Rise and Shine - version 02

 

Orange skies glisten and shine as a warm breeze drives the massive, prehistoric birds higher into the sky. Something wails in the dark forests to the north and black horses storm past me and shake the ground at my feet. My cool, brown skin glistens with sweet sweat as I toss my head back and feel….


“Rise and shine, Darla. Today is another wondrous cluster fuck.” The pre-programmed greeting used to make me wake up with a smile. I thought I was so cute. Now it just makes me mad.

The sheets pull off my bed and roll away and the R.E.M.brandt 2020 spins down and powers off taking my delicious dream with it. Sadness. I growl and smack my hand against the mattress. “I want to snooze!” I wail, but the computers know me too well and the LCD window goes from opaque to clear. Sunlight pours into the room and my eyes flutter. “Asshole computer.” I scratch my belly and yawn. I don’t want to be up and it makes me angry.

“Bacon, toast and coffee, Darla?” The voice is sweet and makes me even angrier.

“I’ll eat at work. Just coffee.” I swing my legs over the side of the bed and push myself up to standing. I pull my panties out of my backside and make my way to the bathroom as the bed slides away into the wall.

“More sugar this time, please.” I yank my panties and t-shirt off and fling them back over my shoulder. TIDY scuttles out from it’s corner and gathers them up. It waddles off to the hamper hatch like some sort of club footed spider penguin. I stomp into the bathroom, pee, then I stand before the mirror. The sink slides out and bumps me in the legs with cold porcelain. I yelp and take a step back as I narrow my eyes and glower at my reflection. I squeeze my hips and hiss.

“You’re in need of more calcium and niacin, Darla. Shall I prepare a pill?”
I need to turn off the pee analyzer. I yank the sonic off the wall and run it over my teeth with an affirmative growl. I look myself over and sigh out loud. I pull the sonic out of my mouth and run my tongue over my ultra clean teeth. “Slip out the treadmill, Comps. I feel fat.” I frown and slide my hand over my right boob and down to my stomach. I squeeze it and then smack it hard. Jesus.

“I believe you are in need of toning, not weight loss. According to my calculations, you are within recommended weight allowances for your height, Darla. I suggest a regiment of toning exercises if you would like to achieve a better self awareness.” A small capsule drops into the tray before me and I swallow it down without water. Yum – calcium and niacin.

I roll my eyes and return to the bedroom to dress. “Fine. Do it, please. I’ll do whatever it is tonight after I get home.”

“As you wish, Darla.”
The closet opens and I scan the clothing coldly. I tap the hanger to the right and the skirt to my left, then kick the wedge my tan heels rest on. I stomp out of the closet and wait for the clothes to slide out.


I stare out the window as I sip at my coffee and grow later and later for work. The sun is large and orange in the sky. The bridge looks lovely, but I can only see part of it now that they’ve completed the fourth beach front office park building. TIDY works on my left heel, buffing out the scuff I incurred while exiting the bedroom. The coffee tastes sweet and delicious. Damn computers got that right for once.

“Check the calendar. Can I work from home today?” I bite my bottom lip and watch the Skybus drift by. It’s bulbous front angles in past the guides and its landing lights flutter. It descends by the park and people draw back as it comes to rest, then scurry on as the doors slide open.

I don’t feel like leaving. I glance at the TV and watch as someone shakes the Presidents hand – I don’t know who. Someone from the Middle Republic maybe? He has a beard. Large, armed A-Class Sentinels scan the crowd for signs of unrest or danger. Their metal bodies catch the lights and glisten – almost pretty.

“Charles Porter requested an in house meeting today to talk about the Coastal Shipments Requisition and Mary Johnson was scheduled for lunch at the Gate. Shall I reschedule?”
I place the coffee cup under the spout and wave my hand before the eye to refill it. “Call up a V.I.P. for me with Charles? See if he’s in the office yet and connect me if he’s clear.”

I move over to the wall screen when I hear the connection signal and the President disappears. A V.I.P. logo fills the screen and lets me know the connection is strong and secure and a connection clock starts as Charles appears. He looks good, as usual. Cleaned and pressed. His hair is cut short and his suit is patterned early deco. Nice touch. His Namecon is animated and alternates between Charles Porter and the Dobrý Dog Elektronika logo. It distracts, but he’s the boss.

“You’re a little late this morning, aren’t you?” He glances away to the right and back to the screen eye. “I see you’re still at home?”

“Can we postpone our meeting today, Charles? I’m really not feeling up to coming in. I can V.I.P. with you right now about the Invoices if you want to.” I drag a hand through my hair because I know he likes it. “Mind?”

He stares at me and then breaks a smile. “No worries. It can wait.” He frowns. “You ok, Darla?” Something moves in the background, but he has the narrow’s pitched up high, so it’s so out of focus I can’t tell what it is exactly.

I manage a smile. “Fine. I think my R.E.M.brandt just sunk me too low. I need to have it looked at.” I shrug it off.

He nods. “Ok, well, I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Flying to China tomorrow, but I’ll see you the day after?” I slip my coat off as the smell of coffee reaches me. “San Francisco International to China via Chinair shuttle to meet with Song. Should be an easy one. He needs the process to roll smoothly and wants it done. I should be in and out same day.”

“Sounds good - enjoy the flight.” Someone off cam with long polished nails hands him a PDA.

"I'll try," I sigh out.

“Cheer up – talk to you later.” He sounds like he’s talking to his cat at the vet. So absent.

“Thanks, Charles. Bye.” V.I.P. goes dead and I drop my coat to the floor. “Thank God.” I draw in a deep breath. “Comps – reschedule today’s lunch with Mary Johnson. Friday at the Caff instead of the Gate if it works for her.” The Caff is her favorite and should take the sting out of the late cancellation.

TIDY snatches up my coat and moves off with it, but stops and returns for the heels I kick off in two different directions. Watching t try to decide which shoe to pick up first manages to bring a smile to my face.

“Shall I fix the bacon and toast, Darla, seeing as you are not going to work today?”
I think a moment. “I want a Poptart. No – two Poptarts. No bacon.” I pick up the coffee and gulp at it greedily as I watch three kids drift down the sidewalk out front on glowing red shoes.



Work doesn’t happen. I try to get a grip on he notes for my Song meeting, but the codes don’t match and I lose patience and shove them away. I’ll work on them on the flight. I start a comp for an invoice pattern, but loose interest so many times that I finally give up on work all together. I drink a glass of water and watch the people below walk by. They aren’t working, just moving along in the sun. I try to convince myself to leave the house, but I fail. I’m not sure I want to do anything today. I feel something tug at my sock and kick at it absently sending TIDY scuttling off with a string in a claw.



Steven calls and wants to come over, but he has “that look” in his eyes and I’m not in the mood for messing around right now. I wave him off and he’s a good sport about it. I play XB600 with him for kicks seeing as I’m not working anyway. I kick his ass at tennis with ease. The poor guy looks bored, but cheers up when I agree to play his strange little version of strip Thermals 4046. I excuse myself and change into a pair of shorts, t-shirt, hat and slippers so the game doesn’t go on for too long.

When I return to the wall screen, Steven is wearing a coat and hat. I have Comps dim down the window to black, grin and dive into the game. I instantly regret not wearing a bra as I bounce and dodge. I grip the control and clench the fist in the control glove tight. Swords and sorcery among the ruins, dragons on some lava planet, and two battles on giant water snakes with golden eyes. The graphics are so real that I scream when his snake lunges at mine. I feel ridiculous. I let Steven win and congratulate him standing naked in the living room. I figure I owe it to him. No need talk about how we say our goodbyes.



Hours pass and something like melancholy fills me up and I can’t seem to shake it. I feel dingy as I cycle the air in the house, then slip into my t-shirt and sweats. I make a standard call to my mother, but she’s golfing in Hawaii and seems distracted. I tell her about the China trip, but swear that I can hear her swing the club. She grunts something into her headset, then asks me to bring her sweet cakes and dumplings back. “You know the ones I like, dear.” She barks something at her bot. She seems so far away. It's always the same. Kiss kiss and she's gone.


I stomp back into the living room and stand before the blank wall screen. I can’t think. I don’t want to, really.

“Comps?”

“Yes, Darla?”
“Show me something beautiful?”

"Yes, Darla. One moment, please." Comps chews on it for a while. They are good at referencing what I’ve enjoyed before and within seconds they have cross-referenced everything that has caused a beauty response in me over the past five years.

The wall screen glows and a mist filled forest comes into view in rich, bold, DHD detail. I feel like I can walk through the screen. Ferns move ever so slightly in a small breeze. A fog of some sort dances between large redwood trees. The sound of falling water comes from somewhere in the distance and some dots of color can be seen among the foliage – wildflowers in bloom. I fight the urge to ask where the footage came from because I don’t want to know if it’s real or just some grand 3D experience render.

I sit on the floor and reach up on the table for the fourth Poptart of the day. My eyes well up with tears and I take a bite. Crumbs fall on my chest and bounce along the floor. TIDY waddles out and makes it’s way towards the crumbs on it’s spidery legs.

“Comps, turn TIDY off and put it away, please.” I don’t know why, but I’m somewhat sick of the little things like TIDY always cleaning and tidying up. “Turn everything off. The whole house except what I’m using right now.” I wipe at my eyes with my shirt.

Comps does what it’s told. The dishwasher closes as the last dish is loaded. TIDY tick-tacks it’s way back into the wall.

“Shall I leave the window open?”
“Dim it, please. 20%.”

The Beach Front Business Center fades away. I drop the last bit of Poptart into my mouth and face the wall screen. I listen as birds sing and the water babbles away. I close my eyes.

“Screen off.” The wall goes dark.

I can still hear the sounds in my head. The house is quiet.

I lay down on the floor and stretch my arms up over my head. My sweats feel nice against my skin. I can barely hear the skybus outside as it cruises by. I snatch a pillow off the sofa and slide it under my head.

“Comps – off off off.” I hear the soft beep chime three times and the computers go offline. The fans of the refrigerator sweep up for a moment before going quiet themselves.

I don’t think of tomorrow’s China trip. I don’t think of Steve. I don’t think of the Coastal Shipments Requisition.

I just listen to the silence.

Crate

“This is Patrick and I’m Tom. I spoke with you on the phone.”

The truck’s lights cast strange shadows on the man’s face as he spoke. His eyes twinkled in the orange glow of the Mac truck's running lights.

The moon hung high in the night sky and the stars shone brightly. Fog settled off the coast, but didn’t seem to be moving in like it had the few nights before. It was cold and clear and bright, but something seemed very stuffy about the air. Some sort of pressure front was playing with the atmosphere.

The thing man before Tom Archer nodded, half listening. “Yes, yes.”

“Is this the only container we’re moving?” Patrick ran his hand over the stubble on his chin and stared blankly at the large container on the dolly. His broad shoulders rolled and he knelt down. “We can strap this in and down behind the other boxes in the 150, Tom. No need for the Mac.”

“There are issues that I’ve spoken to Mr….um…Tom…about. We want it secured and within a containment area. Not in the back of a pickup truck, Patrick.” The thin man pressed his glasses higher on his beak-like nose and addressed Tom again. “Are all the arrangements agreed on, Tom? Are we ready to move it?” His words were nervous and tight. He smelled of liquor and, though he was clean cut and well dressed, he seemed somewhat disheveled and out of sorts. His thinning hair blew around on his head and he slid a hand over it to push it back into place. Patrick thought his skin looked gray.

“Sure thing. And the money is fine as well.” Tom watched as lights crested on the hill, then turned off on the main road. The warehouse they were parked in front of was completely dark – the high barbed fence that surrounded it whistled as the wind came up.

“Yes, yes – fine.” The thin man moved to his car and glanced around uncomfortably before opening it and pulling out the envelope within. A soft ding emanated from the vehicle and repeated over and over until the door was shut again.

Patrick stood and examined the crate. It was around seven feet high and three feet across. The wood wasn’t your standard variety crate wood, but something thicker and stronger. He moved around it and noticed that there was a small panel built into the side of it at about the five foot level. He narrowed his eyes and ran a hand over the surface. It was made to slide open. He started to push on the panel.

“NO!” The thin man placed a hand on Patrick’s chest and looked over to Tom. “I thought I made it very clear, Thomas.”

Tom smiled. What did this dude think? That if he talked like he was his Dad he’d be scared or something? “Yeah, I just needed to go over that with Patrick. No worries.” He waved a hand towards the crate and shook his head. “No peeking. Don’t ask don’t tell gig, amigo.”

“Ahh…sorry. Got it.” Patrick nodded. “Sorry – didn’t know.” He folded his arms across his barrel chest. “Sorry. Got it.”

The thin man eyed him and then mustered a very weak smile before handing the envelope to Tom.

“It’s all there, but you can count it if you need to. We need to get moving, however. This needs to be in San Francisco before the sun rises. We don’t need people seeing you roll into the destination.”

“No problem.” Tom opened the envelope and flipped through the money absently. “And another three thousand when we get there, yeah?”

“Correct.”

Patrick’s eyebrows perked. Nice haul for five hours on the road.

“Well then, let’s roll out, huh?” Tom smiled a wide, wolfish smile.





The crate was a bitch to load. The thin man watched every move Tom and Patrick made like a hawk uttering warnings and cautions with each move. Once loaded, the crate was tied in and secured with a series of ropes and straps. It wasn’t going anywhere. They parted ways and Tom and Patrick started off North West towards San Francisco.


One hour later, Tom pulled off to the side of the road and killed the truck’s engine.

“What are you doing? Pee break?” Patrick laughed. “Pussy.”

“I’m going to check out that crate.” Tom grinned.

“Don’t ask don’t tell job, man. Why do you want to go fucking around with that crate? Let’s just go get our green on.” Patrick slapped Tom’s arm. “Fuck it.”

“Mr. Stork was way too worried about this thing back there. If it’s major, we can move it along through Raffi or Serge and pull in some serious money instead of a mere six g. Move up. Let’s check it out.” Tom felt Patrick’s firm grip around his arm as he flung the door open wide. He looked back with a smile and barked, “What?”

Patrick’s brown face didn’t smile back. He was serious. “Come on.”

Tom pulled free and jumped from the cab. He moved around to the trailer and heard Patrick jump out and follow around on the other side.

The roll up door slammed open with a clatter and the inside lights flickered to life providing a dim glow of sickly yellow light. Tom climbed up with Patrick close behind.

“Dude, fuck this. Let’s just roll.”

“Easy – this isn’t a big deal.” Tom glanced right, then jerked around to the left of the crate looking for the sliding panel. He yanked a flashlight from the small, built in shelf and switched it on. “Now, let’s see what we are touring with here.”

Patrick made one final grab for Tom’s arm, but Tom pulled away and shouted, “Don’t.” His smile was gone. Patrick frowned and backed away. He looked out the back of the trailer and was obviously pissed, but Tom didn’t care. He sniffed and caught a musky smell. He pressed his nose to his armpit and sniffed again. He narrowed his eyes and glanced over towards the crate.

Tom pressed the panel and tried to slide it open. It didn’t move. The wood was cold to the touch, which he found strange. His eyes narrowed as he ran the flashlight beam along the panel’s edges looking for some sort of latch or clip.

Something inside the crate shifted and thumped against the side.

Tom and Patrick stared at the crate for a minute before Tom continued his search.

“Tom?” Patrick cocked his head to the side and leaned forward. He heard something inside make a sound. Something like a moan or a purr. Then, it thumped again, but harder this time.

“This is interesting,” Tom said in a whisper as he tried to slide the panel again. He didn’t seem to hear the movement inside.

Patrick placed a hand on the wood and listened.

“Ah, wax or something here on top. They sealed it. Probably to make sure we didn’t mess around with it. Smart.” Tom reached for his hip to get his leatherman tool, but stopped short when he heard something slide up the crate wall from the inside.

Something pounded the sides of the crate from inside and both man jumped and pressed back against the sides of the trailer. Something was angry and wanted out. It hit the sides over and over again, but didn’t seem to be making any headway in freeing itself.

Patrick stared at Tom with wide eyes and placed a finger over his lips when Tom started to talk at the crate, shaking his head for him to be quiet.

Tom went silent.

The pounding continued for a minute, then started to slow. After a time, the banging stopped all together. A low, deep growl rumbled from the crate and the two men looked at each other.


The roll door of the trailer slammed shut and Tom cranked the latch down hard, then slipped the lock into place and bashed it shut roughly before shoving Patrick’s shoulder. “Go.” He ran around the opposite side to the trucks cab, climbed in, and started the engine.

Patrick slammed his door and locked it.

Tom flipped on the lights and gripped the wheel. He popped the clutch too fast and the cab rattled and the engine died. “Shit.”

“Ok…wait a minute. Hold up.” Patrick raised a hand. “We’re cool. Let’s just chill out a minute.” He nodded and patted the dash. “We got this, whatever it is is cool back there, and all we gotta do is drive.” He took a deep breath and the smell of burritos and sweat filled his lungs. Patrick sat back in his seat and dragged the seat belt over himself.

Tom followed suit and clicked his into place as well. He turned the key in the ignition and the engine rumbled to life again. He gripped the wheel and looked over to Patrick. His face drooped and he opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing.

“Hey, we’re cool. Let’s roll, man. No need for talking.” Patrick wiped his forehead with his sleeve, then flipped on the radio. Tom Petty let them know that he was free falling and Patrick turned it up.

Dirt swirled around the trucks wheels and rose into the cool, crisp air as it pulled back onto the road and made it’s way towards the freeway.

Her Evil

The hand swiped across the face of the clock half heartedly – as if it too had little consideration for the time anymore. The light dimmed slowly as the sun dripped back down into the ocean for the day. Tim Franz stared out the window and watched the wind bat his flowers around sending their pollen, in his opinion, into a spiral directly into his eyes. He rubbed at them with both hands and pressed his fingers into the sockets. For a moment, he didn’t trust himself not to keep pressing. Pushing his eyes in and squishing them into pulp.

“You doing ok there, Timmy?”

Tim’s hands fell to his sides and his eyes opened slowly. He turned and looked to his unwanted guest.

She smiled like the village idiot and toyed with her black hair. Her outfit was surprisingly tame – a small skirt with nylons and a shirt that actually covered her completely. She leaned against the wall and sighed. “Wish I knew you were still sick. I would have brought you a roasted chicken or whatever it is.” She smirked.

“No need. I just need sleep, really. But, thanks. Did you need something?”

“If not, are you planning on sending me packing, Tim? Shove me back out into the night?” She smiled wide.

“I really need to get some sleep.” He sighed back and glanced at his watch. Only eight o’clock. Hardly grounds for dismissal alone. “And this cold and all. I have a big day tomorrow and need to just crash out.”

She looked around the apartment. “Drink for old time’s sake? I won’t stay long. I’m meeting someone and was just looking to kill some time.”

Kill some time. As long as that’s all it was. He fought a battle in his head and his brain and heart told him to shove her out, slam the door and lock it as fast as he could. Kick her first to ensure a proper seal on the door. He didn’t need a battle on his doorstep. Swift kick or push, door slams, locks, then he’d call the police as she yelled whatever she wanted outside. The neighbors would understand. He was sure of it.

“Guess one drink is ok.” He stepped backwards and was shocked at the words that had come from his own mouth.

“Good boy,” the woman purred as she strolled in and looked around. “You changed some things around. It looks nice.” The back of her shirt was open, her skin gleaming in the light from the outside hall lamp. She moved into the living area, spun on her heel, and dropped onto the sofa with a huff. “SUCH a day, Tim. You would NOT believe.” She rolled her eyes and looked in the direction of the kitchen. “Have any of that delicious Eagle Rare whiskey about? I could use a little to take the edge off.” She crossed her legs in a ladylike fashion, but managed to expose her panties in a most un-ladylike way.

Tim frowned as if thinking and averted his eyes. “I think I do have some left. I’ll pour a glass for us.” He smiled a large, fake smile and hurried past her and into the kitchen.

“So, you still liking the new arrangements? The new gig is still working well for you and keeping you out of trouble?” She fingered a magazine, flipping the pages harshly and managing to tear one on every fourth flip or so. She didn’t wait for an answer. “So glad you’re doing well there, really.”

“Thanks.” Tim dropped three cubes of ice into the two glasses on the counter, then poured a healthy amount of the whiskey over them. The ice popped and cracked and Tim thought of spines breaking.

“And besides this fictional cold, you have your health, which is nice.” She grinned and held out her hand for the proffered glass. She took it from Tim and let a nail slip over his wrist as she took it from him. “All’s well in Timlandia.” She winked and sipped at the whiskey, then purred again as she rolled the glass around slightly sending the ice spinning languidly in the glass.

“All good.” Tim sat across from her and gulped at the contents of his glass like a drowning man clutching the sides of a life raft.

“Why are you sitting so far away, Tim? Sit over here.” She patted the sofa.
“Cold.” He shrugged. “Don’t want to get you sick.”

“I can’t catch a fictional fucking cold, Tim.” She sighed and patted the sofa again looking agitated.

Tim stared at the sofa, then pried himself up out of his chair. He quavered, half stepping forward, then stopping himself in his tracks. “I really can’t do this right now. I think you should head out. I’m really not feeling-.” The sentence was stricken down from the air before he could finish it.

“Stop being such a pain in the arse, Timmy. You’re really starting to annoy me with all this scared bullshit.” She took another long draw on the glass, then let it drop to the end table roughly before standing up and facing Tim eye to eye. “You have gotten worse, not better. Telling me little lies, are you? You look like shite!”

Tim wanted to run. He wanted to bolt and fly out the door. Maybe tossing a match over his shoulder and setting the whole place on fire as he did. Taking her with it, of course. The blaze cutting off her means of escape. Oh bliss. “I think you should go.”

“Do you?” She stared into his face, her eyes blazing. “Do you, Tim?”

He felt sick. His head ached with each pulse. “I don’t want you in my life anymore. Just leave, please.”

“Whaa.” She giggled. “Timmy, you really need to come to grips with just who you are.” She touched his chest lightly. “And, just who I am.” She withdrew her hand and brought it to her chest. Her red nails slid over the material of her blouse and she drew her ruby red lips back into a wicked smile.

Tim stared at her and blinked hard as he watched her eyes go all crazy like they used to. He shuddered.

“Tim, if you really didn’t want me back in your life again, why on Earth did you open the God damn door?” Her slight English accent slithered across the surface of her words like a snake. “I mean, why didn’t you just keep the door shut tight? Leave me outside and let me scream my head off? Call the police on me? Anything but open that door.” She sighed and turned to face the window. “Your decision making is complete shit, you know?” She laughed and patted his cheek.

Tim backed away from her. “Look, I really just wanted things to be peaceful. Quiet. I don’t want trouble and I thought the easiest way would be to just…let you in and be done with it.” He swallowed hard. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think you should-“

“Shut up, Tim, you spineless twat,” she sneered and moved around the corner and into the kitchen.

Tim blinked and his mouth went slack for a moment before he blurted out, “What are you doing?!” He heard drawers opening and closing. He heard the last drawer opened and slammed shut hard after something was removed from it. He glanced around the room for some weapon. Something to defend himself. “Oh Gawd,” he mutterd. He made a move towards the door, but she blocked him and smiled wide. Her arm was twisted back behind her back.

“Where you going? Out? You have that dreadful cold, Timmy. You should stay in or you’ll catch your DEATH!” She moved towards him. “You need rest. A long rest.”

Tim’s arms rose before him and he whimpered, “Stay back?” It sounded like more of a question than a demand.

“You’re sick. A poor, sick soul in need of something.” She brought her hand forward with a rush and flicked her wrist out in a sharp, quick snapping motion in Tim’s direction.

The towel in her hand caught him in the scrotum and he doubled over. “SHIT!”

“To bed with you, you little bitch!” She spun the towel and sent it whipping out again. “OFF with you!” The towel snapped his leg and another whipping caught his left butt cheek as he turned to try and avoid her.

“Damn it, Sissy!” Tim ran for his room.

“Don’t give me any lip. I’ll cancel my plans and make you some tea. Shoo!” She flipped the towel up and onto her shoulder as she watched him retreat into his room. She kicked her heels off and slid them towards the wall as she reached into her purse and withdrew her phone.

“Hey, Dani, it’s me. Yeah, I’m not going to make it over after all. I’m going to take care of Tim. Yeah, he’s still no better. I’m gonna make him some tea and maybe order in for the night.” She listened and smiled. “Yeah yeah…I’m such a sweet sister, I know.” She giggled. “Fine then – cheers.” She hung up and moved to the refrigerator. Her eyes scanned the menus until she found what she was looking for and dialed.

"Golden Flower - delivery or pick up?"

“Hey there. Delivery, please. What’s a good soup for a cold?” She snatched up the teapot with her free hand and wondered what was on the tube.

Dead Things: End of her rope

End of her rope. The end. The ropes end. The end of it. Smoking gun. Caught with the smoking gun. Pain in the neck. Time. End of. End of my rope.

The rope bit into the pink flesh of her neck and burned with the slightest of movements. It took her a minute to regain what little control she had. First, the cold wood on her cheek, then the realization that the wood was floor and not wall since she was laying on it. Something bumped in the hallway and she tried to call out for assistance, but her throat was constricted and pain shot through her when she tried to speak. Everything smelled stale and medicinal.

What the hell had happened? She blinked and tried to sit up. The rope was caught under her arm and pulled painfully at her burnt skin when she pushed up. She yanked it from under her arm and shoved – bringing herself to a seated position. She then assessed the situation.

Rope. Broken pipe above her on the ceiling. Gun on the floor before her, smoking. Her left shoulder hurt almost as bad as her throat. She touched the burnt skin around her neck and glanced up to the broken set of pipes. Had she tried to kill herself? It seemed impossible, yet there she was. But, the gun didn’t make sense. Maybe someone had tried to kill her? Hang her? And she shot them?

“What…” she clamped her eyes shut as the sting from her throat ran down her spine. No talking for now. She tasted blood and licked her lip. It was split and blood ran from it into her mouth.
She blinked hard and removed the rope from her neck. Pain made her wince as she tossed the rope aside. Her whole body ached.

The noise in the hall came again and the situation made her heart beat faster. If this person in the hall had tried to kill her and she had indeed shot them, she’d have to seek help and fast. She narrowed her eyes when she heard footsteps. Obviously, someone was still very much alive.

She rose to her feet and lost her balance. She was shaken and felt dizzy. She thought that maybe she had hit her head on the way down. She reached forward and grabbed the gun and the dizziness made her swoon and she went down on one knee. Her left arm and shoulder were useless – every movement of them made her shudder with pain. She clamped her teeth down hard and pushed herself up. She had to get out of here, wherever here was.

She glanced around and saw that the room she was in had another way out. At least another door. She stole a glance towards the footsteps in the hall and saw the growing shadow of what looked to be a woman moving up the wall in the half light. She looked back toward the opposite door and made her way towards it slowly and quietly. Her head was clearing, but she was still very dizzy and almost fell through the door in the back of the room when she reached it.

She slipped around the corner and checked the gun. She didn’t remember much of anything, but her fingers flew over the gun as muscle memory took over. She spun the chamber quietly and saw that all the bullets were spent. “Shit,” she mouthed to herself as she slid to the floor. Not good. Not good at all. She looked around and saw that the room was nothing more than a large closet.

The footsteps stopped, then she heard them start to move into the room where she woke up. A scan of the room showed that there were no other exits. A few random things to hide behind, but no means of escape. She listened and tried to keep quiet. The room seemed to grow smaller with each shambling step she heard growing closer. She wouldn’t be able to fight this person in her current state.
The person sounded injured. Hell, if she did in fact empty a gun at it, she must have hit the person somewhere no matter how horrid a shot she may have been.

That’s when she caught the reflection in a large, steel vacuum propped against the wall on the other side of her. The reflection made her heart beat even faster. She fought back the urge to scream and she stared on with wide open eyes and tried to convince herself that what she was seeing was just due to some head injury.

The person shambling towards her had no right arm. It looked like it was shredded at the end of the nub and bone shone through. Bits of gore hung from it and swung back and forth with each step. The figure made a sick, gurgling and smacking sound as if it were chewing air wetly. It was a woman – a breast exposed and covered with blood. But the worst part was the things face. Half of it was gone and pulp with white skull showing through.

Memories rushed in with tidal force. She looked down at herself and the uniform she wore. Police. She was an officer. Janet Temple. She was in the house and trying to run away from…them. Oh God, she remembered it all now. There were more of these things outside and she had run into the small clinic to avoid them. She had shot the thing in the face when it came after her. Shot it over and over, but still it came.

She stood and gripped the handle of the gun tightly, raising it high and ready to hit the thing. She drew in a quiet breath and went still. Janet closed her eyes, wished she were somewhere else, then opened them and waited. She knew she wouldn’t be able to fight for long in her current state. She could barely keep her eyes open and she felt the room spinning under her feet.

The thing stumbled forward and into the small room. Blonde hair was matted to its head with dried blood. Long scrapes marred her side and exposed ribs and muscle. Janet had seen the look before. This woman – what was left of her – was dragged by a car after being hit. She shouldn’t be up and walking.
Janet shook off the growing fear and concentrated. Her side and throat throbbed with every heartbeat. She stared at the things rotten, gore covered face. Skull shown through and the left eye was missing. Janet didn’t move. She felt dizzy, but she willed herself to remain totally still. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead and upper lip and dripped down the back of her uniform.

The thing stopped and cocked its head to the side. Its hair parted slightly as scalp pulled away from bone. The missing eye socket was an angry shade of red mixed with deep bruise blue and black. It waited, moving its head from side to side slightly.

Janet held her breath, fire raging in her arm still held high with the useless weapon in a death grip.
The missing eye saw nothing on the left. Janet didn’t breathe. Didn’t make a sound. The thing raised it’s arm, then lowered it slowly. It turned to it’s right and shuffled out of the room. Janet heard it stumble and fall, drag its body back up, then move out of the room slowly.

Janet’s arm slowly slid to her side. She stared forward and took shallow, painful breaths. Her eyes closed, then opened slowly. She bit her lower lip and tried to wrap her brain around what was happening, but nothing made sense. She listened, but didn’t hear a thing. Her stomach was churning and she felt as if she might be sick.

“Ok,” she whispered. She palmed the gun and peeked around the corner and peered into the dark. Nothing. She moved back into the room and looked up at the broken pips as she ran a hand over her neck. She couldn’t believe it could be so bad that she’d try to hang herself.

Her belt lay on the floor in the corner and she grabbed it and slipped it back around her waist, slipping the gun back into the holster. No bullets, but she’d sort that out later. The baton she carried was still tucked neatly into her belt’s compartment. She withdrew it and held it tight as she made her way towards the room’s doorway.

The hallway was empty, but that thing could be anywhere looking for her still. She moved quietly and tried to stay to the shadows and darkness.

She glanced out the window and saw other shapes moving there. Other figures stumbling and shuffling in the dark. Part of her thought it might be best to wait in this building until the sun rose, but something inside her wanted out. Wanted to have the option to run if she wanted it. Being stuck in an unfamiliar building seemed like a very bad idea.

The first door she found was heavy and bolted shut. The second revealed her follower from before. It crouched over something small and ate away at it feverishly. Janet didn’t want to think what the small, meaty thing was and moved on.

The door to the outside stood ajar and light pour in from outside illuminating the hall and the lawn outside. A police cruiser was smashed up against the clinic’s fence and smoke rose from the engine as it idled and sputtered – more dead than alive. Radio chatter poured from the open door of the car and the people’s voices sounded panicked and full of fear.

Figures moved around the car, glancing into it and moving on. Shuffling corpses wandering every which way. Janet counted six around the car and more in the street and surroundings, but they were slow moving and spread out at a good distance. She felt around in her pocket for the keys to the shotgun, but realized they were on the keyring in the car’s ignition.

Her teeth ground together as she peered around the door jam. Panic gave way to anger. She didn’t like this at all. It didn’t make any sense. The things outside were…dead. They were in various states of decay. This wasn’t happening.

Her arm was pulsing and she glanced back into the clinic wondering if she should try to find some sort of sling or meds to help her fight through the injury. Her eyes narrowed as the follower from before stumbled from the room it had feasted in and spotted her. It made a small, guttural sound and started moving at her down the hallway. Janet looked outside and saw another one of them moving toward her slowly from the small garden to the right of the car.

She drew in a deep breath, nodded to herself then moved into the light of the headlights, out onto the porch and made her way to the cruiser….

Train

The train had struck the person walking right before her stop – a mere block from the station she was supposed to meet him. The weather was cold and the chilly breeze rushing off the water blew around a light mist. The area was dark except for some flood lights that were mounted high on the industrial buildings.
Malcolm leaned against his car and looked across the dark towards the train as it sat in the gloom waiting for the police to be done with their business so it could move along. He was sure that this process could take hours. Police moving around the train and marking and measuring where the poor soul was hit and were he was dragged. Maybe they would use spray paint to mark angles and determine fault. Maybe they’d just take some pictures and cart the guy away. He wasn’t even sure if it was a man or woman that had been hit. All he knew is that his girlfriend was still on the train and wasn’t allowed off.
His phone rang. He pulled his cap up off his ear and placed it to his head.
“Hey, Baby.” Her voice sounded tired.
“Hell of a way to end a two hour trip, huh?” He sighed. “You doing ok?”
“Yeah, I just wish I had hoped off when I called you before instead of waiting. They say it’s a crime scene and we all need to stay on the train.” She paused, listening, then continued. “Are you here?”
“Yeah. I’m at the front. Parked.”
“You ok?”
“Yeah – I’m fine. No worries. I’ll wait for you.” He spotted a police officer walking down the tracks and narrowed his eyes trying to get a good read in the dark. “I see a cop. I’m going to ask how long he thinks all this will take.”
“Ok – talk to you soon. Love you.”
Malcolm hung up and watched the officer come to a stop on the other side of the tracks. He pulled his cap back over his ear and thought things through a moment. It was dark and he didn’t want any misunderstandings here among the warehouses and darkness and train tracks.
“Hello? Sir?” Malcolm waved a hand and made his way towards the officer a few feet, but made sure he didn’t cross the track. Something in his head warned him against it. Maybe it was a crime or something. Later, he would think it silly.
The officer stood for a moment, then waved back.
“Hi. Do you-“ Malcolm stopped and rethought the conversation. “My girlfriend is on the train there. Do you know when all this might get resolved?”
The officer stared for a moment, then looked to his right and left. He then crossed the tracks in a slow, deliberate way and made his way towards Malcolm.
Malcolm watched as the officer walked over. It reminded him of the small town sheriffs he’d seen in countless old TV shows and movies. “Yes, Sir. That there train really laid old Arlo out flat – a-yup!”
The officer stopped about three feet away, paused, then said, “Sorry, what was that?” He was Asian, about Malcolm’s height, and friendly looking. He wore standard "police in the cold" garb - hat, and puffy, dark jacket.
“Oh, my girlfriend is on the train and I just wondered if you knew how long everything would take – you know?”
The officer looked over at the train and then back to Malcolm. “Yeah, well, this is a crime scene now.” He glanced at the train and back. “So, no one can get off the train.”
Malcolm looked at the train, then back again himself.
The officer continued in a friendly and informative way. “So, I think it will take about…an hour? Maybe?” He nodded.
“I see.” Malcolm nodded back. “Ok…well…thank you. I’ll just wait over here at my car I guess.” Malcolm sighed. “Thanks.”
“Sorry.” The man shrugged and turned to walk back to his position by the tracks.
Malcolm turned and started back to his car, then stopped as he pulled his phone from his pocket. He turned and faced the officer again and called back to him. “I was going to grab a coffee. Did you want one, Sir?”
The officer stopped and turned. He bowed his head slightly as if he were thinking, then he started walking back towards Malcolm in that same, slow way, again, stopping about three or four feet away.
Malcolm smiled.
“No, but thanks for offering.” The officer nodded, turned, and took his position again by the railroad tracks.

Chit chat

The apartment was warm and inviting. Music played low on the computer and the smell of cooking food filled the air. The space was small, but comfortable. The three people sitting in the living room drank beer from pint glasses and talked while waiting for the food to be ready.
“So, did he do it right or did he fuck it all up like everything else he does?” Kevin sipped at his beer, then laughed when he saw Tabitha’s face curl into a sneer. “I’m kidding! Geez.”
“He’s really, really good.” Tabitha giggled playfully as she rubbed Mike’s leg. “He’s amazing.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Kevin winked and finished his beer. “Another?”
“Go to hell?” Mike grinned. “I mean, sure. Thanks.” He grinned, downed the last of his beer, then handed the glass to Kevin.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll be in hell at some point. I mean besides the day to day hell at my stupid job.” Kevin snapped Tabitha’s glass up without asking if she wanted another. “Working for that dumbass and his team of dumbasses.”
“At least it’s consistently shit.” Tabitha kissed Mike and whispered something into his ear.
“True. Nice to know what to expect every day. I feel better.” Kevin poured three more Pale Ales and returned to the living room. “Viola.” He passed the beer around, then fell back into his chair – master of his domain. “Thanks for coming by, guys. Nice to see you.”
“Sure thing. I mean, it was really just for the beer, but it’s nice to see you, man.” Mike took a sip.
Tabitha slapped his leg.
“So, anything new on the dating front?” Mike crossed his legs and rested his beer on his knee.
“Yeah, actually there is.” Kevin took a sip and leaned forward. “I’m wanking like…three times a day now instead of two.”
“Gross.” Tabitha shook her head.
“Um…let’s see, what else? Oh! That girl down at the coffee place that I saw twice? Remember?””
“Yeah yeah – Marilyn Monroe?”
“Yeah, her.” Kevin nodded emphatically to Mike.
“Oh, I’d love to be Marilyn Monroe.” Tabitha swooned, then snarled out, “Of course, I’d be dead, but…” She sipped.
“Yeah, well she’s out of the picture.”
“I thought that was all going well,” Mike said as he frowned. “What happened?”
“She’s a bit too Bible Belt for me. She and I were watching one of the Harry Potter films and things went odd.”
“Which one?” Tabitha blinked.
“Um…the one where Volde-whatsis is trying to kill him.”
“Oh, I liked that one.” Tabitha smiled wide.
“So, we were watching the film, the thing ends, then – literally out of NOWHERE – she asks how I feel about abortion.”
Mike dribbled beer and laughed as he pushed off the sofa and ran to the kitchen for a towel.
“That’s strange, man.” Tabitha scowled. “Just, out of the blue?”
“Yeah.”
“WHAT the fuck?!” Mike returned running a towel over his chin and shirt. “What the hell was that about?”
“No clue. It was strange. This is after, you know, letting me ravage her. Like that was ok, but abortion was a sin. I was so confused.” He shook his head and sighed.
“So, she asked and what?” Tabitha put her glass down and rested her elbows on her knees.”
“She pressed me to answer.”
“And?” Tabitha smiled wide.
“And I said that I thought it was ok in some cases.” He sipped, then added, “And that women had the right to choose for themselves – keep the government and church out of it.”
“Wow.” Mike nodded.
“And she?”
“Flipped out. She stood up, wriggled into her pants and said that she couldn’t be with someone like me. Saved me the trouble of making an exit. It was kinda strange. I mean, minutes before she was…well…” He wriggled his eyebrows.
“Gross.” Tabitha winked at Mike and leaned back on the sofa.
“Anyway…three times a day,” Kevin sighed.
Mike pursed his lips, then bent down and patted Tabitha’s leg. “What about hooking him up with your cousin?”
Tabitha grabbed her beer and said, “I don’t think Kevin is his type.” Her face was like stone as she drank.
“Funny.” Kevin chuckled and stood. “I’ll go wither in the kitchen. With the roast.”
“We love you, Kevin!” Tabitha stood and moved into the kitchen with him, rubbing at his neck and making kissing noises.
Mike followed behind, beer in hand. “You washed your hands before making dinner, right Kevin?”

Flight

Cool air blows onto the top of his head as the Tie Man sits and watches the other passengers file onto the aircraft. He sips at the remains of his coffee. It’s tepid, but he imagines the caffeine making it’s way through his system and he takes another sip. Four-thirty in the morning was far too early for him to have woken up on this fine morning and he needs the boost badly.

The airbus, they call it. Makes sense, he thinks. It seems bus-like.

Business people waddle awkwardly down the aisle with small computer bags ad briefcases. A man struggles to maintain control over a large carry on. A couple glances to the left and right reading seat numbers below the overhead compartments as they search for their seats.

A girl – maybe seventeen at best – with a shock of red hair and elfin eyes gracelessly makes her way down the aisle with a large pink bag bouncing off her legs with each step. She glances around and seems to see her seat number.

The Tie Man sees her and notes her simple beauty. Sweet kid, he thinks.

An older woman makes her way past him and he remembers her from the terminal. She’s tall and made up – packed into a white dress and heels. Not practical, he thinks to himself. Seems downright uncomfortable.

His eyes return to the elf girl as she pauses beside him. She’s skinny and frail looking with the standard teen uniform of jeans, t-shirt and “hoodie”. She hefts the large, pink bag into the seat and shimmies out of the aisle and into the seat behind it – waiting.

He looks to his right out to the tarmac.

People make their way past her as they look for their seats. The Tie Man looks over to her again and notes that she is eyeing the overhead compartments.

He adjusts the knot of his tie and glances at the pink bag. Was it to heavy for her to lift into the overhead? He thinks about asking if she needs help, but rethinks it when women’s equality flashes in his brain for a minute. If her were to ask if she needs help, would it imply that she’s to week and powerless to deal with the situation herself? Would he be implying that she isn’t able to deal with the situation because she’s just a woman? Ridiculous, but the thought it there all the same.

Then, a thought enters his head. He thinks of his little, 14 year old girl and wonders if she’d ask for help if she couldn’t lift a bag into the overhead or if she’d merely wait awkwardly until she could ask someone at the last minute.

“This is my seat.” An Asian businessman smiles to the girl and waits patiently for her to move the bag from the seat he wishes to occupy.

The Tie Man looks around and smiles to the redhead, then points to her bag. “Um, did you need a hand getting that up into the thing?” The words spill from his mouth like puffs of smoke – somewhat half hearted and soft.

The redhead smiles uncomfortably. “Um...yeah…thanks.” She looks like she wants to jump out of her skin – uncomfortable and embarrassed.

“Oh…” The Asian businessman smiles an uncomfortable smile as he realizes what’s happened. He moves back a step as the Tie Man stands and takes the bag with his right hand and holds his cup with his left. He looks to the cup, then to the bag, then back again before looking at the redhead.

She takes the cup with a smile, one hand clutching it and the other hand slipping under it like it was a Ming Vase. She lifts it up and over the bag and waits.

The next few steps work like a ballet – a choreographed dance of passengers and bags.
The Tie Man grips the bag handle and moves it into the overhead compartment in one, smooth motion. “There you go.”

“Thanks,” the girl says with a smile as she hands him his cup and runs a hand through her hair.

A few more people file in patiently behind the businessman and wait.

The Tie Man glances at red and nods, then glances to the businessman and smiles. The man smiles back and the Tie Man returns to his seat with a sigh.

The girl takes her seat by the window on the opposite side.

The Asian businessman takes his seat in the aisle and settles in.

More passengers file past and look for their seats.

Society.

The Tie Man sips his tepid coffee and looks to his right, staring out onto the flight deck. He smiles a small, private smile. He feels good. Feels like a gentleman. He finishes the last bit of coffee in the cup and steals a glance at the girl in the seat – her feet now shoeless and curled under her in the seat.

The businessman stares at the screen in the headrest of the seat before him, then notices the man in the row before him is an old coworker and strikes up a conversation.

People file onto the plane, one after another. The Tie Man watches them absently. He glances at the faces and the outfits and the bodies and wonders where they are going, who they know, and how long they plan to be away. He finds people fascinating. He likes his world right now and it’s pleasing.
People file onto the plane, one after another.

Don't Let the Bedbugs Bite

I can still feel the fresh air with that mist in it. The fog blowing in over the water with the sound of the waves crashing in over and over. They never stopped. The air was so clean and the sky was so huge, all filled with fog and mist. So open. So clean. The city lights reflected off the fog and everything was filled with a sort of glow. A light.

Now, it’s different. It’s stale and closed in...and dark.



The first time I saw it there in the darkness, I thought I was dreaming. I didn’t do anything but stare off to where it scuttled off to dumbly. Watching as the shape slipped into the dark and was gone.  I just watched it leave without doing anything about it. I just went back to sleep. Idiot. In the morning, I searched the space where I had seen it, but I didn't see anything unusual.

I remember sitting with Jen later that day and staring up at the fog. I was cold then, but I’d take being twice as cold right now over how I feel now.

“So, what was it?” She stirred her coffee and stared at me like she was trying to decide if she was going to smile or frown.
“I don’t know. I think I was just asleep. It didn’t make any sense. It was like friggin E.T. or something.  A little kid? I’m sure I was dreaming. Forget it.” I managed to laugh, but she was reluctant to join me.
“Well, have it looked at. It might be a rat or something.”

A rat or something. Big friggin rat that walked on its hind legs? The size of a five year old. Yeah, you might want to get someone in to look at that. I never did have anyone check it. A dream? A nightmare? Who checks that? If I wasn’t so scared right now, I’d laugh. I’d laugh my ass off.


But, I don’t make a sound here in the dark of my bedroom as the lights I left on flicker, dim, and go black yet again as I find myself in bed and scared yet again. Like a somnambulist in a film. I clamp my eyes shut tight.

I can hear it coming closer with small, dragging steps and I keep my mouth shut and try to pull the sheets up around my nose so I can’t smell it’s breath which smells stale and…like sick. Vomit.

I can hear it. Feel it right in front of my face. It breathes on me and stares. I can feel it staring holes in my face, but I keep my eyes closed tight and pretend to sleep. My body is rigid. I can't move.

 I don’t want to see it. I caught a half glimpse once in a motel in Vancouver and that was bad enough. Back when I thought I could outrun it. Hide from it.

Want to scream.

But I stay silent. Still. And I keep my eyes closed shut – pretending to sleep until it goes away.

God…it’s so close. I can feel how close it is - my skin picking up the closeness of it. 

Its mouth rasps out in little, belching gasps of stench. I can feel the bile churning in my stomach.

I just wish it would go away. Just go away and leave me alone. But it never does.

Here....in the dark....do I dare open my eyes....and look it in the eyes....