Even in the middle of the day the stairwell was cast in shadow. It was darker than shadows from the boughs of a tree or even an alley between businesses. It loomed like a pit, almost as if the stairs would drop from beneath Calvin’s feet, plunging him into an even darker abyss where his nightmares waited.
And yet he couldn’t deny the enveloping sense of comfort that put him at ease, like smelling Mother’s cooking or lounging in a favorite hideout when he was a child.
He tentatively took the steps, watching the door for movement. Ghastly had told him that he was welcome here, that he could stop by anytime he wanted, but even through the vibrant sensations of comfort that drew him in like the urge to be close to a lover, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t supposed to be there. It was the same feeling he had when he came down here for the first time after so many years.
At the door, Calvin considered knocking or just going in. Ghastly’s voice spoke up. Not the voice that guided him from time to time, but a remembrance of what Ghastly had told him. It was all right to go inside. There was no need to knock. Shouldn’t he go in before someone saw him standing there and started asking questions?
Hand on the doorknob, Calvin felt an immediate sensation that radiated through his arm like tiny bolts of electricity. It wasn’t like being shocked from a live wire (something Calvin knew a little bit about considering his profession), but more akin to intense static electricity.
He walked in and closed the door. Inside it was quiet. If someone had sneaked in there they were probably aware that the door had opened and were keeping still. Calvin froze as the thought occurred to him that he might be sharing space with someone who may have been prepared to burglarize the place, maybe someone loaded on drugs and one wrong move away from an ill-fated gunshot.
Who the hell would want to rob this place?
The only light filtered in through scratches in the black paint covering the window in the door, which was hardly any light at all. Calvin remembered where the light switch was and had his hand planted on it, prepared to brighten up the situation, which meant he had to be prepared for whomever was standing somewhere in this hodgepodge of debris. Person doesn’t know their way and they’d trip over something. Then again, person knows their way and what does that say? Says they’ve been here before.
Calvin flicked the light switch. He had been expecting a brighter set of fluorescents, but the lighting was poor, which lent to the ambiance. Calvin couldn’t see anyone. Not yet at least.
Something fell and echoed off the ground. Sounded like it came from the room that had once been used for viewing Death’s Door. There had been an upturned coffin with a television in it, but Calvin couldn’t remember if it had been there when he was here a few weeks ago.
Calvin wasn’t going anywhere. This had been his destination whether he knew it or not and he wasn’t going to be dissuaded by some imposter. He looked around for something to use as a bludgeon. There were plenty of pictures on the walls and a clutter of shelves, but nothing solid. At his feet in a corner covered in dust was the taxidermy dog that greeted customers on their way into the place back when it was open for business. Calvin thought it was maybe an English setter, but he was no good with canine breeds. It was moderate in size and curled into what, back when it was alive, was probably a comfortable position.
Another noise echoed. Sounded like the scuffing of a foot.
Calvin crouched down and grabbed the dog, not that he knew what he would do with it. He stood, grasping the hollow, light-weighted animal. His grip was on one of the dog’s paws. There was a ripping sound like dry papier-mâché tearing and then the bulk of the dog fell to the floor. It was so dry and poorly preserved that it cracked in half on impact.
The sound of the thing hitting the floor gave Calvin a start. He looked up, eyes darting through the scattering of shelves to the room where he’d heard the previous noises. The silence was intense.
Having had enough of this strange waiting game, Calvin started forward, dry dog hindquarter in hand. He lifted it like a weapon and wasn’t sure why. He maneuvered through the room without attempting to hide his footfalls. He and the stranger both knew that they were sharing this small space. The fact that the other person hadn’t made a move told Calvin that they probably weren’t aggressive.
Entering the smaller room, crusty dogleg poised, Calvin was ready for anything. This room was much cleaner than the previous one. The rows of folding chairs were just as they had been before, albeit scattered like someone had maybe fallen amidst them. He looked to his right, and flat against the wall was the coffin, only there wasn’t a TV inside like there used to be.
There was a woman inside.
And she didn’t look dead.
Chapter Fifteen
Ronnie tried to call Calvin three times before she gave up. Had half a mind to drive over to his place, but didn’t want to upset him. Maybe he needed some time alone. Things had been good recently, and yet Ronnie couldn’t ignore the reality that he was changing.
Something about his general attitude was off, but that could be attributed to any number of things, and really that wasn’t such a big deal. What her mind came back to was how strange he’d been in bed lately. Last night was so odd that she had completely lost the mood. For a second there she wanted to push him away like he was a rapist and she felt like a witch even thinking such a thing. But the way he was sucking on her neck, it was horrible. Not tender kisses but forceful gnashing like he was trying to rip her throat out.
This was something she couldn’t go to her mother for advice about. Ronnie had a fairly open relationship with her mother, but sex was something she always felt awkward talking about. She didn’t talk to her mother about the recent complexities of Calvin’s sexual desires. It was hard enough telling her mother that she was pregnant. Ronnie was a woman, but she felt like a little girl when the subject of sex came up while talking with her mother, who, on the few occasions that they did talk sex, had a refreshing perspective.
Some days Ronnie considered abortion, wanted to break it off with Calvin, focus on her studies and get a career before even considering a serious relationship, and then other days she was helplessly in love with him and the idea of starting a family together. Life would be so damn confusing.
She looked at her phone, thought about calling him again, but what was the use. He’d call her back, probably at the most inopportune time like when she was in the middle of an exam. She’d have to remember to put her phone on vibrate mode to avoid the embarrassment of a phone chime in the middle of an auditorium of concentration.
There was a midday talk show on TV that primarily focused on low class people and paternity tests. Who’s the father? That was the question of the day. Maybe the question of the year. Maybe even the question of the decade. Ronnie wondered why there hadn’t been a show called Who’s Your Daddy?
The reason these tramps were on the show was that they were such sluts they could never pin down who the father of any of their brood was. Four kids and four different Baby Daddies. It was sick. Not even sad, not anymore. It might have been sad back when Ronnie first saw this kind of program, but now it was just plain out negligence. The sad part was the ratings, which must have been good considering how long this tired cliché was played out day after day.
Ronnie couldn’t say for sure, but she figured Celia was a prime candidate for a couple of welfare babies by an aspiring bunch of ex-con Baby Daddies. She’s probably had an abortion and most certainly used the day-after pill.