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“Well, while we’re on the subject, why did
you come here?”

“I guess I just wanted to be somewhere that
I felt comfortable,” said Alma. “Although it’s kind of weird here
now. It’s all so different. In a good way, but different.” She
drank her beer and scanned the apartment.

“You know my offer still stands, right?”

“What offer?” she asked.

His shoulders sunk and he sighed, tired of
playing this game. “You know what offer. I’ll always take you back.
If you want me, I’ll drop whatever else I’ve got going on for you.”
He looked away as if embarrassed, crossed his arms, and leaned
against the counter on the other side of the kitchen. “I wish it
weren’t true, but it is. No matter how many times you break my
heart, you’re still my girl, for as long as you want to be.”

“Stop it,” said Alma. His confession was
everything she wanted to hear, and she felt her ears flush as blood
rushed to her face.

“I’ll always love you like a new favorite
song.”

She loved it when he said that, and he knew
it. He grinned at her, and if it weren’t for her conflicted
emotions she would’ve hopped over the counter and torn his clothes
off right then. Instead she cleared her throat and said, “I have to
go to the bathroom.”

“You know where it is.”

Alma finished her beer and then headed for
the bathroom, a tiny room that was the only private spot in the
apartment. It had only a shower, toilet, and sink in it, and all
three were jammed as close to one another as possible. She marveled
at the cleanliness of the room as she closed the door and stared
into the mirror.

“Don’t do this, Alma,” she whispered to
herself. “I can’t believe you’re going to do this.” She set her
purse on the counter to search for her lipstick and perfume before
doing her best to fix her makeup. “This is stupid.” She repeated
the phrase over and over as she went through her routine, applying
mascara, foundation, and even a pinch of glitter between her
breasts. She winked at herself in the mirror and said, “You’re such
a slut.” She was almost giddy, and couldn’t help but smile. The
on-again-off-again nature of her relationship with Paul was torture
most of the time, except for when they were just about to kick
things off again. In these moments it felt like she’d just started
dating someone, but without the nervous tension that led up to
having sex for the first time.

She stopped and stared into the mirror. “Do
you really want this, Alma? Are you sure?” She thought about it,
and then smiled as she nodded. “Yes I do.” She snapped the button
closed on her purse, confident in her decision to rekindle her
relationship with Paul, if even for just one night.

Alma lifted the toilet cover to pee.

There was a used condom floating in the
bowl.

CHAPTER FOUR

Doors

Widowsfield

March 14th, 1996

“Well look at you two,” said the paunchy
waitress at the Salt and Pepper Diner. Her red hair was curled and
a pair of sunglasses was stuck in it as if she planned to leave
work to enjoy the sunny day any moment now.

“Hi, Grace,” said Desmond.

“Hi, Mrs. Love,” said Raymond.

“Hi sweetie,” Grace rubbed the boy’s buzz
cut as she walked up to their booth. “Now, isn’t it a school day?
What are you doing here now? Did school let out early or are you
playing hooky?”

Desmond chuckled, slow and uncomfortably. He
was a simple man, a mechanic at a garage a few miles out of town,
and he lacked social graces. He wore all denim, with only a glimpse
of the white t-shirt beneath his buttoned top. It was as if his
entire identity revolved around his job, and even when not at work
he strived to maintain a semblance of the uniform. “Well, Grace, I
got Ray out early today. We’re on our way to our cabin in Forsythe
for a little fishing over spring break. Ray’s been pretty excited
about the trip. He didn’t even want to stop for food, but I told
him I wasn’t hitting the road before stopping in to see our
favorite waitress.”

“Is that right?” she looked down at
Raymond.

“Yes ma’am.” Raymond was a sweet boy, but
she wasn’t sure if he was simple-minded like his father or not.
They looked similar, with thick midsections and squat heads, noses
that were pushed in and jowls that jutted forth, but Raymond’s
bright blue eyes were a defining attribute that contrasted his
father’s beady black ones.

Grace tapped her order pad with a pencil and
smirked at Desmond. “You two aren’t planning on getting into any
trouble, are you? You’d better not be cheating on me with some
strumpet out there, Desmond.” Grace often chided him as if they
were an old married couple. Her husband hated how flirtatious she
was with patrons, but he was half a state away at a trade show and
she needed the tips.

Both Desmond and Raymond chuckled in an
identical manner. Grace adored these two, and had known them for
years. It was easy for Desmond’s mannerisms to make people uneasy
when they first met him. His disability wasn’t immediately
identifiable, which made people nervous around him. However, given
time he always proved to be a caring, kind man. Nothing was more
important in his life than his son, and he exemplified that with
every waking moment. Grace rarely saw the two separated, and they
were frequent customers at the Salt and Pepper Diner.

Desmond also had a daughter, who was older
and had fallen in with a bad crowd. She was often a source of angst
for Desmond, and was well known throughout town for her drug habit.
Desmond, who had inherited a large sum when his parents passed, had
bought his daughter a cabin in town to try and keep her near him,
but their relationship had crumbled over recent years. Grace
thought that the way Desmond doted on Raymond was as recompense for
his lost daughter.

“Don’t worry,” said Desmond. “There’s no one
for me but you, Gracie. Right, Ray?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right,” said Grace as she eyed them
both suspiciously. “I’ll take your word for it. But you’d better
keep an eye on him for me.” She pointed the eraser side of her
pencil at Raymond as she talked about Desmond. “He likes to pretend
to be a good boy, but you and I know the truth. Don’t we?”

Raymond snickered and nodded. “Yes
ma’am.”

“What’s it going to be today?” asked Grace,
ready to write down their order. “Same as always?”

Desmond nodded. “I’ll have the Salisbury
steak, and Ray will have the BLT.”

“Actually,” said Raymond, “could I get the
grilled chicken sandwich?”

Grace looked over at Desmond, surprised at
Raymond’s order. “Well, heavens to hogs, the boy’s changing things
up on us, Dezy.”

Desmond looked nervous. “I guess so. His
taste buds must be changing or something.”

“No,” said Raymond. “I just want to try
something new.”

“Juan’s going to have to throw the chicken
on the grill, so it might take a few extra minutes,” said Grace.
“I’m happy to have you around as long as you’ll stay, but I know
you’re in a hurry to get fishing.”

“That’s okay,” said Raymond as he glanced
out the window beside their booth. “We’re too late already. It’s
past three. I want to try something different this time.”

“You got it, kiddo,” said Grace. “Want fries
with that? Or are you going to throw me for another loop and order
coleslaw?”

Raymond shook his head and chuckled. “No,
ma’am. Fries would be fine. Thank you.”

“Sodas for both of you?” asked Grace.

They nodded.

“All right, boys. Back in a minute.” She
sauntered off and stuck her pencil behind her ear. Two plates were
already set in the ready window between the counter and the
kitchen, under the heat lamps. One was a Salisbury steak and the
other a BLT. Grace tapped her palm on the shelf and her rings
clattered on the metal, alerting the chef.

“What’s up, Gracie?” asked Juan as he
scraped the grill.

“The kid wants a chicken sandwich, not a
BLT.”

Juan set the metal scraper on the edge of
the flat grill and walked to the window. “No shit?”

Grace stuck her ticket on the clip wheel
above the divide and spun it for him. It was the only ticket on the
wheel and he snatched it away to look it over. “What do you know
about that?”

“Times they are a changing,” said Grace.

Juan looked as if he was about to respond,
but then stared at something over Grace’s shoulder. “What the
heck?”

Grace turned to see what he was looking at.
The street outside had been blanketed by a green fog. It was as
thick as smoke and wafted over the street as if made of liquid. “Oh
my gosh,” said Grace.

“Do you know what that is?” asked Juan. “A
fire or something?”

“Not sure, but I saw something like this
once. Back when I lived in Gary, Indiana, there was a junkyard that
caught fire and all the tires burned up; sent a big cloud of green
smoke over the whole damn place. Dollars to donuts the old Sanchez
yard caught fire.”

A blast of green electricity rippled across
the air outside, sticking to light poles and dancing along the edge
of a UPS truck down the road. The fog billowed and puffed,
encompassing more of the view every second.

Juan cursed and then said, “That’s no tire
fire.”

Dogs barked and small shadows raced through
the fog, as if children were running by. “What in the blazes?”
asked Grace as she stared out into the thickening mist.

“Call the cops,” said Desmond as he walked
with his son toward the front of the restaurant.

“Yeah,” said Grace. “Juan, get the
police.”

“I don’t have no phone back here. You call
from out there.”

“God dang it, Juan, the phone’s two feet
from you.” Grace walked behind the counter to the white phone
beside the door that led to the kitchen. Juan stayed in his window,
staring at the bizarre scene on the street. She dialed 911 and then
waved at Desmond and Raymond to come stand by her. “Get over here
you two, behind the counter.”

“What do you think’s going on?” asked
Desmond as he held his son’s hand and walked around the counter to
join Grace. There was a black rubber matt on the ground that was
perforated to keep the area behind the counter from getting
slippery, but Desmond still slipped on its greasy surface as he
walked over it. His palm thudded on the counter as he caught his
balance.

Grace shrugged as she listened to the
pre-recorded message from the Widowsfield Emergency Services. “Hell
if I know. Probably just some prank or something.”

“Prank?” Juan’s skepticism came off as rude
and demeaning. “Get real, girl. That’s no prank.”

“Well, darn it Juan, stop just standing
around,” said Grace. “Do something to help.”

“Help with what?” he asked, still standing
uselessly behind the window between the kitchen and front end.

“Lock the damn doors or something.”

“Shit,” he said as if she were being funny.
“I’m not going near that door. Looks like the devil farted pure
hell out there.”

“I’ll get it,” said Desmond.

Grace grinned at him and then turned to
sneer at Juan. “Thanks, Dezy. At least we’ve got one man in
here.”

Desmond let go of his son’s hand to head for
the door, but heard Raymond begin to rustle the silverware beneath
the counter. He saw his son rummaging through the steak knives.

“It’s all right, kiddo,” said Desmond.
“There’s nothing to be scared of.”

Raymond held two knives, one in each hand,
and looked up calmly at his father. “Yes there is.”

“Darling,” said Grace as she moved beside
Raymond. “There’s nothing to be worried about.” She stood behind
the boy and held him up against her waist with her hands crossed
over his chest as she kept the phone perched between her shoulder
and her ear. “I’m sure it’s just a freak storm or something.
Nothing to be scared about. Okay? Nothing to be scared about.” She
was clearly terrified.

“Then why lock the doors?” asked Raymond in
a near whisper. They all knew there was something worth fearing in
the mist. It was as if there was an innate knowledge bubbling to
the surface in all of them.

Desmond spoke over his shoulder as he walked
to the door, “Juan, if there’s a back door you should go lock
it.”

“Yeah, Juan,” said Grace. “Stop being a
useless turd and go lock the back door.”

Desmond turned the lock and Raymond pulled
out of Grace’s arms as he screamed, “Dad, get down!”

“What?” Desmond turned, perplexed.

A brick flew at the front door from out of
the fog. The glass shattered and the brick struck Desmond in the
back of the head as shards crashed down around him. He staggered as
Juan screamed. The cook’s voice was than a man of his girth should
possess. Grace dropped the phone and tried to grab Raymond, but the
boy was too fast for her. He bounded around the counter, still
holding the steak knives, to save his father.

The brick had broken the upper half of the
entrance, and the mist surged in through the hole. Shards of glass
broke and fell as the mass moved in, as if the mist carried weight
with it. Desmond was on his knees as the crackling green
electricity zapped on the metal door behind him. The silhouettes of
children in the mist focused on the Salt and Pepper Diner. Dogs
barked and growled as the children rushed toward the
restaurant.

“Ray!” Grace cried out for the boy, but
didn’t know how else to react. She was dazed, terrified, and frozen
in place. The phone at her feet continued to ask for her patience;
her call would be answered in the order it was received.

Desmond crawled toward the counter, and held
the back of his bloodied head. Raymond ran past him, into the
surging mist. He swiped his knives through the incorporeal mass and
the blades sparkled with green electricity.

“Ray,” said Desmond. “Get away from
there.”