Living & Dying, And Everything In-Between

hall. Loud banging and crashing sounds came from the other side. “I tried talking to him through the door, and he just keeps screaming.”

  “And breaking things,” Nelly added.

  “I’m not going in there,” Alex said. “I do not feel like getting maimed or killed today.”

  “None of us do,” said Nelly. “But we have to. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

  “Wait,” said Wyatt. He held his hand out and they all listened to the sudden silence. “Now’s our chance, we have to get in there and chain him up.”

  “No way,” said Alex, shaking his head.

  “I did it last time,” Wyatt replied.

  “Just be quiet, idiots, I’ll go.” Nelly marched down the hallway and knocked. “Ian? Are you okay? I’m coming in.” Slowly, she opened the door.

  “Did he break my lava lamp?” Wyatt asked. “I literally just replaced the bulb in that thing.”

  Nelly saw the broken glass on the floor below the window, the curtains blowing in the wind, and her heart sank. The wall around the window was covered in deep scratches. The carpet was torn up, the bed was flipped upside down, and the whole room was splattered with blood. The lava lamp stood untouched on the desk.

  “The lamp is fine,” Nelly sighed. She ran her fingers through her hair. “The lamp is the only thing that’s fine.” A heavy silence draped itself over her.

  Alex’s voice trembled. “Nel?”

  She turned around, her eyes wide with fear, and said, “He’s gone.”

  Plan B

  “I miss you already,” said the blonde. The phone’s receiver pressed against her cheek as she twirled the cord between her manicured fingers.

  The phone was ripped from her hand. It clamored into its cradle.

  “You’ve got to stop using the damn phone,” said the brunette.

  “You’re paranoid.” The blonde laid back on the fluffy hotel pillows.

  “Get up,” said the brunette. “Our ticket’s going to be here soon.”

  The redhead emerged from the bathroom, dressed head to toe in black. Her copper hair gleamed in shiny curls around her face. Her lips were painted candy apple red.

  “Don’t you think that’s a little much?” asked the brunette. Her forehead crinkled together like singed plastic.

  “No,” the redhead replied. She stomped past the brunette, gum smacking between her teeth. “It’s a big day, I wanted to look pretty.”

  “I love your hair,” said the blonde. She scurried into the bathroom and closed the door.

  Outside, the brunette sat on a dusty cushioned bench. The thing was riddled with rips and tears, cigarette burns and coffee stains. It creaked and squealed when the redhead sat down next to her.

  “This rusty old thing,” said the redhead. “We might have to get a new one, soon.”

  “Should have gotten one by now,” said the brunette.

  “Sure.” The redhead shrugged. “But this one’s always been here.”

  “Don’t be sentimental toward a bench,” said the brunette. She lifted a cigarette to her mouth and lit it.

  “You’re the one who cried when they changed the bed spreads.”

  “Shut up.”

  “It’s over now, though, isn’t it?” The redhead forced a tight smile. “That’s what he means, for this to be the last one.”

  “I’m not so sure.” The brunette rolled the cigarette between her fingers.

  “You’re not thinking of carrying on after—“

  “No, of course not.” The brunette flicked ashes onto the ground. “Well, maybe. I guess that all depends on what happens tonight.”

  “We have to follow through,” said the redhead.

  “I know.” The brunette exhaled a cloud of smoke. It drifted, morphing into shapes and floating away piece by piece. For a second, the cloud was in the shape of a gun.

  “Is this girl worth it?” asked the redhead.

  “How should I know?” the brunette replied. “As far as I know, she’s innocent.”

  “Then why does he want her dead?”

  “You know I don’t have the answer to that.”

  “We’ve been working with her for three years,” said the redhead, “and now suddenly she’s the mark? I don’t get it.”

  “It’s not our job to understand,” said the brunette. “We get a name; we make them disappear. That’s what we do. No questions asked. That’s how it’s always been, Red.”

  “You don’t really want to kill this girl,” said the redhead. “Do you?”

  “No, of course not. But I don’t have a choice.”

  “I like Plan B better.”

  “Do you know what Plan B would do? We’d be unemployed,” said the brunette. She flicked her cigarette over the fence and stood from the sad, old bench.

  “We’re going to be unemployed anyway,” said the redhead. “You want to get this over with?

  “Yeah, let’s do it.”

  The blonde sat in a wooden chair in front of the mirror, brushing snarls out of her damp hair. Around her neck, she wore a dainty silver chain with a sparkly diamond hanging from it.

  The brunette asked, “Where’d you get that fancy necklace?”

  “Oh.” The blonde rested her hand over the diamond, as if she’d forgotten it was there. “He got it for me. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  “He did?” The brunette and the redhead shared a silent moment of near telepathic eye communication.

  “I’ve never gotten any jewelry,” said the redhead.

  “Me either,” said the brunette.

  “Well, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but,” the blonde leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. “We’re getting married. I’m pregnant!”

  The brunette flared her nostrils. The redhead’s mouth fell open.

  “That bastard,” said the brunette.

  “Plan B?” asked the redhead.

  “Plan B,” said the brunette. Her ears were ringing, the room spinning around her.

  They pushed the blonde into the bathroom and closed the door, snapping off the doorknob and locking her inside. The brunette made the phone call. The redhead loaded the gun.

  Six minutes later, he entered the room. Instead of being greeted warmly by two employees who’d just gotten rid of his problems for him, he was greeted with a mouth full of bullets.

  Hapless Hope

  She’d been down there for so long that she’d lost track of the days, unsure of what season it was, what year it was, what time of day. With her knees pulled up to her chin, holding tightly to her legs as she shivered against the cold cement floor, she imagined what it would be like to escape. Would the sun be shining brightly, wrapping her pale, bruised body in a warm blanket of humidity and the sweet smell of summer? Or would she step out into a moonless night, with ice and snow falling from the sky, surrounding her in heaps of biting frigidity?

  The sound of heavy footsteps pounding above her made her skin crawl and she squeezed her eyes closed. Creaking door hinges, followed by feet descending the stairs, quickened the beating of her heart. Her stomach turned with worry and fear, tears bubbling behind her eyes as she wondered if she would be able to get away this time, and what he might do if she didn’t. She reached up to touch the long scar across her cheek, her bent and broken fingers wrapped in stained gauze.

  A faint streak of light appeared when he opened the door and she squinted against the brightness at that figure looming before her. In the unfamiliar light, she glanced at the filth around her: the rusty tools hanging from the walls, the mold crawling up from the corners, the grimy copper stains on the muddy floor. She’d gotten used to the rancid smell a long time ago, her nostrils constantly burning, eyes always watery and sore. The man, just a dark shadow against the harsh brightness, stood staring at her as he rested a hand on the gun she knew was tucked into the waist of his pants.

/>   He grabbed her suddenly, pulling her to her feet. With the grace of a newborn baby deer, she stood with aching bones and throbbing joints, almost too weak to stay upright. The man dragged her out into the strange light and pushed her toward the stairs.

  Though she was skeptical of her chances of surviving, she knew that it was her only shot at getting out. Given that she hadn’t tried to escape in months, the man was unsuspecting, letting his guard down for a split second. Her deep longing for freedom forced her hand as they reached the top of the stairs and she threw her weight against him, sending his body crashing down the steps, and she ran.

  The girl’s wobbly legs carried her clumsily toward the door and outside, where she was greeted by a torrential downpour of rain. For a moment, she reveled in the smell of it as the cold drops of water washed the dirt and grime from her face, the frantic wind whipping through her matted hair. A clap of thunder crackled through the sky and she ran as fast as those bony, malnourished legs would carry her, down the long, winding driveway into the street.

  Down the road, she saw a small black pickup truck coming toward her and she began to cry. Salvation. Freedom. She ran into the street, waving her arms wildly in the air to signal for the truck to stop. When it began to slow down, she fell to her knees, crying out thank you.

  An elderly man parked the truck and climbed out, coming toward her with an umbrella. He helped her into the passenger seat and offered her a thick fleece jacket to cover her shivering body before starting off down the street. She thanked him, leaned her head against the window, exhausted, and closed her eyes. She listened to the rain beating against the windows as the man drove. Gusts of