My only salvation was also of mankind's doing: the office job.
I parked in the underground parking of the Fama Front Report office building, the paper for which I worked. My job took me beneath the ground to the basement floor. A pair of steel doors behind the underground parking elevator led me, and the mail carrier, into the cavernous basement.
The walls were unadorned concrete and the few rooms were sealed by plain, heavy wooden doors with knobs so old the paint had long ago worn off to reveal the metallic material. A few of the rooms were offices, but there was a large room situated close to the interior elevators of the building. The room was filled with short, rickety tables that rocked when you put five pounds on them. The mail carrier dumped twice that weight on each of the dozen tables. I followed behind the man as he hefted in bag after bag.
One of the office doors was connected to the large room. A thin man of middle age stepped out and frowned. This was my boss, Elliott Booker.
"You're almost late," he scolded me.
"'Almost' being the important word," I returned as I shed my coat near the door.
His eyebrows crashed down. "Don't think because you're fast at sorting I wouldn't fire you in an moment. There's plenty of unemployed journalism students who would kill to have your position."
I turned to him and smiled. "But do you really want to work with them?"
"No, and that's why I'm giving you a warning rather than tossing you out on the street for your lip," he retorted. He jerked his head over his shoulder in the direction of the tables. "Now get to work before the piles collapse those tables."
I stepped up to a table and looked through the piles of mail. This was the slush fund for the newspaper industry. Every day we received hundreds of tips, letters to the editor, and resumes. All that mess had to be sorted and delivered to the appropriate office. That meant browsing the address on the back of the envelope or the contents for clues to which department was indebted to them for more work.
The job wasn't for everyone. In this day and age there was always the chance a disgruntled reader or ex-employee would have a surprise in store for the first person to open the envelope. Then there was the sheer volume of mail. Day after day and week after week the letters came from the bags of the mail carrier and were deposited into the baskets of the the department heads.
I cut open the envelopes with my fingers and browsed the contents. A letter to the editor. That was tossed into the Editorial basket at my feet. Elliott came up behind me and watched me work.
"You're going to cut yourself opening those things up by hand," he scolded me.
"I' haven't slipped in five years, I won't slip today," I replied.
Elliott half-turned and glanced at the tables. He ran a hand through his short, graying hair. "I'm getting too old for all this bullshit."
"You could always go back to a beat," I suggested.
He snorted. "I don't know which bullshit is worse. The crap we get from our customers or the crap we give to them." He looked down and tapped his foot against a box. "Better take the Editorials up. It's already full. I'll take it from here."
There were no special elevators to send directly up to each office. Every box had to be carried to their departments and dropped off at the desk of an unfortunate secretary. I hefted the box and stepped into the hall. Down the hall to my right was the general use elevator that led to the other floors. I stepped inside and was whisked to every floor that gave its sacrifice of travelers. Traveling the gamut of the floors brought with it some perks.
"Did you hear the News section was in trouble for that story they ran yesterday?" a woman whispered to her companion.
The guy shook his head. "No, which story was it?"
"The front page story, the one about the lab blast. I guess somebody mentioned the head scientist's name when the official statement came from some general office," she explained.
He shrugged. "So what's the big deal?"
"That's what News wants to know," she told him. "One of the reporters used their connections to get the scientist's name linked to the statement, and now the editor wants to know who was the source."
"Seriously? That's bullshit," the man growled.
"And I guess there's been more sightings of the shadow that was supposed to be around there, but the higher-ups won't let anyone look into it," she added. "Rumor has it even the big boy's gotten involved."
The man raised an eyebrow. "Fox?"
She nodded. "The same. I knew it was going to be a bad day when that asshole and his Indigo Industries bought the paper. No wonder this place is going down hill. We don't get the juicy stories while everyone else gets the scoops." She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "But at least we don't run the tabloid shit."
"Have you looked at the Life section? They ran a piece on losing weight through breathing in more air," he retorted.
"Slow life day, I guess," she replied.
The pair got off and I went on my un-merry way to deliver the mail. The day passed and night arrived at the end of my shift. Another day of my life was gone, and the only thing I had to show for it was a sore back. I climbed back into my old car and headed home.
Crowded streets welcomed me to my block. The nearest open parking spot was a block away. I parked the car and looked out the windows. The few streetlights that worked were a dull, hideous green that barely lit their own posts. The mouths of the alleys were yawning voids of darkness that hid nightmares.
I sank back into my seat and sigh escaped my lips. My eyes fell on the glove compartment. I popped open the lid. My pistol and holster sat atop the registration and insurance papers. I never left home without them, but I did have to leave the things in the car for work.
I slipped on the holster and checked the cartridge before I tucked the pistol into its leather sheath. I stepped out and looked around. Hopefully the boys weren't expecting me to keep my promise at this hour.
I strode down the street. The chilly fall air cut through me like a knife. I grasped the collar of my coat and wrapped it closer around me. My footsteps clacked atop the lonely sidewalk. I could see the light over my stoop. Just a little further and I'd be home.
I froze. Something inside of me forced me to look to my right. I stood at the opening to an alley. My eyes couldn't penetrate the deep shadows beyond the sidewalk, but everything was still and quiet. Such serenity couldn't shake from me the feeling that something watched me.
I took a step back. A chill wind blew over me, reminding me the night was full of worse nightmares than my imagination. I hurried forward and reached the stoop without further incident. I slipped inside and walked up the stairs. The new apartment was on the fifth floor. My old apartment was on the fourth.
I reached the fourth floor hallway and a stooped figure rushed around the corner. We collided. I grabbed the railing and steadied myself before I tumbled down the stairs. My opponent stumbled back. It was a man of twenty-five. His short brown hair was slicked back in a way that aged him another ten years. He wore black pants and a blood-red overcoat that was buttoned so it hid his shirt. His tall collar gave the false impression that his head sunk into his coat. The man's pale skin and hunched stance reminded me of tormented zoo animals.
He raised his head, but his eyes hardly left the floor. His voice was soft and hesitant. "I-I'm sorry. Are you all right? Did you need help?" He reached out for me.
I slapped his hands away. "I'm fine."
He cringed and hung his head. "I'm sorry."
He hurried past me and down the stairs. I took a step forward, but paused. I leaned over the railing and looked down the
rectangular gap that was created by the turns of the stairs. The man's slick head circled the gap until he emerged at the lobby. He disappeared in the direction of the front door, and in a moment I heard the entrance open and shut.
I shook myself and stepped away from the railing. He was an unfamiliar face among the occupants of the fourth floor. That must've been what caught my attention.
I proceeded down the hall and stood before my apartment door. My hand reached into my purse a moment before my eyes fell on the number on the door. This was my old apartment. I swore under my breath. Habit and the run-in with the stranger had forced me to take this familiar route.
I returned to the stairs. The last flight of steps awaited me, but I paused. I placed my hands on the railing and leaned over. The stairs and lobby below were empty. There wasn't a sound.
I shook my head. "Probably some guy visiting his girlfriend. . ."
I hurried up the stairs away from the old memories and to the new ones I would make at the fifth floor apartment.
CHAPTER 4
I reached the correct door and stepped inside. The apartment was blanketed in shadow, but I noticed a candelabra with three candles sat on the dining table to my left. The slab of wood was covered with a clean white tablecloth and the chairs were shined spotless. Two places were set at either end, and a delicious roast chicken lay on a plate between them. Red stood beside the table with a wide smile on his face. He stepped away from the table and gestured with both hands at the setup.
"Surprise!" he called out.
I shed my coat and raised an eyebrow. "You have a date tonight?" I asked him.
He chuckled. "Yep. I thought my new roommate might want her first dinner in our apartment to be memorable, so I fixed up something special."
I tossed my coat over my old chair and strode over to the table. The scent of the cooked bird sank into my nostrils.
"It looks nice," I complimented him.
He scooted around me and pulled out the chair closest to the door. "If you would, mademoiselle."
I took a seat. He flitted around me and dragged the plate of chicken close to me. A large carving knife and two-pronged fork lay beside the fowl. He picked them up and used the knife to point at the parts of the bird.
"Dark or light meat?" he asked me.
"Dark," blurted out of my mouth.
He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were a lighter kind of gal, but your wish is my command."
He stabbed the thick thigh and carved into the meat. Dark-red blood poured from the thin wound. The life essence spilled onto the plate and puddled at the bottom. I leaned forward. My reflection in red stared back at me.
"Damn it!" Red cursed under his breath. He turned to me and gave me a goofy grin. "Looks like it still needs a little more time in the oven, but while we're waiting we can-"
"I'm going to go for a walk." I scooted my chair out and stood.
Red's face fell. "But-"
"I'll be back in fifteen minutes. It should be done by then," I promised him as I strode over and snatched my coat. "You can call me if it's done sooner."
Red stretched out his hand towards me. "Come on, Leila. I thought maybe we could enjoy each other's-um, company the whole night," he persisted.
I opened the front door and paused to look over my shoulder at him. "I just need some fresh air, that's all. I'll be back."
I stepped into the hall and shut the door behind me. The hallway and stairs were eerily quiet as I made my way outside. The street was deserted. A few streetlights flickered in greeting to me.
I felt the weight of my gun on the back of my hip as I walked down the concrete steps of the stoop. Going for a walk at this hour wasn't my brightest idea, but I needed air. That stuffy apartment suffocated me. The cool, smoggy air of the city offered more release.
I paused half a block down and looked up at the sky. A few clouds lazily floated above the rooftops. The waxing half-moon glistened among the stars it overshadowed. I sighed and hung my head. I felt like one of those stars, and the whole world was the moon. The bright lights and loud noises of this life drowned out the frustration I felt at my job, my car, my apartment, even my roommate.
"Get over yourself, Leila. . ." I murmured.
I stuck my hands in the pocket of my coat and strode onward. The clack of my feet against the sidewalk was the only noise I heard. I felt like I was the last person on earth.
Then the ugliest of humanity intruded on me. I was five yards from the mouth of an alley when my ears caught the sound of voices.
"Is that all you got?" a rough voice twanged.
"He's gotta have more. Maybe it's in that coat of his," another rejoined.
"I-I don't have anything else, honest," a third, softer voice insisted.
I stepped into the mouth and looked down the alley. The weak light from the streetlights meant my eyes weren't completely useless in the darkness. Two of the thugs from yesterday surrounded a stooped figure who's back was against the brick wall of one of the buildings. The dark red coat looked black in the darkness, but recognized his pale skin and subjugated demeanor. It was the man from my apartment building.
The thugs stood on either side of him and a foot off. The blade of a knife glistened in the weak light behind me. My shadow cast itself over them, and they looked up from their easy prey. The one farthest from me frowned and squinted his eyes before a grin slipped onto his slimy lips.
"Well, well, if it ain't the chick from before. Come to keep your promise to have some fun with us?"
I reached behind me and wrapped my hand around the handle of my gun. "I think you two boys need to run along home. It's past your bedtime."
The man's grin only widened. His companion and he glanced at each other. They tilted their heads back and laughed. The young man between them cringed.
The thug returned his attention to me. "Don't you know it's the one night of the year we get to stay up? And it looks like Santy Claus has brought us a present for being such good little boys."
The coated stranger pressed his palms against the wall and raised himself to his full, short height. "Please leave her alone! She doesn't have-ugh!" The lead thug had slammed his fist into the man's gut. The stranger crumpled to his knees and wrapped his arms around his stomach. The thug sneered down at him.
"Stay out of this, faggot," he growled. He pulled his foot back and gave the man a vicious kick in the side. The stranger cried out and rolled onto his undamaged side. He curled into a fetal position, and I heard his gasps as he tried to breathe through his bruised ribs.
I whipped out my gun and pointed it at the men. "Now, now, boys. That's no way to play."
The thugs froze. The man closest to me turned to the other one.
"What now?" he asked him.
The lead thug loosened and grinned. "She ain't got the guts to-" The bullet flew within an inch of his head and embedded itself into the wall to my right and behind him.
A little bit of smoke floated from the hot barrel of my gun. I shifted the barrel a little more to the left. "I won't miss the second time," I promised.
The closest thug stumbled back until he stood behind his companion. "C-come on, boss, this guy ain't worth it." He turned around and bolted into the deep darkness of the alley.
His boss took a step backwards and glared at me. "You'll regret that, bitch." He turned and fled into the shadows.
I lowered my gun and strode over to the stranger. He breathed heavily and his body was tense. I knelt beside him and looked at his face. I had to give him credit. The guy could take a beating. Both eyes were black and he had a cut lip that bled down the side of his chin.
I put my hand on his shoulder. "You okay?" I asked him.
He raised his head. His slitted eyes fell on me and a blush came to his cheeks. "I-I'm fine."
"Then prove it by standing. I don't know how long those guys will take before they bring reinforcements," I warned him.
The stranger crawled up to a prostrate position and set his palm on th
e brick wall. He climbed to his feet, but one step forward and he cried out. The man collapsed to his knees and clutched his stomach.
"It feels like my insides are burning," he hissed.
I holstered my gun and grasped his shoulders."We should get you to a hospital so a doctor-"
"No!" I started back. He turned his face away from me. "No doctors. I don't like doctors."
I frowned. "Then what do you suggest we do?"
"I-I live close by. I just need to get there and-" He tried to stand, and again his legs failed him.
"How close?" I asked him.
"The Meyer Apartments," he revealed.
My eyes widened. That was my apartment building. "Which room?"
"Room twenty-two."
I started back. My old room. He looked up at me and tilted his head to one side. "Is something wrong?"
I shook myself. "N-no, I was just thinking how to get you there."
"I can walk. It isn't far," he insisted.
"Hold still for a sec." I hefted one of his arms across my shoulders and sighed. He was heavy, but my shoulders could bear the burden for a short distance. "Come on. Let's get you home."
CHAPTER 5
I helped him out of the alley and down the sidewalk. We were half a block away from the stoop. His weight made it feel like a thousand miles.
"It was yours, wasn't it?" he asked me.
I stopped and frowned at him. "What was mine?"
"My room. It was yours, right?" he rephrased. "I saw you at the apartment, and-" His voice trailed off.
"And what?" I wondered. He turned away. The light from a nearby streetlight reflected off a chain around his neck.
My necklace. Or rather, the one I left behind. So much for the lasting memento of my time there. My attempt at immortality failed within twenty-four hours.
"Is something wrong?" he asked me. He followed my gaze to the necklace. "This?" He pinched the chain between his fingers. "I just found it in the room."
I shook myself and continued us on our way. "It used to be mine."
