PillowFace (4 page)

Then he noticed a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye.

He turned around, facing the woods, and froze. 

A large man stood at the edge of his yard.  His head was covered with some kind of shroud.  Although the distance between them wasn’t great, it was far enough away that Joel shouldn’t be able to see all the blood the man had been bathed in.

Their eyes were locked, neither of them looking away. 

Joel knew he should run, but he only stood there gawking at this horrible looking man, becoming more infatuated with him by the second.  It was like something out of a horror movie, something he would have dreamed up, but he hadn’t, this was real.

Joel was raising his hand to wave at the man when he suddenly collapsed onto his side.  He quickly rushed over to him.  The man rolled onto his back, goggling dizzily at the kid.  His mouth smacked, bubbles of blood popping between his lips.

Joel knelt down, placing a hand on the man’s arm.  It was the only spot that wasn’t sodden from blood.

(I)

Haley sat behind the laptop in her one windowed office, hammering away on the keys as if punishing them.  The room was suffused in chattering clicks.  She’d thought about Joel often today and felt guilt more than anger over how the morning had turned out.  It had been her fault, really.  He was probably feeling the shock of Mom and Dad all over again after finding Rusky dead.

She stopped typing. 

Thoughts stampeded through her head.  She didn’t know what to do at this point, and even worse, dreaded going home.  He’d have had the whole day to think about what to throw at her next.  That was a lot of time to build up a surplus of malicious words.  But, that was all right, she would have plenty of words and punishments to give right back.

Not that that it would matter..
.

Her stomach growled.  She checked the clock.  It was almost time to take her lunch break, finally.  The day had seemed to drag by with each minute excruciatingly longer than the last.  She let her head drop flat on her desk with a thump.  The wood was cold and soothing against her forehead.

The door to her office bumped shut.  She didn’t bother raising her head to see who had entered, because she already had a good idea who it was. 

“Got your wakeup call right here.” 

She was right in her assumption.
Carlee
. Her assistant, and probably the best friend she’d ever known.  Since getting hired at Jones and Jones Law Firm two years ago as Geoffrey Jones’ paralegal, it had often felt like she’d bitten off more than she could chew.  But, Carlee helped make things so much easier by assisting her every step of the way, going far beyond her call of duty to make sure Haley was not only comfortable, but able to handle the tricks to surviving the constant rotation of employees that came through the office.  Haley was certain Carlee had saved her job more than once.  A friendship had kindled, and she’d thanked God
every
day for blessing her with Carlee.  Not just great to work with, Carlee was absolutely perfect as a human being, and an even better friend.

Haley raised her head, squinting.  Carlee stood in front of her desk, brandishing two cups of coffee.  Her tan-colored suit snuggled her curvy body.  Today’s skirt was much shorter than her usual choices.  It draped an inch above her knees, and showed the smooth gradients of her calves.  Haley assumed she was trying to impress John Kilward, a recent client and victim of wrongful termination at some power plant.  He was gorgeous from head to toe, with a rock hard body, and would come into a lot of money when his case settled.  Haley worried Carlee might come across as desperate in an outfit like that. 

“You’re a life saver,” said Haley, accepting the offered coffee.

Haley tilted the cup upward, gulping three big swallows before stopping.  It left behind a moustache of creamy foam above her lip.  Taking a tissue from the box on her desk, she wiped it.

“Wow,” said Carlee.  “I’m impressed.”

Haley returned the cup to her mouth, guzzled down the rest, and tossed the empty cup over her head.  It smacked the wall, and dropped into the trash can.

“Now, I’m really impressed.”

“Don’t be, it’s just one of my many useless talents.”

“I don’t know,” said Carlee.  “I think any guy would find the way you sucked that coffee down without flinching or gagging to be quite a
useful
talent indeed.”

Haley smiled at her slyly.  “I’ve never gotten any complaints before.”

Altering her voice into a poor imitation of a man’s, she said, “Why Haley, I’ve got something else you can suck down…but it’s not coffee.”  

They laughed as Carlee sat in the chair across from her. “So, how’s your day?”

Haley groaned.  

“Sorry I couldn’t get in here sooner; Jonesey had me at the meeting with Mr. Kilward. It ran over.”

“I figured so.” Haley smiled. “Did Mr. Kilward notice you’d waxed your legs?”

Carlee’s face went scarlet. She tugged at the bottom of the skirt as if hoping to somehow lower the length of it. “That obvious, huh?” 

“No,” lied Haley. “Not, at all.”

“You’re full of shit.” She sighed. “Why
did
I wear this? This isn’t me.”

“No, it’s not.  Looks hot, though.”

“Damn it, John probably thinks I’m a floozy now.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, I was wearing this, and…”  She stopped talking, as if wary of telling Haley the rest.

“What’d you do?”

She grimaced, gnawing at her bottom lip.

“That bad?”

“I totally kept crossing my legs in front of him, and when he’d look at me I’d bat my eyes.” She repeated the choreography for Haley. Tilting her eyes up, her thin lashes flickered like a butterfly wing. Haley exploded with laughter. Carlee stopped, making a face.  “Too much?”

“Did he ask you out?”  Haley asked, finally.

“Not yet.” 

“Wait.
Isn’t he
married
?”

“I don’t know, is he?”

“I think so.”

Carlee rolled her eyes.  “What the hell’s wrong with me?  Am I that desperate?”

“Look at what you’re wearing.”

Carlee looked down at the skimpy outfit and gasped.

“Answer your question?”

“No wonder Jonesey’s eyes kept trailing down when he’d talk to me.”  She pointed at her top.  It was triangle-cut, and low in the front, showing the small gorge between the slopes of her breasts.

“Jonesey’s eyes
always
drift downward.”

“Yeah, but this time he had plenty to see.”

Haley winced looking at it.  She was about to offer Carlee the chance to go home and change her clothes when the phone on her desk rang.  It was a loud, beating pulse that hurt her ears.  She raised a finger to Carlee before answering.  “Haley Olsen.”

The voice on the other line shot back at her fast and torn with static.  “Haley?  My God, you’re not gonna believe this, but there’s a psychopath in the yard!”

Sounded like Joel, his voice frightened and shaky.  “Joel?” she asked, just to be sure.

“Who else would it be?  There’s a psycho in the backyard!”

“A what?”

“A psychopath!”

Carlee watched her, confused. 

Haley rolled her eyes.  Joel was up to his old tricks, so he must not be feeling that bad, after all.  “Oh really, and what’s this psycho doing?” 

Carlee’s face crinkled, even more confused than moments before she mouthed, “Is he okay?”

Haley nodded with a smirk while Joel fired more outrageous lies at her. 

“He’s just lying there, not moving…covered in blood…wearing some kind of mask!”

“Riiight.”

“Just get home, now!”

“I’m not in the mood for your horror movie games.  Am I going to come home and find one of your special effects in the backyard like on my birthday?”

“No!”

“Trying to scare me to get back at me for this morning?”

“What?  No!”

“Uh-huh, suuuure.”

“I’m not playing games, Haley!  Now get home, damn it, and tell me what the hell I should do!”  His voice was packed full of anger. 

Haley could hear the sincerity in it. Could he actually be telling the truth? 
Doubtful.
 

“Did you call the police?” she asked.

“Well—no…I wanted to call you first…”

“Why?”  If he was telling the truth, then the first call he made would have been to the police.

“Wuh-well…I-I-I…”  He paused.  “I didn’t know what to do!” 

“I’ll tell you something you
can
do,” she said.

“What?  What?” 

“Mow the fucking yard!!!”  She slammed the phone down on its base. 

Carlee jumped from the loud clatter.  Still hyped up on her own anger, Haley slammed her fist on the desk. 

Damn him
, she thought. 
Damn him
.

(II)

Dial tone. 

Joel stared at the phone, dumbly.  She’d hung up on him.  He couldn’t believe she actually hung up on him, but at the same time wasn’t surprised that she had.  Haley could be such a bitch when she wanted to.  The tone turned to a pulsing beat, and he pressed the button to hang up before the annoying recorded voice asked him if he’d like to make a call.  He sat the phone down by the sink.

Looks like I’m on my own
.

He was fine with that.  It wouldn’t be the first time.  He returned to the window above the kitchen sink, and peered out. 

The yard was empty. 

Where the psycho had collapsed, the grass was no longer green, but red and matted down to the contour of his immense body, but the
actual
body was no longer there. 

Gone.

A shrill caught at the back of his throat.  He felt as if spiders were crawling up his scalp.  He rubbed the rising goose flesh on his arms.  Their texture was rough and pimply.

Then he hauled ass to the nearest drawer, jerked it open, and sifted through its contents.  All he found was a can opener, some tongs, and metal and plastic spatulas.  None of these would make for a useful weapon.  He slammed the drawer shut and turned around.  Scanning the kitchen, he spotted the knife rack centered on the counter, and darted for it.  His frantic hands crashed against the spinning rack, toppling it over.  A gleaming flurry of knives crashed to the floor.  Squatting, he searched the pile until he found the largest one: a chef’s knife. 

He stood, and smiled. 
Just like the one Michael Myers uses
. Then he remembered how terrible the remake was and felt another kind of anger building.  He crossed through the kitchen, the blade held out in front of him. 

In the sunroom, he discovered the double-glass doors standing open.  They’d been closed before he got on the phone.  

“No…”  He felt those bristles of adrenaline drain from his body.  His eyes roamed down to the floor.  In a smeared line were bloody footprints, a size sixteen, easily.  “Oh, God.” 

He thought briefly about calling the police, but decided not to.  They probably wouldn’t believe him, either.  Plus, if they showed up and couldn’t find anything, they’d think this was all some kind of joke, and he’d get in a lot of trouble.  Again.  Just like on Haley’s birthday. 

Screw that, he was going to find the guy himself, and show them all he wasn’t lying. 

The prints le
d Joel out of the kitchen, through the doorway, and into the living room. From there, they progressed to the stairs, becoming lighter with each track.  By the time he reached the carpeted stairs, they had vanished completely.  How could he track them now?  He obviously went upstairs, but where should Joel look?

And, what if
he
found Joel instead?

He shivered, his skin went bristly. 

I’m going to find him first.  Better believe it
. 

“Hello?”  Walking to the stairs, the knife aimed ahead, he continued talking into the air.  “Where’d you go?”  He spotted his reflection in the elongated blade and hardly recognized the kid inside.  Mussed hair, and bags under the eyes, this person looked like a junkie.  He angled the knife so he couldn’t see himself any longer.

Joel began climbing the stairs, lightly placing each foot on the thick carpet.  “You don’t want to hurt me,
do
you?  If you did, you would have done it already….ruh-right?”  He was trying to convince himself more than the intruder.  

At the top of the stairway he had a choice.  Right or left.  To the right was Haley’s room, the bathroom, and at the end of the hall, his parent’s room, and that door had remained locked and closed since the accident.  Neither Joel nor Haley had worked up the nerve to try going inside.

Each door in that direction was closed.  Centered in front of him was an extra closet that they used for keeping towels, wash-rags, and extra soaps or shampoos.  It was too small and cramped for anyone to be hiding.  That only left one room.  The one located at the opposite end of the hall.  As if to prove his wandering suspicion, a thump came from inside.  Like the other rooms, this door was also shut.  On the outside of the door an
Evil Dead
poster was proudly displayed. 

“My room,” he whispered, swallowing so hard it made a wet sloshing noise.  His legs felt weak and rubbery.  The knife quavered in his hand. 

Relax
, he thought. 
He’s not going to hurt you
.

So he hoped. 

He’d felt so brave downstairs, but now he cowered as he traveled to his bedroom.  He eased an ear to the door, and listened.  He couldn’t hear anything on the other side.  Joel pictured a beefy arm bursting through the thin wood and latching onto his hair and pulling him inside.