Chapter 6

6: Mina was given the assignment to find out more about that detective who, she remembered from the news the night before, had a talking parrot.  She had a brand new seemingly mutual respect for the senior editor.  "Thanks for this chance, Mr. Abbot.  I'm still in shock."
  "Well, as you know, Marble Cliffs Today has always tried to emphasize clarity, directness and understandability in all its news stories.  A lot of these young writers today just churn out articles like a damn conveyor belt with only profit in mind.  I'm always looking for someone who won't sacrifice quality for speed.  This detective, Kenn Varson, has gotten a little attention because people claim that his talking parrot helps him solve his cases. Most of my writers would play this up and sensationalize it to make an easy buck.  I don't want our paper to turn into a trashy tabloid with no self-respect.  What I'd like is for you to go talk to him and see if you can get the straight dope from him."
  "Keep it grounded in reality.  No problem, sir.  But what if he really believes that his parrot helps him?"
  "Then interview the parrot," he chuckled.  "I'm sure you'll do just fine.  Don't worry about a thing."
  After that short conversation, Mina was off on her first journalistic endeavor.  She drove over to the address that she was given where she would be able to find Kenn Varson so that she could interview him.  She jotted down a few questions on a piece of paper, but otherwise had no real idea what she was going to do.  "Oh, really?  Magic parrot, huh?  Do you think maybe he can figure out whatever happened to my dignity?  Oh, it died a cruel and agonizing death when I got the desk next to Jeffrey the Annoyer?  Thanks, Mr. Parrot."  She sighed as she got out of her car.
  It was a small one-story house in a working-class neighborhood.  The paint job was cracked but not yet chipped or peeling.  At some time in the distant past, there had been a pathetic attempt to grow grass in the front yard, but all that remained were small dead patches of brown fire hazards.  A lousy excuse for a porch stood in front of the house with two steps leading up to the front door.
  "He's going to see you," came a voice from behind Mina which startled her out of her thoughts.  She turned to see a little boy wearing a red and white striped shirt on a bicycle standing in the middle of the road.
  "What?" was all she could manage to get out.
  "That house," said the boy, pointing.  "He's going to see you."
  "The what?  The house is going to see me?"
  "No, HE is going to see you."  The little boy rode off down the road and rounded a corner leaving Mina all alone and suddenly feeling an eerie sense of vulnerability.  She felt as if she was being watched.

Chapter 5

  Bill knew it was going to be good news as soon as he opened the front door.  Sandy's shoes were neatly set right beside the doorway.  This was their little game and he knew what would come next.  Sure enough, a little ways down the hall he could see one sock and then another.  He breathed a sigh of relief.  This meant that her tests had come back saying she was healthy.  She was in the mood for love and he wouldn't disappoint her.  Right about now, he didn't want to keep her waiting for much longer because, truth be told, he was in the mood now too.  After all these years, Sandy was only within the last few years beginning to gray a little, but she wore it well and in no way looked old in Bill's eyes.
  Years ago when Sandy had given birth to their son, she became insecure about her body because of the weight she had gained during the pregnancy and the resulting stretch marks.  She felt that she would never be able to look like the women she saw on TV.  Bill told her that she was even more beautiful now than ever.  He said, "Those women on the TV may have a certain look, but they have no character expressed by their bodies.  Your body is a flag of honor for maternal love.  Wear it proudly."  After that, she had never been ashamed to share her body with him because she knew that he loved her inside and out.  She would often exchange a back rub from Bill for what she called a "front rub."
  Right now she desired to share her body with him and it showed when he found her shirt about half way up the staircase.  At the top of the staircase were her pants.  Down the hall, on the second story of their house, was her bra.  Bill could feel his blood begin to race as he approached the end of the trail with a warm and loving prize behind door number one.  It still took his breath away to see that, hanging on the doorknob to the closed bathroom door, were her panties.  Inside the bathroom she would be in the bathtub wearing only candlelight.
  Bill closed his eyes for a moment to say a quick thank you to God before opening the bathroom door.  What he saw next struck terror into the deepest parts of his inner being.  The bathtub was filled with blood and Sandy lay inside it with her eyes glazed over and clouded in death.  Behind him the door closed revealing a shadowy figure hiding just out of his field of vision.  Bill never even had a chance to scream.

Chapter 4

4: When Mina went to work, Jeffrey the Annoyer, who had been copy editing even longer than Mina, came in with his usual greeting of "Good evening, individuals."  Jeffrey was really only a kid who looked like he was twelve years old and acted like he was two.  She had heard that he was actually in his late twenties, but he looked like a punk with spiked hair and a silly looking steel pokey thing sticking out underneath his lower lip right above his stupid-ass goatee.  He somehow thought that being a copy editor for as long as he had been made him the god of the newspaper.  He acted like he knew everything and everyone else was a moron even though his work ethic could best be summed up with his phrase, "I work very hard...to look busy."  He claimed that if he worked at his full capacity, he would make everyone else look bad so he would "pace himself" for the sake of the greater good.  Of course, pacing himself meant falling asleep at his desk.
  After he had repeatedly asked out Ashley from payroll despite her obvious disinterest, she had dubbed him with the title, Jeffrey the Annoyer and he had lived up to it every day.  People in the office generally just tried to ignore him.  Of course, living in his own little world as he did, he was completely oblivious to this.
  Mina sighed at the 600 pound gorilla pile of work sitting exactly where it wanted to, squarely on top of her diminutive desk.  Just another fun day at the office, she groaned.  Shuffling through the jumble of articles and photographs, she spied a picture of a man wearing a cheesy trench coat that she recognized.  It was that damn kooky detective she had seen on her television last night.  The caption for the photo said that his name was Kenn Varson. "Detective Kenn Varson is pictured here third from the right in this grouping of five gentlemen," she read aloud.
  She took one look at the photo and caption and thought about it for a second, even looking at her hand to verify the stupidity of this choice of words.  "Who the hell writes this shit?  Third from the right in a group of five?  Why not third from the left or dead freakin' center?"  She saw a shadow appear on her desk and when she turned around she saw that Barney Abbot, the senior editor was right behind her and right behind him was Jeffrey with a huge smirk on his face.  Mr. Abbot was a slightly heavy-set man who tried unsuccessfully to wear shirts large enough to hide his gut.  She couldn't quite place where he might be from, but her guess was some place in the Middle East.  His ethnic heritage, background and origin weren't exactly the elephant in the room at this particular moment.  All that she was thinking about now was the fact that he was her boss and she might have just pissed him off.  Jeffrey had his hand over his mouth in an attempt to obscure his wiley grin.
  "I didn't even notice that," the senior editor frowned.  Behind him, Jeffrey rolled his eyes.
  "Yes, sir.  Please excuse my outburst, but I just thought it was rather arbitrary so I was going to change it to say, 'Detective Kenn Varson is pictured here in the center of a group of five gentlemen.'"
  "Yes, that does sound more clear."  The senior editor was impressed by her keen attention to detail.  "How long have you been copy editing here?"
  "About a year now, Mr. Abbot."  Mina inwardly winced because she didn't know if she was going to have to start looking for a new job or what.
  "I take it you're not just another one of these young bucks here with a Journalism degree in one hand and a silver spoon in the other."
  "Well, I have a degree in Creative Writing and one in Literature in one hand and a plastic spork made in Taiwan in the other."
  Barney laughed at that.  "Two degrees?  Well, I'd say we've been wasting your talents here.  How would you like to try your hand at writing a story for the paper?"
  Maybe dumbstruck would have sounded better than dumbass, but, "Uh...uh a story?" was all she could get out.
  "Why don't you come upstairs with me and I'll find you something to write."  Mina had been working with this newspaper company for almost a year so this came as a huge surprise.  Jeffrey stuck his tongue out at her just out of Barney's line of sight.  Mina headed out the door with the senior editor to receive her first real assignment.  She couldn't resist turning around to Jeffrey and flipping him off with her third from the right finger.

Chapter 3

  I'm in my room.  But this isn't the room I live in now.  I grew up in this room.  This is my childhood bedroom from my foster parents' house in Tucson.  I immediately know this is a dream and it won't end well.  I don't want to be here and it's dark as hell.  No matter how old I am, when I'm in this dream I still have my childhood fear of the dark.  I know from past experience that the door is locked but I try it anyway.  Yep.  Flip the light switch.  Nothing.  Shit.  Nothing ever changes.  Go over to the nightstand.  Try to turn the lamp on.  Nothing.  The same with the desk lamp.
  Only my old night light is able to provide even a glimmer of illumination.  That was the only thing that ever gave me any security on all those dark nights growing up.  That tiny light is a small comfort to me now.  It's all I need to be able to see that my sliding door closet is wide open.  There is no comfort in seeing that.  After all these years it still chills me to the center to look in the direction of that dark portal to unknown worlds of danger and malice.  It's as if the darkness itself has a temperature.  Think winter.  Think ice.  Under the covers of my bed I would still be shivering.
  I can already feel the familiar pull urging me closer into that all-encompassing tangible gelid darkness.  I turn my back to it now because that is what I always did.  The pulling starts as a tingling in my stomach.  I squeeze my eyes shut.  My hands desperately grab onto my bed's frame in a futile attempt at resistance.  The icy invisible hands are far stronger than I can ever hope to become.  Just once can't I win?  No.  The hungry closet drags me in and the door slides shut.  Those cruel hands which can see in a place with no visibility afforded to me, grasp at my helpless form as that gutteral old, familiar, evil laughter starts up again.  I keep my eyes squeezed shut even though I can't see a damn thing anyway.  When the hell do I ever get to escape this nightmare?
  Mina awoke from this dream the same way she always did.  Knowing that all she could do was get up and get ready for work.  A glass of tepid tap water and a fried egg were her sustenance for the morning before she headed out the door.  She had no idea that on this day everything she was familiar with was going to change.

Chapter 2

2: Everyone knows what nothing looks like.  That's what makes watching a building get torn down seem so tedious and time-consuming.  When a building is being constructed, only a handful of people know what the finished product is going to look like.  The architect, the contractor, maybe a few others.  It is a work of the mind long before a single nail is driven.  Then it becomes a work of the hands.  That's what Bill Ahn, the Korean owner of the A Mart thought to himself as he watched the mechanical claw slowly crunch away at an old condemned office building like an alligator eating a whale bit by bit across the street outside his store window under his scrutiny.
  Every once in a while, instead of grabbing something with its jaws it would swing sideways and knock over a wall or a doorway.  Bill sat there with his sandwich and coffee musing silently to himself about which support beam was going to fall prey to the ravenous predatory steel teeth of the machine next.
  Bill was only slightly overweight, mostly due to his tummy which came about from his wife's lovely Asian cooking that he over-eagerly indulged in.  He was most comfortable in a polo shirt and his favorite pair of gray slacks which he wore with brown penny loafers.  His hair was thinning on top which left him with what he called a "halo of hair."  His thin, silver colored rims on his glasses gave him a wise look.
  When he finished his lunch he turned his attention back to work.  Bill owned the Asian food store which his wife had named the A Mart.  He and his wife, Cassandra, whom everyone called Sandy, ran the store and they could always count on word of mouth to bring in plenty of business.  There were plenty of regular customers as well as a constant influx of new faces.  They mostly had Korean and Chinese food products, but they had a wide variety of exotic fruits imported from Thailand and Hawaii.  When the store had first opened, Sandy baked cookies shaped like the letter A and put icing on them to hand out to customers as they left.  Each customer would be handed a cookie along with a warm, "Have an iced A," from Bill and Sandy.  This attracted many people and now anyone in Marble Cliffs instantly recognized the friendly slogan, "Have an iced A."  Their television commercials starring Sandy with her signature cookies and catchy tagline were also quite popular locally.
  Bill closed a little early on this day because he wanted to get home to his wife.  They called each other Yobo and Sayo which was their cute take on the traditional Korean telephone greeting, "yobosayo."  A couple weeks ago Sandy thought she felt a small lump in her right breast.  He told her she should get a mammogram and maybe even a pap smear for good measure.  "I think you're ovary-acting.  I hate my mammy and my pappy," she said.  She always had a way with words that still made Bill laugh even after all these years together.  He ended up calling the doctor himself to make the appointment for her because he knew she was a procrastinator.  This was the day of her appointment and he wanted to hear the results.  When he stepped out of the building he looked up at the sky and noticed a daytime moon.  That had always been his favorite thing to look at in the sky.  It had usually meant good luck for him so he hurried home and prayed to God that it was a good omen.

Chapter 1

1: With nothing but the mean taunting pizza coupons from her mailbox and an answering machine with a huge red glowing zero to welcome her home from work, Mina Renard sat in her apartment looking out her window at the sunset. Pizza was an extravagance on her slender budget.  Cheaper pizza was still pizza.  The only person who ever called was her boss so any number other than zero would be just as unwelcome.  Arizona sunsets with all their dazzling purples, oranges, pinks and whites did little to lift her spirits.  Over the years she had prided herself in taking some spectacular photographs of them, but even that had lost its lustre.  She stopped bothering to do that anymore because nobody ever looked at the pictures anyway.  Not even herself.
  Mina was all of five feet and four inches tall.  Her hair was shoulder-length and a rich brown in color.  Simple was the only word to describe her wardrobe.  Mostly solid-colored shirts and jeans, some of which were draped over chairs, tables and her bed to dry due to a broken dryer in the apartment complex's laughable laundromat.  She owned exactly two pairs of shoes and one of them was the not-so-white pair of fuzzy slippers she wore around the apartment.
  Her home was a tiny studio apartment which was all she could afford on what little money she was able to pull in from her job as a copy editor for the Marble Cliffs Today newspaper.  The room had mercifully come furnished with a small refrigerator, rusty yellow oven with three-fourths of a working stove top, dining table with two chairs, squeaky twin bed and wobbly wrought-iron night stand.  From yard sales she had gotten herself some dishes, silverware, cookware, a fold-out lounging lawn chair, bed sheets, a 9-inch TV and a laundry basket.  Everything was fabulously mismatched which was just fine with her because no one ever visited anyway.  Various bags of cereal, each with less than a bowlful left added up to provide her a measly dinner with not enough milk to help it go down any easier.
  Pursuit of her education had brought her here, away from her hometown of Tucson, Arizona.  Seven years in this isolated, dusty old town of Marble Cliffs where the only things to see were the Happyville Playland amusement park and a bunch of retirement communities and golf courses was her reward for moving here.  She knew nothing about her real parents as she grew up with foster parents in Tucson.  As soon as she had graduated from high school she moved to this desolate town in search of a fresh start and never cast a backward glance.  She'd had only a few hundred dollars she had been able to scrounge together from babysitting jobs and grocery store bagging.  All her hopes were pinned on getting a degree and becoming her own person.
  By the sweat of her brow bartending, pouring endless rounds of Regal Lager and Cisler's Cheap Scotch for the local college crowd was how she was able to put herself through classes at Marble Cliffs College.  A Bachelor's degree in Creative Writing and one in Literature were all she had to show for it and what had they gotten her?  There was no mistaking that she was a good copy editor, but that was only an entry-level position and she had been in it for nearly a year now.  Her real dream was to be a writer at some capacity for the newspaper, but that dream seemed far out of reach.
  With only frustration to be had by remembering all this, she threw her keys onto the nightstand and turned on the TV to get her mind off her dead-end life.  Of no surprise to her, all five of the channels that her tiny idiot box was powerful enough to pull in had nothing interesting on.  The news was talking about some detective who carried a talking parrot on his shoulder.  He had rugged, European looking features and wore a trench coat like some kind of movie detective who kicks down doors with guns a blazing when he finds the bad guy.  How kooky.  "Don't they have anything better to talk about?" she said out loud even though she was alone.  She turned the TV off and went to bed exhausted.