Interference

by S. L. LUCK

  She left him then, struggling up the few stairs to her bedroom. Here, too, things were missing. The four-poster bed frame that Delmer had made was still there, as were the matching dresser and night tables, but the mirrors were gone. So were the pictures of their old cat, Lucy. Rage did not boil up inside her like it used to when Troy showed his true colors, but she did feel a tightening around her heart. This, Pandora liked very much.

  As her host opened drawers and closets and stuffed outdated clothes into a large suitcase, silently crying so as not to agitate her son, Pandora released herself to visit the handsome devil on the first floor. Absorbed by his phone, Troy was typing a message while Pandora watched. Generally, she found humans boring. They were predictable and fragile. Only a few were engaging enough to stay with, and only Harold had actually excited her. His appetite for death had almost superseded her own, and though Pandora did not expect to find another like him, there was something about Troy she found intriguing.

  After Harold’s death, when she was most impulsive, she might have taken this man instead of Sylvia—but in her core, Pandora suspected Troy would not be taken or, more importantly, led easily. Unwilling lovers did not make for companionable relationships. Weak partners like Sylvia, however, could be controlled into lengthy relations, and that was good enough for now. Still, she preferred Troy close. She didn’t know why but a peek inside might reveal her answer, so she closed in on him now. Troy had finished his message and was slipping his phone into his jacket. His shoulders crested as he rested his hands on the kitchen island, and Pandora saw an enticing spot just above his collar, at the back of his neck, through which to make her entry. She stretched at him eagerly.

  And was blocked.

  Troy’s fingers went to his neck as though he was slapping a mosquito. He whirled around, seeking the thing that had touched him. Pandora pressed again, but encountered … resistance? This could not be. She whacked him. Troy frowned and cracked his neck. His eyes veered to the corner, the other corner, the patio door, the old cupboards behind him. Then he cleared his throat and, for the first time in all her millennia, Pandora sneezed. It was the most appropriate word for the momentary sensation of her atoms releasing their attraction. For an infinitesimal slice of time, Pandora was not Pandora. She had lost control.

  “Hello?” Troy said aloud, but Pandora did not answer him. Instead she circled him, wondering if he was the source of her exhaustion in the hospital, if he was the interference she’d felt in Garrett. “Mother?” Troy called up the stairs, but Sylvia was already on the main floor bathroom gathering her cosmetics bag.

  “Almost done,” Sylvia said a little tearfully, peeking her head out of the bathroom door.

  “Were you in the kitchen?’

  “Am I not allowed in my own kitchen now?”

  Troy studied the house. Other than the crows fighting over the neighbor’s trash and his mother limping through the living room, there was no sound, yet Troy listened. Only when Sylvia finally banged her way outside with her suitcase did he finally take his eyes from the kitchen.

  The drive to Southbridge was quiet. Sylvia chanced to turn the radio on, and Troy grimaced at the oldies stations she preferred until she changed the channel to a local news report that caught their attention.

  “You heard right, folks. The Callingwood River has drained. Officials are working to find the cause of the issue. Our very own Mac Thomas is reporting from the Sixth Street Bridge with more information. What can you tell us, Mac?”

  “Thanks Mia. As you can expect, the scene along the Callingwood River is chaotic. Emergency services have been deployed across the city to rescue citizens who have tried to cross the river on foot but have gotten stuck in the riverbed—including almost the entirety of Garrett High’s junior wrestling team. Mayor Ada Falconer has warned that emergency services are stretched thin and has asked residents to stay away from the river as the disruption could be the result of an upstream blockage that might release at any moment. The mayor is meeting with City Manager Boyce Swinkley and Police Chief Dan Fogel to get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, those residents with boats still on the river are asked not to try to retrieve them. I repeat, Mayor Falconer has asked citizens not to retrieve their boats, as doing so could put you or your loved ones in danger at a time when emergency services may not be able to respond quickly. Back to you, Mia.”

  Troy turned to another radio station, another, another. By now there was no music, only bad news. A boil water advisory was in effect until further notice, and residents near the water treatment plant were notified of a potential foul smell if the city’s sewage couldn’t be properly released. Then there were the reports of pets being lost in the mud and of children stuck up to their necks trying to rescue them. Local ecologists lamented the inestimable loss of the river’s wildlife. The host of Truth Radio, Garrett’s conspiracy talk show, suggested the river and the bus crash were the result of federal experimentation with satellite magnets while one of his guests rejected this theory and instead posited a rise of alien activity.

  A block away from the assisted-living residence, Sylvia turned to her son. “Take me home, Troy.”

  He continued driving. “It’s the best place for you, Mother.”

  “Listen, Troy. Did you hear what they’re saying? Something’s happening in the city. I should be home. I should be in my own home where it’s safe.” The functioning side of her mouth quivered.

  The cord of muscles along Troy’s jawline flexed as he turned into Southbridge’s parking lot. Outside, a worker was shoveling the front walk while another was spreading salt across the sidewalk with a big silver scoop. A truck that had a blade attachment was on the homestretch of clearing the parking area, passing Troy and Sylvia with a wave as they parked. Troy shut the car off.

  “You can’t take care of yourself right now, Mother, and I’m unable to babysit you. I’m in the middle of the firm’s biggest acquisition and I don’t have time to carry you up the stairs or make sure you get enough fiber.”

  The sting registered on Sylvia’s face through the angry red flush of her cheeks. She fumbled for the handle until Troy unlocked the door. Stumbling out of the car, Sylvia caught her hip on a metal pin, but she held back her cry. Her good ankle turned awkwardly as she spun toward the trunk. That, too, she held back.

  Sylvia pounded on the trunk. Her weak hand slapped at it until Troy pressed a button and the door lifted, and Sylvia had to step back so it didn’t hit her. She took hold of her suitcase, but it was heavy and the effort hurt her arm. Again she pulled until Troy quietly got out of the car, brushed her aside, and took out the suitcase. She did not say thank you after he brought it to the sidewalk. She couldn’t, because he drove away.

  While Sylvia’s body drooped with emotion, Pandora wondered at her son, at Garrett, at the interference she felt in the hospital. Instinct told her to leave the city and find another host somewhere else, but something in Pandora also told her that she could not leave the city for the same reason that she was disturbed by it: there was a power here, perhaps equal to Pandora’s own. If she didn’t destroy it, it might destroy her. That’s what evil things did.

  Presently, Pandora observed Sylvia’s struggle with the suitcase. The woman tried pulling it, tried pushing it, tried kicking it with her half body, her depleted strength. Sylvia slipped on a portion of the icy sidewalk that was not yet salted and fell to her knees. If Pandora were human, she might enjoy a hot bag of popcorn right now, but her fun was cut short when the man shovelling the sidewalk and the other salting it ran to her. A woman rushed out of the building and took Sylvia’s suitcase, following the men as they worked together to bring a now sobbing Sylvia inside. Her hair fell against her sunken cheeks as she gave the receptionist her name and explained that she was there for a very temporary stay.

  The receptionist understood Sylvia’s stroke-mumbled words and nodded warmly. “Yes, you’re here for our rehab program.”

  “Temporarily,” Sylvia mumbled again, now lean
ing on the handle of her suitcase.

  “Sure,” the woman said. “Do you have your paperwork?

  Sylvia sniffed. “Paperwork?”

  “Do you have someone with you who might have the paperwork?”

  “I’m alone,” Sylvia told her.

  There was a clicking of keys on the receptionist’s keyboard. She was chewing a large wad of gum that smelled like overripe fruit. “No worries. Okay, then. We’ll get Georgia to show you to your room so you can get settled and help you fill them out, then she’ll give you a tour if you’re up for it.”

  A nurse barely taller than the reception desk appeared. Her smooth caramel skin shone with the health of youth and her big bright eyes radiated a gentleness that made Sylvia start to cry again.

  “Oh, now, Mrs.—” Georgia peeked at the papers the receptionist slid over. “Baker. None of that, now. We’ve got nothing but goodness waiting on you, you hear? Healing, communion, and care, doesn’t that sound good, Mrs. Baker?” Georgia slipped her hands around Sylvia and gave her a hug. Sylvia nodded into her, sniffling. “Let’s get you to your room, Mrs. Baker. Can you walk, or would you like me to get you a wheelchair?”

  “I can walk,” Sylvia croaked as Georgia released her. Pandora hated hugs. More than anything in the world, she hated hugs. But she allowed Sylvia to be embraced because she needed her host to regain her strength. In the state she was in, Sylvia couldn’t kill, and that would not do. If hugging the woman helped her recuperate, Pandora would let them squish Sylvia to death because, well, that would be fun too.

  “To our left is the cafeteria and the common room, but we’re going to go the other way, where the rooms are. Quite a few of our residents are out at the fairgrounds getting ready for the Fall Festival, but I’ll be sure to introduce you when they’re back. Do you have any hobbies, Mrs. Baker?”

  One of Georgia’s small arms was tucked lightly around Sylvia’s waist while the other pulled Sylvia’s suitcase behind them. They were walking a snail’s pace, Sylvia knew, but her parking-lot expulsion had exhausted her, and since the corridor was empty she could safely spy into her neighbors’ rooms without drawing attention to herself.

  Her head swung left and right as they passed each door, many closed but some open. The rooms were brighter than she expected and she was surprised to see not hospital beds and clinical furniture but sofas and recliners, carved armoires, and plush carpets. The smell of cinnamon wafted from one room while Neil Young’s “Rockin’ in The Free World” was borne from another. A man reading a paper at a table in his room waved at them as they passed.

  “That’s Albert,” Georgia explained. “He’s always reading the paper and reminding us how uninformed we all are, but he doesn’t know that by the time he gets the paper, it’s already old news. Refuses to use the iPad his son got him for Christmas because he doesn’t trust it. Thinks it’s some sort of spy device.” She chuckled conspiratorially. “You have an iPad, Mrs. Baker?”

  Sylvia nodded. “I use it to play games the kids at school showed me. I don’t think anyone’s spying on me.” Inside, Pandora snickered.

  “Well,” Georgia went on, leading Sylvia to a room near the end of the hall. “Don’t tell Albert you said that, or he’ll try to convince you of it. With graphs.” She winked, then turned toward a door beside which was a wall-mounted placard bearing Sylvia’s name. “Here we are. Your home away from home.”

  “Temporary home,” Sylvia added tiredly.

  The nurse squeezed Sylvia’s shoulder. “I know it’s overwhelming, Sylvia. Do you mind if I call you by your first name?” Silently Sylvia nodded, and Georgia faced her and held her watering eyes with her own. “It’s okay to be upset. It’s a big change for anyone, but I want you to know that we’ll do everything we can to make your stay enjoyable. Our rehabilitation program is one of the best in Ontario, and whether it takes you three months or a year, we’re here for you. Who knows? You might even find you want to stay with us. I promise we’re not bad when you get to know us.”

  Georgia opened the door to Sylvia’s room, welcoming her inside with the motion of her arm.

  “I—” but Sylvia couldn’t finish.

  “Is it okay, Sylvia?”

  Sylvia’s fingers covered her open mouth as she scanned her room. The hallway carpet that was missing from her house lay neatly at the foot of a simple oak bed, upon which her favorite duvet was folded. She was so angry with Troy that she hadn’t noticed her pillows were missing, but here they were, four of them all fluffed up and ready for her head. The pictures of her and Delmer’s favorite cat, Lucy, hung near her reading chair, and the porcelain figurines she thought Troy had packed away were here too, arranged on a side table Delmer made for her when Troy was just three years old. She looked around and saw her mirrors and wedding pictures and knitting bag. Without warning, Sylvia began to cry.

  Georgia’s small hands rubbed Sylvia’s back. “Did we miss anything? Your son brought these here last night. Is there anything else you wanted, Sylvia?”

  “This is just temporary,” Sylvia repeated.

  Georgia set Sylvia’s suitcase on the bed and opened the blinds to the sight of a snow-covered field and a scattering of large oak trees that were shedding the last of their leaves. “Well, while you’re here, you’ve got one of our nicer views and great neighbors. You’ll get to meet Eddie and Hattie when they come back from the fairgrounds later today.”

  With instructions on how to call the reception desk if Sylvia needed anything, Georgia departed and Sylvia took to the bed to rest her tired body, her tired mind. She was watching the end of the afternoon snowfall when she drifted into a dreamless sleep while Pandora began planning. In Southbridge, death would surely be easy picking, and Pandora figured her biggest challenge would be who to kill first: Hattie or Eddie.

  13

  As he collapsed into his usual seat at Boomer’s restaurant, Dan Fogel felt the weight of the terrible week bear down on him. Exhaustion settled deep in his muscles, and even the smell of coffee being poured into his mug by his favorite waitress did little to stir his senses. To Nina’s confusion, he ordered whatever she wanted to serve, as the energy to choose escaped him. It was in that bus, with those damn cats, in the ICU, and on the riverbed, where it most needed to be. He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes, smelling deep over his cup, only realizing his waitress was still there when she politely cleared her throat.

  “You okay there, Dan?” Nina’s eyes narrowed.

  “Don’t have a choice,” Dan said, and sipped his coffee.

  Nina stuffed her notepad into the pocket of her apron and sat on the edge of the bench across from him. “Brandy?” she asked of his soon-to-be ex-wife.

  Their impending divorce wasn’t a secret, as most news wasn’t in small towns, but what made their separation especially notable was that his wife had been caught on camera in the middle of a blow job to Shane Carson of Carson Brothers Roofing. Unfortunately for all of them, this particular brother could shingle a house but could not figure out his laptop when he decided to record their private interaction and accidentally streamed it on his company’s website. In truth, seeing his wife drooling over Shane’s cock was a personal low for Dan, but for the first time in many weeks he hadn’t given it a thought. Now reminded of it, he almost wished those cats had gone feral months ago and ripped Shane’s balls open. To Nina he said, “My week was so bad I almost forgot about that.”

  “Is it that girl, then?”

  Dan’s head went up. “Come again?’

  Nina poured more coffee into his cup, opened and added two creamers, and stirred it for Dan while she chewed her gum. “Earl and Ginger’s granddaughter. The lone survivor? Rumor has it that there’s some pretty weird shit going on with her. You’ve got a security detail covering her, right?”

  Dan’s throat went dry. Although he knew the news would travel, he had hoped that given the enormity of the crash, perhaps the city would temper its whispers, if only for compassion’s sake. Obviously, death just
fueled the speed at which the talk spread. He said, “We’re keeping the media away from her, that’s all.”

  “If you say so,” Nina said, seemingly affronted that Dan didn’t divulge more. She stood and tapped the table. “I’ll have your order out in a jiff.”

  As promised, a beef dip and steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup was brought to his table a few minutes later. Nina departed while Dan sprinkled everything with pepper. His first bite didn’t so much rejuvenate him as calm his ulcers, and he let it settle his stomach as he ate. By the time he was done with his sandwich, he was too full for the soup, so he asked Nina for a container.

  From his booth, he saw the flash of headlights pull into the parking lot, then the bell over the door rang out to signify Boyce Swinkley’s entrance. The shine from Swinkley’s head reflected the restaurant’s phosphorescent lights, and he wiped a few melting snowflakes from his skull with his forearm while he stomped his shoes on the floormat, scanning the restaurant.

  Boyce found Dan’s raised arm and made his way to the table. “Damn near got rear-ended on my way here. Roads are hell,” he said, hanging his jacket on the rack at the end of the bench.

  “So is the river,” Dan retorted.

  Boyce removed his fogged glasses and cleaned them with the hem of his shirt, putting them back on with a snort. “I tell you, Dan, something’s happening here. I can feel it. A river doesn’t just run dry overnight.”

  “Anything on your end yet?”

  Boyce ordered coffee and a BLT from Nina, then shook his head. “Not a goddamn thing. Ministry’s all over it, ‘course. They’ve got people from New Brunswick to Saskatchewan trying to figure it out. Current theory is fracking gone wrong, but we’ve got none of that anywhere near that river, Dan. I’m still thinking it’s those Baront guys. You know the slough that used to be near Jack Fisher’s farm?”