Preta's Realm (32 page)

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John awoke shivering.  His chattering teeth pulled him from a fitful sleep.  The stench of vomit and piss pulled at the remaining contents of his stomach.  He sat up and glanced at the black plastic through nauseous double vision.  John picked up the phone and flipped it open, expecting the screen to come alive.  He squinted to prepare for the bright shock of a compounded headache.  When it did not happen, John fumbled for the on button, bringing the inanimate object to life.  The smudged LCD screen finally lit, but John dropped it to the ground as rays of pallid green bored through his skull like a rusty drill.  Shrill beeps emanated from his phone in rapid succession.  John rubbed his eyes with sweaty hands, his body convulsing before looking down at the display.

He forced his eyes to focus on the screen, struggling to read the characters on it.  The phone looked back at him through an imaginary fog which obscured the display.  John held the phone outward and turned in a slow circle.  Bits and pieces of memory raced through his head.  John yanked at a white collar hanging from the button on his black shirt; a dime store rosary twisted as the cheap plastic cut into his throat.  The air felt cold and damp, weighed down with silence.  Opposite the steps John saw the circuit panel.  He ran a hand along the wall and found the light switch.  He flicked it up and down several times, failing to dispel the inky blackness.  Stumbling over empty beer bottles, he crawled to the circuit panel.  All of the breakers faced right, locked in the “on” position, but still failing to deliver power to the house.  More beeping shot from the tinny speaker on his phone, the source still a mystery.  John navigated the basement furniture and tried climbing the stairs.  He reached the solid oak door and listened.

Nothing.

Flies crawled under the door and buzzed around his head, an unusual occurrence for late October in Ohio.  A sour stench accompanied the insects which forced John to heave again.  The locked door forbade him entry to the kitchen.

“Hey!” he said.

This time a bit louder: ”Is anyone there?”

John pounded on the door with his right hand until it became numb.  He kept reassuring himself that Reggie would throw open the door at any moment, and everyone would have a hearty laugh at his expense.

John waited.

He sat on the top step, straining again to focus on the phone’s display.  His eyes chased a floater from the edge of his vision as the letters on the screen materialized.  He pushed the envelope button which retrieved the first three subject lines from the inbox. 

whr r u

johncall

help

Chapter 2

Jana had typed the text messages the night of October thirty-first.  The date on the main screen read November third. Had he been here three days? Fumbling, John pushed the wrong button, retrieving his sent texts folder.

wish u whre here

Sent at one in the morning on November first, John selected the message and noticed three phone pictures attached to it.  The hourglass spun on the screen while retrieving the first picture.  Although dark and grainy, he had no difficulty recognizing himself in the photo, lying on the couch in Reggie’s basement.  John’s head tilted up at an angle, his mouth covered with a wide grin, and his eyes staring at a naked woman.  Sarah stood to the side, one hand resting on his thigh and the other holding her right breast.

He gasped and scrolled down to the second picture.  Long blonde hair fell down to the top of her waist.  She sat astride him, looking back over her left shoulder at the phone which must have sat on a high stool.  The third and final picture knocked the wind out of John.  With the phone held above, two white breasts and strands of blonde hair enveloped John’s head while a look of stupidity plastered his face.

Using the phone as his flashlight, John staggered back down the steps.  He collapsed onto the loveseat at the opposite wall to avoid the smell of his own vomit.  John wiped tears from his cheeks and his thumbs moved across the keyboard before he recognized the “No Service” icon.  He shut the phone off and back on again.

“No Service”.  John walked back up to the top of the steps and held the phone high above his head.

“No Service”.

According to the phone, it was 5:06 a.m.  If that were true, someone in the house would be waking soon.  He would hear them and call out. They would hear him, find him, and everything would be fine. But John didn’t believe that lie even as his mind formed it.  He tried to open both closet doors but the locks refused to give.  John considered launching a shoulder into the door but knew his collarbone would snap before the wood budged.

John took a quick inventory of the room.  He noted two couches, a treadmill, a T.V., a chair, and a stack of board games on a shelf.  His stomach rumbled and grinded with a low moan and his lips began to crack from the corners.

The pictures and the text kept tumbling through his thoughts.  Although the carrier delivered them to Jana, she did not reply.  Her text messages arrived prior to his, with her cryptic desperate phrases.  Without any bars, John succumbed to the confines of his new cell.

Reggie’s basement sat beneath the living room and masked any indication of the time of day.  John looked at the top of the steps and saw a thin gray line appearing at the bottom of the door.

John opened his phone and pointed it at the chair, aware of one less bar on the battery indicator.  He angled the screen to the floor in such a way as to provide enough light to get to work.  John turned the chair over and unscrewed one of the legs.  The wooden spindle gave way and he repeated the process with the other three legs.

He climbed the steps and tried to shove one of the legs under the door as a wedge.  The tight gap kissed the ceramic tile, not allowing any leverage.  John took one leg and brought it down hard on the glass doorknob.  The handle shattered but the brass innards kept their composure, keeping the door locked.  John climbed back down the stairs and decided to try his luck on one of the closet doors.  If he could get into Reggie’s tool chest his chances of getting through the kitchen door would improve.

John brought the chair leg up and struck the door with it.  Shards of wood shattered and flew across the room but the door held strong.

John slid down the wall, fighting a rush of sobs.  He thought of Jana and reread her fleeting text messages.  Visions of Sarah and their sexual depravity aroused John against his will, followed by bouts of vomiting.

Headaches pounded the inside of John’s skull while cramps wracked his stomach.  He shivered from the cold damp rising out of the basement floor.  The black shirt and collar provided meager protection from the unheated house.  Dark, black circles formed on the edges of his vision and took John into the realm of the unconscious.

Chapter 3

“All clear!”

The shout woke John.  Panic seized his heart as he lurched upright.  Pain shot through his legs from cramps that imposed their will on his muscles.

“Sir, there appears to be a basement.”

“Then secure it, Private.”

The taste of danger sharpened John’s senses.  His legs burning, he dragged himself behind the couch on the opposite wall.  Within moments, he heard the crack of wood and saw the gray November light hit the landing near the kitchen.  Gleaming black boots crushed the remains of the glass doorknob as they crept down the steps.  John took a deep breath, inhaling as much of the renewed air as possible.

He watched as two sets of legs hit the bottom step.  Beams of light raced around the room, chasing red pinpoints.  They flashed over him a number of times but never remained long enough to reveal his position.  John held his breath and bit into his tongue, trying to ignore the crippling leg cramps seizing the muscles.

“Clear.”

A sharp report rang through the air followed by the acrid taste of burning gunpowder.  Before the reverberations faded, a second gunshot followed the first.  John heard the boots smash each of the closet doors as the hinges protested with a whiny squeak.

“Clear.”

“Clear.”

The two men kicked beer bottles around the floor, pointed their flashlights around the room one more time, and walked back up the steps towards the kitchen.  John exhaled, watching tendrils of smoke dance across the clammy cement floor.

Chapter 4

The light pouring through the open kitchen door climbed high on the wall until it disappeared completely.  John listened from behind the couch, still unwilling to chance exposing himself.  When the light faded, he crawled out.

Two gaping black mouths yawned at him where closet doors had previously stood.  He flipped the cell phone open but did not hear the customary startup chime.  A ragged crack ran the length of the screen and the battery had come loose from the clip on the back.  In his desperation to hide, he’d landed on top of the phone.  John shoved it into a pocket and felt his way towards the nearest closet.

The intrusion had scattered the planks, and hinges sagged from the wall.  With no light, John ventured inside the black canyon.  A smeared glass block window provided enough of a glare for John to recognize the flashlights on the shelf.  He grabbed one and flicked the switch.  Nothing.  He slammed it to the ground and grabbed another one.  The torch blasted the room with blinding light.  John stumbled over the shards of the door as his eyes burned and watered before becoming accustomed to the brightness.  John swept the beam around the cramped work room until he noticed a wealth of tools.  Grabbing the gym bag off a low shelf, he emptied its contents on the floor.  Old baseballs and street hockey balls rolled under the shelves.  John collected a hammer, screwdrivers, a hand axe, and plastic wrap and shoved them into the bag.

John turned off the flashlight and crept toward the steps.  The house sighed with the setting of the November sun, as aged boards protested the temperature change with cracks and pops.  Urine stench mingled with the greasy smell of heating oil.  He shivered from the approaching chill of night, while climbing the first step towards the kitchen.  The wooden plank sagged under his weight.  John’s palm felt the ruddy surface of the textured wall, guiding the rest of his body upwards.  He felt his heart slamming against his rib cage, threatening to burst from his chest.  John mumbled, trying to ignore the pulse in his temple.

The door to the kitchen stood wide open.  From his position on the steps, John saw broken glass scattered on the ceramic tile floor.  The duffel bag on his shoulder swung with each movement, the contents poking into his ribs.  He set the bag down on the top step and waited.  He listened.  Convinced of the emptiness, John stepped into the kitchen and out of his old life forever.

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Preta's Realm