Due to
Icemaggedon we didn't get to go to the movies last night. :(
So rather than leave you with nothing, here's chapter 2 of Inner Demons
Urban Fantasy novel that should be available in print and ebook formats in late Jan 2014!
In case you missed it - here's a link to
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
The pimple-faced kid behind the
counter ogled me as I came up, trying to keep my balance on the boots' high
heels. You'd think he'd never seen a psychedelically dressed black woman
before. The thought made me giggle, which only served to scare me. I was losing
it.
“What's the street address here?”
“Uh, yeah, sure, 9836 Beechnut.”
Then the hard part. “And the
city?”
That got me a raised brow.
“Houston, of course.”
The wave of relief at hearing I
was still in my home city made me weak at the knees. “Do you have a pay phone?”
Instead of answering he pointed
back toward the bathrooms. He was no longer ogling, but studying me to
determine if I was about to cause some trouble.
“Thanks.” I put as much heartfelt
gratitude as I could to try to ease his suspicions, already having had more
than my fill of weirdness for one night. “I'll have a medium Coke, please.”
The ten I put on the counter
seemed to alleviate his worries more than my smile had. As long as he gave me
some change for the phone, I didn't care.
I took the empty cup and my money
and made the call. The cab showed up less than twenty minutes later.
The Yellow Cab added to my sense
of ease, the bright cars a familiar part of the Houston landscape. The driver
didn't bat an eye at my 'loud' appearance, for which I was grateful. I gave him my address, and we got underway.
My eyes stung as we came within
sight of my apartment complex. I'd never been so happy to see anything in my
life. I paid the driver and then just stood at the security gate staring at the
white clubhouse with its dark red Spanish tiled roof. I managed to make it to
the clunky keypad without falling on my face and slipped inside the complex.
My steps echoed eerily into the
dark as I followed the sidewalk amidst the manicured trees and lawn toward
building 4C. My eager steps slowed as I got close. Growing dread bubbled up
past my previous elation.
I came to a stop five steps from
my apartment door.
My last memories, before finding
myself on that dark street alone, were of the apartment. So whatever had
happened to me had started here. And there was nothing to say it couldn't
happen again.
My arms and legs broke out in
goose bumps.
The red door with its silver 102
below the peephole, the tiled entryway covered by the dark wood underside of
the stairs leading to the apartment above – it had always been a welcomed
sight. Yet for reasons I couldn't name, it now seemed alien and menacing. I
shifted from one foot to the other, rubbing my arms with my hands while staring
at it, feeling cold though the night was warm.
I'd never been one to back down,
though – not with the pushers trying to hook us on drugs in middle school, not
with the racists that harassed me in high school, or even the few prejudiced
college students or teachers at Rice. I hadn't run from any of that then and I
wouldn't start doing it now. Nothing was going to stop me from going into my
own apartment. There might be answers there.
Yet those last few steps ended up
being harder to manage than anything I'd done before. Dread and fear mingled
inside me, throwing warnings at me, yelling at me not to do this, that I'd be
sorry, and I didn't understand why. My throat clogged up tight.
Concentrating to keep my
breathing steady, I took the last step which put me before the door. The spot
between my shoulder blades twinged and I glanced behind me, but there was no
one there. I reached for the key in the small handbag and felt my fear double
as I saw the skull keychain again. It wasn't me, it wasn't mine. My hand shook
as I inserted the key into the lock and turned it.
The euphoria because it worked
lasted less than a moment, for an open door meant I could go inside and it was
the last thing I really wanted to do.
I pushed the door open, but
didn't go in. The twinge between my shoulders grew painful. The interior of the
apartment was dark. Taking a deep breath and holding it, I reached past the threshold
and flicked on the interior hall light.
I exhaled with one long breath of
relief as the light showed me nothing but the familiar. The space before me was
still the same white, gray, and red tile of the foyer, the plush gray carpet
filling the hall. I could even see the edge of my comfy couch just where it
should be. Chiding myself for my bizarre apprehension, I took a tentative step
inside.
Nothing changed. Everything
looked exactly as it should.
I closed the door behind me and
locked it.
Never taking my gaze off the
hallway before me, I unzipped the uncomfortable boots and took them off. I held
onto one of them, twisted around with the spiked heel in front in case I needed
an impromptu weapon. Though I knew this was home and everything seemed fine,
that heavy sense of dread was still clamped tight to my chest. I inched
forward, listening for anything untoward.
My hand went around the corner
and switched on the kitchen lights. Brightness flooded the room and bled out
into the living room over the open counter.
I spotted a red flowing lava lamp
on the coffee table. A shiver ran down my back. I didn't own a lava lamp. Had someone broken in here while I'd been gone?
Steering away from the thought, I quickly moved around the room and switched on
every lamp then surveyed the place again. The twinge grew into a yank between
my shoulders as I noticed other little changes.
Food stains on my gray couch.
Water rings on my polished coffee table. Dust on the picture frames and floor
corners.
Dust…
I'd only been gone for a few
hours…why would there be dust? I shied away from the question, sure I wouldn't
like the answer and instead moved from room to room turning on more and more
lights.
At my bedroom, I swayed at the
doorway, my chest so tight I couldn't breathe. The room was nothing like I'd
left it. Gone were the off-white, comforting, textured walls. Instead, it was currently
painted in blood red with a crackle black overlay. A metallic black four-poster
bed with red satin sheets and comforter had replaced my maple sleigh style bed.
A huge flat screen TV took up a chunk of one wall where I'd had several oil
landscapes. Video recording equipment sat beneath it, as well as standing
lights. New shelving on the walls held more lava lamps of different colors and
an assortment of accouterments that only belonged in X-rated or gothic films.
I stepped back, shaking my head
in denial. This couldn't be my apartment. That wasn't my room.
Turning around, I gazed at my
home office. Before I could think about what I was doing, I stepped inside, the
familiarity of the room making it that much easier to ignore the other.
The computer was on, a screen
saver of running half naked nuns flashing on the screen. I leapt forward and
hit the mouse to make it go away. Pop-ups for AIM messages were all over the
screen. The login was for someone called ChocolateLover. I scanned a few of
them thinking they might hold a clue. I quickly regretted it.
Requests for sex talks. Queries
as to when ChocolateLover would be on tonight. Demands she give in to their
fantasies. Some even offered money or goods if she'd only meet with them in
person.
Grabbing the mouse, I frantically
closed all the rest of the boxes, having had enough. Then I moved the cursor
down to the corner for the system date. My eyes grew wider and wider until I
thought they'd pop out of my head. The computer said it was Friday, July 23rd.
I let go of the mouse as if it'd
bit me. No, it was April, April 15th! It couldn't possibly be July. This was
all a joke. A sick twisted joke.
I grabbed the mouse again and
double clicked the icon to pull up my browser. I clicked the Favorites folder
and then the link to the US Time website. The screen pulled up showing the
time, day, and date – July 23rd.
No… No…
My knees quivered. Then I fell
down to the carpet, my hands shaking, my brain numb.
This couldn't be happening. This
couldn't be right!
Someone had to know what was
going on. Someone had to be able to help me. Debbie! The thought of my best
friend gave me a jolt and I could think straight again. Debbie would have some
idea, some clue.
Despite the tiny voice in the
back of my head saying that was unlikely, it was still something to cling to. I
rose shakily to my feet and stumbled back out to the kitchen. I still hadn't
seen a trace of my iPhone, but I'd kept the landline after setting up DSL so
could use that instead.
The phone had changed from a
non-descript cordless to a giant set of red lips. Trying not to think about it,
I picked up the top.
I punched in Debbie's number,
heart racing, ideas popping up one after the other as to what might have
happened and being dismissed just as quickly. Lost Time. I'd heard the term,
but couldn't remember if it related to aliens or mental conditions or what.
Aliens, there was an even more remote possibility. This wasn't the X-Files. Aliens made great TV but didn't
hold up to reality. Split personalities though, schizophrenia, those were real
things, documented, studied. But I wasn't mental. I would have noticed
something before this, wouldn't I?
The phone started ringing on the
other end and I forced my thoughts to still. I held my breath as the other end
picked up. Tears prickled the corner of my eyes as I heard the familiar voice.
“Hello?” She sounded hesitant,
and that's when I realized I'd never called her from the landline before. My
name didn't show on her cell phone, only the number.
“Debbie, thank God. I'm so glad
to hear your voice!”
There was only silence from the
other end. It'd been three months, (oh god, three
months!) maybe she didn't recognize my voice? “Debbie?”
“Who is this?” The question was
hard, cold. I didn't understand it.
“It's Tamara. Listen, something
weird is going—”
The phone went dead. She'd hung
up on me… I pulled the phone from my ear and stared at it, dread chomping at me
from the inside.
I redialed. The phone rang three
times then went to voicemail. I didn't leave a message, just disconnected and
tried again. Why wouldn't she pick up? My sense of dread jumped up a couple of
more notches. By the third time I was desperate. “Debbie, please! I don't
understand. I need your help! Something weird is going on. My apartment, my
clothes, the time. Look, I, I don't get any of this, but if I, if I somehow did
something to offend you… I can come over if you don't want to talk on the
phone. You're my best friend, and I really
need your help.”
I hung up and stared at the phone,
willing her to call me back. But as the minutes ticked away, the certainty that
she wouldn't grew inside me. Yet why would I think that?
The lip phone shrilled out,
making me jump though I'd hoped for a call.
Caller ID on the answering
machine flashed Debbie's number. I felt a shot of hope. It didn't last long.
“If? You say if you did something to offend me?” Her breathing was fast and
heavy. “And don't you dare get within
a hundred feet of my house! If I see you, I'll shoot you dead!”
She was mad, more than mad,
furious. I'd known Debbie since we hooked up as lab partners in college. As all
friends do, we'd had some fights on occasion but never had she sounded so full
of anger. “Debbie, I…I don't understand. What happened?”
There was a harsh laugh on the
other end of the line. It was full of bitterness, and thorns, and wasn't
anything I'd ever heard from her before. “Okay, I'll play.” Another bark of a
laugh. “Richie. You remember Richie, my
fiancé, don't you, bitch?”
It wasn't anger. It was hate,
pure unadulterated hate and it was aimed at me. I almost dropped the phone at
the realization. How long had this been building inside her? How long had she
been waiting for an opportunity to vent her rage? “Y-yes?”
“And June first, June first rings
a bell, doesn't it?”
Oh no, I'd missed the wedding.
Debbie had talked of nothing for months except of being a June bride. I was
supposed to be her maid of honor. Was that where all of this was coming from?
Deep from inside me a whisper said 'no'. I was cold all over. “Yes.”
“And I bet you remember the night
you went to see him, too. The one where you got him drunk. And gave him pills.
Where you had sex with him?” Again
the bitter laugh rang in my ears. Numbness crawled up my arm and spread all
over me. I'd done what?
“And how you then brought him to
my house at three in the morning and left him on my doorstep naked and bombed
out of his mind for me to find? Is any of
that ringing any bells for you?”
No, it wasn't. But what was worse
was the fact I didn't doubt her in the least. As if I already knew it was true.
Which made no sense at all. I would have never done something like this to her,
never. Yet seemingly I had. Disgust and horror swelled up my throat. “Debbie,
I…”
“Just die, bitch, and never, ever
call me again!”
The line went dead, but I barely
noticed. I slid to the floor, the phone falling from my hand.
Stay warm everyone!
