Chapter 6: Work

Sun streamed in through the pale pink curtains. It was an odd sensation for the morning since I was on the west side of the building. I blinked against the impeding light as I realized what the time must be. I rolled over, having forgotten about my shoulder. I cried out in pain. My body freaked, failing like I was being beaten and I promptly fell on the floor. This caused a surge of pain that rattled through my bones into the aching shoulder. My teeth rattled in my head with the concussion.

After many minutes of recovering from the pain and the spinning vertigo, I pulled myself up using the edge of the bed to balance. As I stood, the sun streaked across my arm. I sucked in air with surprise that of course made me cough and sputter. When I caught my breath, I twisted my arm around to see it better.

Swirling red marks wrapped around my arm from my fingertips all the way to my shoulder. I opened and closed the right hand as I flipped it back and forth. My eyes traced the spiraling marks. They were almost like claw marks. The events of the previous night slammed into me. I thought I was crazy, but here, this was proof. Whatever had been in the darkness, or was the darkness, had left a physical mark.

While I stared at my arm, my nose was assaulted with the pungent aroma of bacon. My stomach grumbled painfully. I finished the climb to my feet. I was still fully clothed in my slacks and work shirt. I stumbled through the door, down the hallway, and to the kitchen. The curtain to Mila's room hung open. Anton sat on her day bed with his bare feet propped on the coffee table. I cringed. I hated feet, especially bare, dirty, man feet.

He looked up in surprised. "You are not pretty in the morning."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Where's the bacon?"

His eyes shifted around in question. "Oh, this morning. I made bacon this morning. I ate it all."

My stomach went queasy. What I hated more than feet was pungent smells that linger but weren't actually cooking or edible anymore. I fought the nausea, then stomped across the room and opened the sliding glass door to the balcony. I breathed in the summer air taking in just how late in the day it was. And how I was definitely late for work.

"What'd you do that for?"

I shot him a nasty look. "I live here, you don't. Deal with it."

He shrugged.

"How long are you staying?" I asked.

"How long is the rent paid?"

My stomach dropped at the realization. "Until the first. And I don't make enough to afford this place on my own."

"So, two weeks then?"

I let out a huge sigh. "Are you going to do anything?"

"Like pay your rent?"

"No, about Mila."

He ran his hand through his hair. "What am I supposed to do? Tell the cops some weird fucking dark thing took her? I don't even know what I saw. No one would believe me anyway."

I thought back to my brief 911 call. I knew what he meant. "You could report her missing."

"I doubt they're going to find her."

"That's not really the point."

He flipped his chin at me. "You do it."

I walked out of the room. I couldn't handle this. How could he even be related to Mila? He was her exact opposite in every way.

I showered. My shoulder ached. The wounds on my knees, elbows, and chin stung as I let the hot water pour down on them. I dug the gravel out my hand with some tweezers while I let the hot water run over my back. I cleaned them the wounds as gently as I could. When I stepped out, I dabbed some rubbing alcohol over each scrape to try and disinfect it. I should have used hydrogen peroxide, but I really didn't have the time to sit and wait for it to do it's magic.

My reflection looked like a cleaned up nightmare. What was I supposed to do now? I didn't even know what happened. Was I just supposed to keep on living? Keep on going? Well, I had to make rent. I had to work and try to survive. I couldn't just give up even though more than little of me wanted to.

I dumped the stuff from my purse in an empty grocery tote bag. It hung heavy and bulky at my side, but I couldn't afford to waste any more time. I headed out the door and made it to work only three hours late.

I slunk through the back entrance, casting a nasty glare at my burnt orange hornet on my way in. The manager caught me in the work room. The tall bearded man stood next to my cubby.

"You're late and not even a call from you. And where's Mila? She didn't show up for her shift this morning."

I turned to face him

His face drew into a frown. "What happened to you?"

"Mila's dead." The words sounded cold on my lips.

He stared at me, maybe trying to decide if I was lying. "Dead?"

I nodded.

"How?"

"I don't know. She was just that way when I found her."

"You should maybe take the day off, then."

I shook my head. "I can't. I need the money. I can't... I can't afford rent without her."

He nodded solemnly. "How about you stock the shelves today?"

"Okay." My voice was hoarse and quiet in my ears. "Can I leave before it gets dark?"

He looked past me out the window of the door. "I really need you to close, if you can. I'll make today overtime if you do."

I nodded. "Okay."

I spent the rest of the afternoon stocking shelves in the harsh florescent light. I could feel a headache starting in the back of my skull. As the store emptied, I took over as the only cashier. The janitor came in and started cleaning at eleven. My eyes roamed to the open windows at the front, looking over the nearly empty parking lot under the night sky. I wondered what it would be like tonight. Maybe the darkness would get me this time.