FIRST PLACE WINNER – CRYPTICON SEATTLE 2012
EXPERIMENTAL PROCEDURE
By
A. Maire Dinsmore
Copyright © A. Maire Dinsmore
Visit the author’s website at: https://www.amairedinsmore.com
There is no tragic beginning to Gail's story, no poetic injustice in how she went from an everyday teenage girl to an alcoholic high school dropout. It was just a series of bad decisions and worse relationships, mixed with low self-esteem and an inability to plan for the future. All of this led up to the point where she walked the cracked sidewalk of Seventh Street well after midnight in February, dressed in a fashionable but inadequate jacket and a cheap waitress uniform.
The occupants of the infrequent passing vehicles paid no mind to the lone figure huddled against the sharp, cold wind. Gail ignored the cars in return; her head bent and her hair falling forward to shield her face in a slightly greasy blond veil. She concentrated on the sounds of her footsteps, counting them in her head as a way to pass the time.
It wasn't a long walk between the diner and the rotting, moldy apartment that she called home, but she was tired after a long shift and wanted nothing more than to eat the cold meatloaf sandwich carefully wrapped up in her pocket.
Gail hated waitressing. She hated dealing with customers and their constant demands, their need to touch everything, and the germs they left behind. But she brought home tips at the end of every day (though the money she got was meager, at best) and the employee discount on food meant she practically ate for free. Struggling through a job she hated in exchange for these two perks might have been the most adult thing Gail had ever done in her short life.
When the first signs of rain hit Frank's grimy windshield, he barely noticed. Smoking in his car outside the mini-mart, he'd taken an immediate interest in Gail. The way her hair shone in the light from the streetlamps as she passed beneath them had first drawn his attention; he'd been watching her ever since.
It wasn't until the raindrops began to multiply and increase in size that he took action. He leaned forward to crush the burning embers in the ashtray with his thick, stubby fingers before starting the car.
Frank wasn't sure how he was going to go about the approach as he pulled out of the parking spot and onto the street, he just knew that he couldn't go back empty-handed again. Figuring out whether or not she would fit wasn't his job, he just needed to get her into the car.
He pulled up close to the sidewalk half a block in front of her. His dark eyes squinted at her form in the rearview mirror and noted that she'd not even glanced in his direction. He wondered if perhaps she was beyond his capabilities.
By the time he pushed open the car door and stood from the well-worn driver's seat, the rain was coming down in near sheets and the longish balding hair on the top of his head was soaked within seconds.
"Hey!" he yelled toward her, waving an arm to get her attention. "You're going to get soaked; want a ride?" He watched her steps falter and then stop. He squinted to see the expressions cross her face.
"Sure," she replied, exhaustion seeping through her voice as she attempted a smile but managed no more than an awkward grimace. "Thanks."
Gail hastened her step and reached her hand toward the passenger side handle. The car door creaked as she wrenched it open. The noise sounded a lot like whatever was going off in the back of her mind—that instinct she'd ignored so long that she'd forgotten what it was for. Sliding across the cracked pleather seat, Gail kicked the discarded paper coffee cups on the floor until she'd made space enough for both her feet and the knock-off purse she dropped between her shoes. Then she wrung the rain out of her hair, ignoring her seat belt as the man busied himself with the heater before pulling the car back out into traffic.
"That came out of nowhere, didn't it?" Frank said cheerfully as he cocked his head to the side, checking the traffic in his side mirror. "Bit surprised it's not coming down as snow."
Nodding, Gail didn't bother to look over to see if the man noticed her response. She stared out the window as they passed the darkened grocery.
"That took me some getting used to about living up here. Never know what sort of weather you'll find from one minute to the next," he said, switching on the wipers with a practiced flick of his fingers. "All four seasons in a short half hour. Say, you still cold?"
Realizing she'd crossed her arms tightly across her middle, Gail released a breath and rolled a shoulder in an offhand shrug. "I guess," she mumbled.
"How about a drink to warm ya from the inside?"
Frank said, reaching into the inside pocket of his worn tweed jacket. He pulled out a thick metal flask and offered it to her with a lopsided grin. "I'm Frank by the way."
"Gail," she replied, eyes darting from the flask to his face.
Her stomach flopped at the smile. The yellow, uneven teeth whispered of a thousand bad decisions she'd made before, lessons she'd never learned from, and memories so badly wished to be forgotten that they were forever etched on the forefront of her mind. The flask, however, represented the path to numbing that pain and dulling those voices she no longer wanted screaming from her past.
Her fingers wrapped around the flask, gripping it tightly. Gail had the top open and a large swig down her throat before the wipers had finished their next swipe across the dirty windshield. Two more down before she offered it back to Frank who shook his head with a smile.
"No, that's just for you," he said.
Words enough to make her wonder what he meant.
Gail nestled the flask between her legs and leaned forward to remove a pack of smokes from her purse. She'd noticed the full ashtray and made the assumption that she didn't need to ask permission to smoke in the car. A cigarette in her mouth, Gail glanced out the window and noticed they'd gone farther than her apartment.
"Shit, we've got to turn around," she said suddenly, the unlit cigarette falling into her lap.
"I know where I'm going, Gail. Don't worry," he said.
He reached out to pat her reassuringly on her leg, placing his clammy hand on the exposed flesh of her knee. Gail jerked away in response, crushing the cigarette and tipping over the flask, its contents splashing onto her lap. Frank frowned and grabbed for the flask. He plucked it up and replaced the twist top, then tucked it away again in the secure inside pocket of his jacket.
Gail frowned, dropping the now-worthless cigarette onto the floor. She brushed the loose tobacco off of herself, wishing she still had the alcohol.
She stopped for a moment, listening to the sounds of the rain and the wipers and wondered what in the hell she was doing. She had spread her legs for worse guys than Frank. She'd tell herself when it was all over that it didn't matter—it was only sex. What was the big deal? She could get pretty much anything she wanted in exchange for it. Alcohol, money, clothes. You name it.
But he'd only offered her a ride. It was only supposed to be two blocks. And here they were nearly fourteen blocks later and she was feeling drunk after only a few swigs?
Something was wrong.
Gail moaned softly as a wave of nausea hit her. She hadn't gotten this drunk this quickly in years. She touched her palm to her forehead, grateful for the cool caress.
"I think I'm going to throw up," she warned.
"Nah, you'll be fine," Frank replied.
And just like that, Gail regretted accepting the ride. Not for the first time in her life, she swore off drinking forever just before she passed out and slumped sideways in the seat.
Frank pulled up to a stoplight and reached over for the seatbelt. He pulled it across Gail's body and clicked it into place. The last thing he needed was to get pulled over for her not having a belt on and have her be underage. Steve would b
e pissed. "There you go, girlie," Frank said, lightly brushing his fingers across her cheek.
Where others saw a rosy blush of porcelain skin, or pale with a splash of freckles, or deep rich coffee, Frank only saw an unmarked canvas to which he could leave his mark. How hard would he have to bite to make a bruise? To break the skin? To tear off pieces? Whether fleshy calves or bony wrists, each body part offered a different challenge. If Steve could not use her then she would be given to Frank to play with.
The car shuddered to a stop outside the decrepit roadside diner and motel. Thirty years ago it had been the lifeblood of a small town and the dream of a young couple. It offered meals twenty four hours a day and rooms to rent in the basement for truckers and campers. But then the state had built the freeway several miles