She picked up the note, gratified that her hands only shook a little as she opened it. She was immediately relieved to see Larry’s handwriting, and she quickly read the message.
I didn’t have the heart to wake you after the night you had. I got up early and cleaned (a little) so you wouldn’t have to wake up to a total pigsty (ha ha). I’ve got a signing gig this morning at a conference for small business owners downtown. Sounds like a snooze-fest, but at least I’ll get a check out of it. Call or text me if you need anything. I hope you have a good day!
Larry.
He’d drawn a small heart next to his signature. She knew it wasn’t a romantic gesture. He always drew a heart next to his signature, even when signing official documents like contracts or tax forms. It was just part of who he was. Seeing it cheered her a little, and she put the note down on the counter, leaving it open so she could see the little heart while she made coffee.
She made a of couple slices of toast while the coffee brewed, and she decided to spoil herself a little and slather some blackberry jam on the bread. The dining table and its chair stood upright once more – Larry had righted them after the crime scene tech had departed. She didn’t feel comfortable sitting at the table, though. The shadow creatures had knocked it over when they’d rushed through the open patio door. They’d touched it. She didn’t think the things had poisoned the table or cursed it or anything. Then again, who knew what the creatures were capable of?
So you believe the shadow things are real, but the Vermilion Tower isn’t? How can you choose to believe in one impossibility but not the other?
She drank her coffee and ate her toast standing at the counter. She loved blackberry jam, would eat one jar after another if she allowed herself, which was why she bought it so rarely, and when she did buy it, she saved it for a special treat. But she barely tasted it today, and she only managed to eat one piece of toast and a single bite of the second before she lost her appetite. She felt slightly nauseated, but she downed the rest of her coffee – appetite or not, she needed the caffeine – then put the uneaten toast down the disposal. She then rinsed her mug and put it in the dishwasher.
Normally she did yoga in the morning, following along to the routines on one of the DVDs she owned. As much as her body hurt this morning, she could use the exercise. But she wasn’t sure she had the time, not if she didn’t want to be late for her first client. A shower might do more good for her body than yoga today anyway. It would sure as hell be more soothing. But she was hesitant to head to the master bathroom. This was partially due to the fact that the shadow creatures had broken into her bedroom last night and pounded on the bathroom door as she hid there, terrified. But she was also reluctant because the lock on her patio door was broken. She’d call the rental office before she left and ask them to send someone to fix the lock, but it would likely be a while before a maintenance worker showed up. In the meantime, anyone could enter her apartment through the patio door. Anyone – or anything. She didn’t like the idea of standing naked in the shower, defenseless and wondering if someone had snuck into her apartment and was walking down the hallway, heading for her bedroom, intending to break the lock on the bathroom door and come rushing toward her.
The image brought a fresh twist of nausea, and for a moment she thought she might throw up her meager breakfast. She managed to keep it down, though. Did she have anything that she could use to keep the patio door closed? Some kind of metal or wooden rod that she could slip into the track so the door couldn’t be opened? She couldn’t think of anything.
She’d left her phone on the coffee table when she rose from the couch, and now she heard it vibrate against the table’s glass surface. The sound was off, but since the phone only vibrated once, she figured she’d just received an email or text message. She walked over to the coffee table and stared at the phone. She regarded it warily, as if it were a poisonous insect that might sting her if she came too close. What if the message she’d received was another enigmatic taunt from the Cabal?
Fuck it, she thought and picked up the phone.
She unlocked the screen and sure enough, she had one text message. She took a deep breath to steel herself before opening it. It was from her sister, and she released her breath in a sigh of relief. She read the message.
Just checking in. Haven’t heard from you in a few days. I hope things are going well with you and Justin! ☺ Love ya! – R
Reeny had been not-so-gently urging Lori to start dating again since she and Larry had ceased being lovers, and she was thrilled her sister had a new man in her life. Reeny might be the younger sister, but she acted as if she were older than Lori, was always trying to take care of her. Sometimes – okay, a lot of times – this irritated her, but today she was grateful for Reeny’s concern. She wrote a text in reply.
I really need to talk. Can you meet me for lunch today?
Short and sweet. There was no way she could explain everything over text, and if she tried, Reeny would only get upset and start worrying that her sister was going crazy.
Maybe you are going crazy, she thought.
This was not a thought she wanted to examine further, and she buried it, afraid of where it might lead. She sent the text and, phone still in hand, headed for her bedroom. No shower this morning, but she’d clean herself as best she could with a washcloth. That way she’d at least be able to hear if anyone opened the patio door from outside. As for her hair, she’d do what she could, but if it looked like crap, the world would just have to deal with it.
She hurried into her bedroom, trying not to think about the shadow creatures breaking open the door last night and rushing toward the bathroom where she was hiding.
She failed miserably.
* * *
Get Moving! (complete with exclamation mark) was located in a shopping center near downtown. It was nestled between an optometrist and a foot spa. Lori had no idea exactly what a foot spa was. She imagined a place where people’s feet were pampered in every way possible, and she had to admit that sounded good. Every time she pulled into the parking lot, she told herself that she should give it a try sometime, but so far she never had and, if she was honest with herself, she probably never would.
She parked several rows back from Get Moving!’s entrance. The up-close spaces were reserved for clients. Not only was that good business practice in general, but given the mobility issues their clients often had, it was a necessity. She checked her phone before getting out of the car, and she saw that Reeny had texted her back.
Lunch is on! The Thai place okay? Speaking of okay, I hope YOU are! Love, love, love ya! – R
Lori was so relieved to hear from Reeny that she almost cried. Now all she had to do was get through the morning until lunchtime. She didn’t think talking to Reeny was going to solve her current problems, but it would make her feel better, and it would hopefully give her a better perspective on what had happened. Unless Reeny listened to her story and told her she was nuts and needed to check into a psych ward, pronto.
Just get your ass to work, she told herself. If she could manage to keep busy, she wouldn’t have time to obsess over all the weird shit that had happened to her. That was the hope, anyway.
Reeny’s was the only text she’d gotten since leaving her apartment. Nothing from Justin letting her know how his doctor’s appointment went. She checked her voicemail app and found she had no new messages. Maybe Justin’s appointment wasn’t over yet. Or maybe he was still pissed at her after the way their phone conversation had gone last night. If she hadn’t heard from him by lunchtime, she’d text him, or maybe call him on her way back from the restaurant.
She grabbed her purse, got out of her car, locked it, and started walking toward the office. It didn’t look like much from the outside. Get Moving! was spelled out in large blue plastic letters above the entrance, which consisted of a narrow glass door and a side window with white letters painted on it enumerating Get Moving!’s services.
Physical Therapy
Free Assessments
Work Injuries
Pre- and Post-Surgical Therapy
Sports Injuries
Joint Replacement Therapy
All Major Insurance Accepted
Medicare Patients Accepted
Lori thought the letters on the window could’ve easily – and perhaps more honestly – spelled out We do anything you need. Please give us money!
She pulled the door open and stepped inside. No sound triggered to alert the staff that someone had entered – no tinkling bell or electronic tone. Such noises wouldn’t be conducive to creating a calm, relaxing atmosphere. Katie Pope sat behind a curving front counter close to the entrance. She was African-American, in her late twenties, a touch overweight with a roundish face. She was pretty and her outgoing personality and charm attracted men to her in droves. Lori loved Katie, but she sometimes found the woman exhausting.
Across from reception was the waiting area, which consisted of a couch, chair, side table with lamp, and a round table upon which were magazines of various kinds for people to read. Lori was relieved to see the waiting area was unoccupied. She’d been afraid she’d see Debra Foster sitting on the couch, glaring at her because she’d gotten here before her. The woman was notoriously early and had no patience with anyone who wasn’t. To her, ‘Early is on time and on time is late’ wasn’t just a saying but her life’s guiding principle.
“Morning,” Katie said without looking up from her computer.
