Chapter Five
Charlotte
I had an uneasy sense of being watched as I pulled into my assigned parking space in front of building 4 in the Sunshine apartments. It was actually a retirement community which wasn’t supposed to admit anyone under sixty-five. But I reminded the landlady of her granddaughter and I had explained my situation—lowly intern who barely gets any time off—and how hard it was to find someplace decent to stay near the hospital.
She had taken pity on me and I after I had practically sworn on a stack of bibles that I wouldn’t bring home strange men or have any wild parties, she had rented me a small one bedroom ground floor apartment with faded blue carpet and a shower that sometimes went ice-cold when one of the upstairs tenants flushed.
It wasn’t the nicest place in the world, but that hardly mattered because I almost never saw it. I lived at the hospital for the most part, only dashing home occasionally to pick up a few things and take intermittently icy cold showers.
As I got out of my Spark and clicked the alarm key, I told myself I was being foolish and paranoid. There was no one around to watch me but Mr. Peterson—the old man who liked to feed all the stray cats in the apartment complex. He was my next-door neighbor and the scent of cat urine frequently wafted from his open door when he came out to put down food for the “outside babies” as he called the strays.
“Well, howdy there, Doc,” he said, smiling jovially at me as ten or twelve cats of all shapes and sizes twined around his skinny legs. “Haven’t seen you in a coon’s age. You been busy down to that hospital of yours?”
I smothered a small smile. Mr. Peterson might smell of cat pee but I liked his folksy way of talking. He’d told me once he was “born and bred” in Texas and though you could take the man out of Texas, you clearly couldn’t take Texas out of the man.
“Yep—a little busy,” I answered, coming up the walk. “You got some new strays today?”
“Appears I do.” There was an unmistakable note of satisfaction in his voice. “Lots of outside babies today, just doing what they do.”
“So I see.” I smiled at him and yawned. “Well, I’m just coming off a twenty-four hour shift so I’m going to see if I can catch some shut-eye before my next shift at the hospital.
My words were an unsubtle hint—Mr. Peterson was a bit deaf and completely addicted to daytime TV. I was hoping he would know I was asking him to keep the volume on his old-fashioned, boxy TV set down to a dull roar while I was trying to sleep. The walls at the Sunshine apartments were paper-thin and it was really hard to sleep through the constant game-shows and soap-operas I could hear going on in my neighbor’s living room.
If he got my hint, he didn’t acknowledge it at all.
“You have a good sleep then, Doc,” he said cheerfully. “I’m just gonna finish feeding the outside babies and then I have to feed my inside ones.”
“You do that,” I said, nodding. I had never asked how many cats Mr. Peterson had but counting both the indoor and outdoor ones, I was guessing the number was upwards of fifty.
Letting myself into my apartment, I took a deep breath and sighed in relief. Here I was, home at last, about to get some much needed sleep. Yes, I’d had a crazy night and yes, my only friend was mad at me but I was finally going to get some rest.
Well, the only friend near enough to hang out with, anyway, I amended to myself. I thought guiltily of the way I had put Leah off the last two times she had called me. I should have talked to her but I was so busy with the hospital and that damn blue worm had been driving me nuts…
Speaking of the blue worm, it occurred to me that it had been over twelve hours since I had last been plagued by him. That was like a record, right? Maybe he was finally going to leave me alone!
I had a happy feeling that I was right—that everything was suddenly going to go my way. The worm hallucinations were over, my strange patient from the night before was safely sedated, Mr. Peterson would keep his TV down and I would have the best sleep of my life. Then I would go back to the hospital and make up with Sebastian—it wouldn’t be too hard, he was always in a good mood after he got laid. Everything was going to be fine—better than fine. Perfect!
The happy feeling lasted almost half an hour while I took a quick shower—(nobody flushed and it was hot the whole time!) and then went looking for something clean to wear to bed.
The good thing about being an Intern is that you never lack for clothes to wear—as long as all you want to wear are scrubs. The bad thing about being an Intern is you never have time to wash your other clothes so you pretty much live in scrubs, whether you want to or not.
I had a dirty clothes pile so monstrous it had spilled out of the laundry hamper and formed a small Mount Everest of socks, jeans, blouses, and underwear right beside it. Seriously—the overflow pile was higher than the hamper. It seemed like everything I owned was dirty.
I went pawing through my barren underwear drawer, looking frantically for something to wear. I don’t like to sleep naked—it makes me feel too vulnerable. At last in the corner, hiding under a cardboard packet of pantyhose I had bought for some occasion about a million years ago and never worn, my seeking fingers found something.
“Ah-ha!” I yanked it out and stared at the silky black teddy that looked like an indecently short dress which was mostly see-through, especially in the boob region. I’d bought it on a dare when I was out underwear shopping with Leah and Zoe.
Thinking of my two best friends and how much I missed them made my eyes sting with suppressed tears. But no—no, I was not going to cry, I told myself sternly. I was going to enjoy my peace and quiet and get a good solid eight hours of much needed sleep. I refused to feel guilty and sad and upset—nothing was going to ruin my mood!
Holding the lacy garment by the straps, I stepped into it, noticing how the black lace was a lot tighter over the breasts than when I had first bought it. That was because I had been living on hospital cafeteria food which isn’t exactly the most nutritious stuff—at least, not in my hospital—and I always gained weight in my boobs first. Not to say that my hips and ass were far behind, it’s just that I’ve always been kind of top-heavy and anytime I put on a significant amount of weight, I can tell because I gain a bra size.
There were no panties to go with the black teddy but I didn’t mind—after all, I was going to be sleeping alone so why bother?
I walked to the oval mirror I had hung on the wall and twitched the towel I had draped over it carefully to one side. I was half afraid I would summon the blue worm just by looking in it, but all I saw was myself. Just a blonde girl in her late twenties with a little too much flesh stuffed into her black lace teddy. Okay—more like a lot too much.
I bet myself that if the handsome (and unbearably self-satisfied) Dr. Drake Hunter could see me now, he would take back his dinner invitation in a heartbeat. Without my baggy scrubs and lab coat to hide it, it was clear I was quite a bit more than “pleasingly plump.” Well, what else could you except from one of the Plus-Sized Musketeers, as Zoe always liked to call herself and Leah and me?
“Time to lay off the cafeteria cheeseburgers, Charlotte,” I muttered to my reflection. “Maybe try the salad bar for a change.”
And then my image flickered and was replaced by the damn blue worm again.
“Greetings, Charlotte Walker,” it began.
“No!” I shouted, before it could go into its spiel again. “No, just leave me alone!”
I put the towel back in place hurriedly, but that only muffled the worm’s voice.
“I have a message for you,” it started saying.
“No message!” I shouted. “I’m not interested!”
There was silence for a moment, and then the worm started talking again. Only this time I couldn’t hear him because on the other side of the paper-thin wall I heard a sharp click and a newscaster’s voice started up loud and clear.
“…continued speculation about what happened to the famous billionaire politician who
disappeared completely a few weeks ago,” it said, sounding pompous and self-important. “Some have speculated that it was a plot hatched by Democrats. However, they have strenuously denied any involvement. Today we have breaking news on that story—a statement from one of his aides who is just now coming forward. Mr. Kyle—can you tell us and our viewers what you saw?”
“This is going to sound crazy,” a nervous male voice said. “But, well…he was sucked away into…into an espresso machine.”
“I’m sorry—what?” the reporter asked, sounding incredulous. “It sounded like you said he was sucked into an espresso machine.”
“He was,” the aide insisted. “I was there—I saw it! This strange music began to play and then he said, ‘What the Hell is that racket? Make it stop!’ We had a stainless steel espresso machine with silver sides and the music seemed to be coming from there. He walked up to it and said something like…well, I shouldn’t say what he said on TV.” The aide cleared his throat. “But anyway, the next thing I knew, he was getting sucked into the shiny silver side of the machine. Just…sucked in like it was suddenly a black hole or something. And then…then he was gone.”
“Well, Mr. Kyle, you’ll forgive me if I say that sounds kind of far-fetched.” The news reporter sounded like he was trying not to smile.
I certainly wasn’t smiling. Sucked into a shiny surface? Strange music playing? That sounded like what had happened to Zoe. Or what might have happened to her, anyway. Leah and I had been on a three way call with her when she disappeared. The last thing Leah and I had heard was weird music that sounded kind of like a trumpet or a bugle. Then Zoe screaming. Then…nothing.
Could all this be connected somehow? The worm in the mirror? The weird music that played right before someone disappeared?
I sank down on the side of the bed and put my head in my hands. What did it all mean?
And then I heard a pounding on the door.
With a sigh, I got up and looked for my robe. So much for a quiet eight hours of rest—I’d be lucky to get any with all the racket going on, both inside and outside my head.
My robe was dirty—not just a little bit either. I had spilled canned tomato soup on it the last time I’d had a minute to relax and eat dinner at home. I make a mean grilled cheese sandwich but it needs the soup to go with it. Only I had been so tired, I had dumped the entire bowl in my lap, I remembered as I surveyed the now-crunchy red stain on the pink terrycloth.
Luckily, the black lace teddy had a robe that went with it. It wasn’t nearly as substantial as my pink terrycloth one, but it came down to my knees and wasn’t see-through so I decided it would have to do.
Whoever it was pounded on the door again, the TV in Mr. Peterson’s apartment blared, and the blue worm went on and on in a muffled voice from my oval mirror, demanding to give me a message.
God, what a mess.
Sighing, I left the bedroom and took a few short steps to the hallway—the apartment wasn’t very large. It was probably just the UPS man trying to deliver to the wrong address again. Mrs. Nader in the apartment above me, was always ordering toys for her little dog and the apartments weren’t very clearly marked. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d had to direct someone up the stairs to her place so she could get her dog toys and treats.
Speaking of the dog—which was a Jack Russell terrier mix—I could now hear it starting to yap and bark frantically just above my head. Well, great—one more noise to add to the cacophony. I really should have stolen some earplugs from the MRI suite before I came home to try and sleep.
Without looking through the peephole, I opened my front door.
“Look, you want the apartment upstairs,” I was already saying when I saw that my visitor wasn’t the UPS man or the FedEx guy at all. Instead, it was Carlos, the kindly old janitor from the hospital.
“Excuse me, Dr. Walker,” he said, bobbing his graying head humbly. “But I just got a flat tire not too far from here. Could I use your phone to call? I don’t have no cell phone—my wife, she kept it today.”
“Oh, uh…” For a moment I had a really strong impulse to slam the door in his face. I remembered Kristoff’s whirling rainbow eyes and his deep voice warning, Danger!
But that was crazy, I told myself. Carlos was a sweet old guy—nobody to be afraid of. And Kristoff had also called me “Goddess” and warned about assassin-bots or something like that which sounded like it was straight out of a science fiction novel. So who was I going to believe? The kind, grandfatherly coworker I’d known for months, or the crazy patient I’d seen for just a few minutes last night?
When I put it like that, it seemed there was no contest.
“All right, Carlos,” I said, stepping aside to usher him through the door. “Let me just get my phone.”