Schism

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Scratches and dents in the rusted navy paint told the history of a driver who combined lack of driving skill with no sense of mortality.  The car rumbled to a stop under a globe topped streetlight.  A diffused yellow light leaked through the windshield onto the two women inside.

Sarah jerked the gear shift into park and slid her thick fingers under the waiting palm of the woman in the passenger seat.  She spelled out letters and words against the palm, each new hand shape forming and pausing for half a second.

Jessica Moore listened.  She tried to push back the smile and force on a gape of indignation at the story spelled out onto her palm.  At the last word, she jerked her hand away, traced finger tips up to Sarah's shoulder and shoved hard.  "You are such a tramp!"  Her hands wove and jerked around the grocery sack in her lap and placed hard emphasis on the last word, but her smile showed the insult was a lie and Sarah rang out an off tone laugh in return.

"Two men at once better.  No waiting."  Sarah spelled back.

Jessica's dark hair rippled around her sunglasses as she shook her head.  "You're going to get some terrible disease and then no one will sleep with you."

"Invincible!"  Sarah spoke as she signed.  The word came out loud in the car with no hearing of her own for feedback.

"Not if you keep talking while you drive."  Jessica's hand tagged Sarah with another shove and the women leaned forward for a quick hug above the center console.  Jess unwound her legs from the foot well of the compact car and stepped out, groceries in the crook of one signing arm.  "Thanks for the ride.  See you at work."  A quick wave and she barely had the door shut before Sarah jerked the car back into traffic.

Jessica turned and switched the groceries to her left arm.  She let her fingers rap lightly against a lamp post as she counted her way to the front step of her apartment.  Six steps up and she pulled the door open to the front vestibule, mail key already in hand.  She reached into the box and pulled out what felt at first impression to be a stack of junk mail.  It went haphazardly into the grocery bag before she retrieved her key and breezed through the inner door.

Her free hand casually traced the wall as she walked toward her apartment.  Her steps almost faltered as she noticed him.  He was down the hall, near her door.  His breathing, the way he shuffled in place when he talked, even his deodorant was unmistakable.  He'd probably been in her apartment again.  She'd have to smell him there for days.

His voice squirmed its way to her before she could reach her door.  "Hello, Miss Moore.  How...how are you?"

She forced her legs to keep a steady pace.  She just had to get to the door, just had to get the key in the lock and turn it.  "Hi, Harold.  I'm fine.  Thanks."  She felt the keys on the ring.  The door key snapped forward cooperatively.  But the key sitting obviously in her hand wouldn't be enough to ward him off.  He could corner her there for fifteen minutes, easily.

She heard him inch nearer, felt it as her skin crawled in reflex.  "I fixed your kitchen faucet today.  Replaced the washers in the bathroom fixtures too.  Just...in case."

"Thank you.  You didn't have to do that."  She made it to the door.  One finger found the lock and the key slid in without any hunting.  Turn it, open the door, then safe, alone, she thought.  The lingering sweetness of the basil she had chopped last night floated out and battled with the gasoline, wood smoke and cleaning fluid that Harold exuded.

"Umm."

No good.  She was still trapped, her escape blocked by the eager, needy little man.

"I'll...I'll try to make sure they pick someone quiet...for next door.  Wouldn't want you to get some noisy neighbors bothering you."

She picked a new tactic and arched her neck back with an Oscar-worthy fake yawn.  But she imagined his eyes on the stretched tendons of her neck as she did.  Maybe not the best plan, but she carried on.  "Sorry.  Too many early mornings teaching.  I'd better go crash."  She chose her words carefully, no mention of anything as suggestive as a bed. 

Her shoulder pressed upon the door and she welcomed the green smell of plants and dark scent of potting soil mixed with the basil.  Harold's petrochemical perfume faded a little as she edged inside.

"I'll check your radiators later.  Get you all ready for winter."

She grasped at the edge of the door, inched it toward shut.  "No rush.  Good night, Harold."  A few more inches and it snapped shut with a click of metallic relief.

"Good night."  His voice was muffled through the wood.  She listened, waited, and finally heard the thump of his flat footed steps slap and creak down the hallway away from her door.

Jessica turned and slid her groceries and mail onto the nearby kitchen counter before stopping to sample the air.  She started toward the bathroom, slower than she usually would.  Harold had only moved a chair out of place once while cleaning the air conditioning vent, but she was still cautious.  A banged shin on a displaced coffee table would not improve her evening.

She grabbed a towel and didn't have to sniff to know he'd used it.  She had no idea why he smelled more like a car mechanic than a building super.

Towel in hand, she swept into her bedroom and paused for a deep breath.  At least he hadn't been in there this time.  Once, she'd smelled his residue on her sheets and had almost bought a padlock for the door.

But, she told herself, he did keep the place running.  It was an old building and the rent was reasonable.  A nosy superintendent was a livable problem to deal with.

She walked to the kitchen and began preparing dinner.

 *

William's eyes snapped open, shut, open as he stood over Dr. Westen's unconscious body.  The fog that seeped from her right hand was dark red.  As it hit the floor, it faded and disappeared.  Her fingers were twisted and the palm was curled in too tight in upon itself. 

He hadn't wanted to hurt her.  He had pulled her hand away from Mary, held it while she stared at him.  The Hunter had wrapped one hand around William's, the other went to Westen's throat.  William followed the direction and held her still with one hand while The Hunter made him squeeze her hand tighter, tighter.  The bones in her hand had popped against each other and William could only watch as the angry red began to seep away from the crushed fingers.  Then The Hunter had released her neck.

The Advisor stretched an arm to Westen.  Take these.

There were keys on her waist, next to an ID badge backed with a bar code.  William set his eyes on the small lines of the strip, tried to measure each one and drive the voices away with the detailed observation, but the fog would not retreat.  He was trapped in it.

Go.  The Hunter was already crouched at the door, half in, half out. 

The Caretaker had stood by Mary's bed when William first came in, then moved to Westen after the doctor collapsed.  She looked up at William.  You need to leave.

Her gentle hand passed through William's arm, gently pulled him down to the keys and badge.

He took them, turned from the splay of the doctor's auburn ponytail to see Mary's eyes open and on him.  Her eyes fixed, she swept a hand over her bed sheets, smoothed them back into place.

She is safe, The Advisor said.

Without a sound, Mary closed her eyes and turned away.  William rose and shuffled out the door before the voices had to urge him forward again.

 *

(Author's Note: So...what is up with this Harold guy?  Anybody have a guess what his story is?  Thank you all so much for the votes and wonderful comments!  I'm so glad you're all enjoying the book.  By the way, you've got one more main character to meet in the next chapter...and I think you'll like him!)