Companions in Ruin Read online

  In the parking lot outside my building, I ran into the hot guy. I told him I had my video camera all set up if he wanted to stop by. He told me I was a psycho and should see a shrink. Later tonight I’m going to slash his tires. No one fucks with this snotty bitch.

  Day Twenty-Six:

  Today I called a house meeting. I turned on the recorder and we discussed the issue of cooking. The militant black guy, the flaming gay guy, the snotty bitch, the naïve virgin, and the slut—they all chimed in, though they all had my voice. We decided to rotate turns cooking the meals during the week, and on the weekends we’d eat out.

  Day Thirty:

  The hot guy from my building came back for more. Men are so predictable. They can’t pass up free pussy, no matter how crazy they think the chick is. He was hesitant at first, but after an extended blow job I convinced him to fuck me in the ass. Today I’m the flaming gay guy.

  Day Thirty-Two:

  I went for a walk with the militant black guy today. We had a heated debate on racial issues. This earned me a lot of wary stares from those I passed. It feels good to be the center of attention again.

  Day Thirty-Seven:

  I’ve been a bad girl.

  I invited the hot guy from my building over for dinner and a fuck. He said he wasn’t hungry, but the latter part was doable.

  We’d been making out heavily on the couch for a while when he excused himself to use my bathroom. I waited ten seconds then followed him in. He was urinating into the toilet, and I reached around and stroked his dick while he relieved his bladder. He was surprised, but his stiffening organ told me he was not displeased. We ended up fucking against the glass shower door. He noticed me looking over his shoulder and winking so he followed my gaze. The recorder was on the counter next to the sink, a towel thrown over it but not obscuring the lens.

  For some reason, he found the fact that I had planned all along to seduce him in the bathroom bizarre. He yelled, I yelled back, and I positioned myself so that the camera caught my best side. He noticed this and accused me of being obsessed with that damn camera.

  Before I could stop him, he’d grabbed up the recorder and slammed it to the floor. I stood there, staring down at the shattered remains, and a slow seething rage built inside me, reaching a crescendo that vibrated my insides like a tuning fork. My vision blurred then faded out altogether.

  Next thing I knew, I was standing in the hallway with a butcher knife from the kitchen in my hand, looking down at the body of the hot guy. There was a dark stain spreading beneath him, and he did not move when I kicked him in the ribs.

  At first I was filled with fear, but then a calm descended over me as I realized what I had done. I called 911 myself, and now I am waiting for the police to arrive.

  This is the perfect solution to my problem. This will get me the attention I crave. This will get the camera crews rushing to my side, the cameras pointed in my direction once again.

  Maybe I can pitch a new reality show to the networks. Girls Behind Bars, something like that. Would be good for cable.

  THE ALARM

  When Carol first awoke, she thought the beeping she heard was her bedside alarm, alerting her that dream time was over and she must get ready for work. Then she remembered it was Saturday. And checking the clock, she saw it was only 3 a.m. Besides, the beeping was not coming from her room.

  The security alarm, she thought, tossing the covers aside and stepping out onto the cold floor. Then she remembered there was no security alarm anymore because she hadn’t been able to pay the bill.

  With a frown, she left her bedroom and entered the hallway. The beeping seemed to be coming from somewhere near the front of the house. Before going any further she crossed the hall and peeked in at the girls. Jenna and Mary, eight and six. They shared a bed and were buried under mounds of cover. Just as Carol was preparing to ease the door shut, Jenna’s head emerged from underneath the covers. “Mommy, what’s that sound?”

  “I don’t know, honey, I’m going to go check it out. You go back to sleep.”

  “I can’t, it’s too cold in here.”

  Carol sighed. “I’ll get you an extra blanket. Now be quiet or you’ll wake your sister. At least one person in this house should get some rest.”

  Jenna disappeared back beneath the covers and Carol closed the door, leaning against it for a moment, fighting back tears. Jenna was right, it was so cold in the house that Carol could see her breath escaping in thin white vaporous puffs. She could turn up the heat, but that would mean a higher power bill and she was already having trouble paying it every month as it was.

  This was all Steven’s fault, of course. He’d run off with that floozy from the coffee shop, leaving Carol to fend for herself and the children. She was afraid she was going to lose the house.

  Shaking her head and trying to dislodge these thoughts, Carol walked down the hall toward the front of the house, in search of the beeping sound that had awaken her. It seemed to be coming from the living room, but just as she entered the room and reached for the lamp, the beeping stopped. Carol turned on the light anyway, looking around the room.

  It was a disaster area, like most of the house. Since Steven had absconded, Carol had been working two jobs to try to make ends meet, and when she finally got home, cleaning just wasn’t a high priority. The girls’ toys were scattered everywhere. Most of them were old and shabby, but the girls would have to make due. It wasn’t likely they’d be getting new toys anytime soon. Several of the toys were of the variety that made noise or played music; the beeping could have originated from any one of them.

  Carol stood still in the middle of the room for a moment, waiting to see if the beeping would start up again so she could turn off whichever toy had been left on. When the sound did not repeat, she just shrugged, flipped off the light, and shuffled back down the hall to her bedroom. Only after she was snuggled beneath the covers did she realize she’d forgotten to get that extra blanket for the girls. Oh well, they’d survive. At least they had each other for warmth, whereas Carol had nothing but this big empty bed. Maybe for the rest of her life.

  Not for the first time, Carol cried herself to sleep.

  ***

  The sun filtering through the window by the bed woke Carol the next morning. She sat up against the headboard for a moment, noting the dampness of her pillow and resolving to stop wallowing in self-pity. Yes, Steven had left them in a bad situation, but there were those that had it even worse. Carol needed to pull herself together, if not for herself then for Jenna and Mary.

  Wondering how long this fragile sense of determination would last, Carol threw on her housecoat and went into the kitchen to make breakfast. There wasn’t much, it would be scrambled eggs and a few pieces of toast this morning. Barely enough for two, but Carol would go without breakfast if need be. Glancing at the clock on the microwave, she saw it was almost ten. Unusual that the girls weren’t already up watching cartoons.

  Leaving the skillet warming on the stove, Carol started back to the girls’ room, stopping to turn up the heat slightly. As she reached the end of the hall and grasped the doorknob to the girls’ room, she was hit with something that wasn’t exactly a premonition, but definitely a heavy sense of dread that settled on her chest like a weight.

  Flinging the door open and rushing into the room…what she saw stopped her, made her stumble back a step, and a piercing scream like she’d never heard escaped her lips. She didn’t even think she was capable of such a sound.

  Red. Red everywhere, painting the room in a garish mosaic of gore. And in the same red, high up on the wall over the bed, was scrawled a message.

  SORRY MY WATCH ALARM WOKE YOU LAST NIGHT.

  SANTA'S LITTLE SPY

  “Goodness, look at the time,” Carol said. “I should probably be getting home.”

  Fran took another sip of wine then glanced over at the clock. “Oh, I had no idea it was so late. I know a certain little girl who is up past her bedtime.”

  Fran�
��s six year old daughter, Beth, was on the floor by the Christmas tree, playing some game on the iPad that Fran herself found incomprehensible. She looked up at her mother’s words, defiance already in her eyes. She resembled her father so much in moments of belligerence. “Mom, can’t I stay up a little longer? It’s not a school night or nothing.”

  “Or anything. And you don’t want to argue with me, do you? Remember, Santa has his little spy watching you.”

  Beth gasped, her eyes immediately shooting to the mantel. “Okay, Mommy, I’m going to bed right now.”

  “Get into your pjs and brush your teeth, and I’ll be up to say goodnight in just a few minutes.”

  Beth climbed up on the sofa, first gave Fran a peck on the cheek and then Carol. Then she bounded back to the floor and started toward the stairs. Halfway there she paused and scurried back to the fireplace, staring up at the elf perched on the far right edge of the mantel. “Goodnight, Paul. I’ll come find you in the morning.”

  Then the girl was out of the room and up the stairs in a blur.

  “Well, that was easy,” Carol said.

  Fran sank back into the cushions and pointed up to the mantel. “Whoever invented the Elf on the Shelf is a genius. Beth thinks it watches her every move and reports back to Santa, which means at least for one month of the year she’s very complaint. When Paul bought the thing last year, I thought he was crazy, but I have to admit it really works.”

  “Yeah, sounds great.” Carol swirled her wine around in the glass, staring at the little whirlpool it made.

  Fran scrutinized the other woman for a moment in silence then said, “What’s up, Carol?”

  “Nothing, it’s just late and I’m tired.”

  “Don’t bullshit me. We’ve been best friends since the tenth grade, and I know when something’s on your mind. Spill it.”

  “It’s just…well, don’t you find it the least bit creepy that Beth named her elf after her dead father?”

  Fran considered the question then shrugged with one shoulder. “At first, but I guess it makes sense in a strange way. I mean, Paul passed only a couple of months ago. Beth is still trying to process it. Hell, I’m still trying to process it myself.”

  Carol reached out, took one of Fran’s hands and squeezed it. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have even brought it up.”

  “It’s okay. I’m coping, really. With the help of good friends and massive amounts of wine.” With that, Fran drained her glass.

  Carol laughed softly and followed suit. “I really do need to go. I’m exhausted.”

  “And you’ve had three glasses of wine. Maybe it’s not such a good idea for you to be driving all the way across town.”

  “You offering to put me up for the night?”

  “You know what they say about me casa.”

  “You’re too kind. I really should be embarrassed; this is the third time in the last month I’ve overindulged and had to crash here. It’s like I’m turning into an old lush.”

  “Well,” Fran said with a pointed stare, “to an outside observer, it might seem you were doing it on purpose just to keep a grieving widow company.”

  Carol laughed but didn’t answer. Instead she gathered up the two wine glasses as well as the empty bottle.

  “Leave the clean up for the morning,” Fran said with a flip of her hand. “I can barely keep my eyes open. Let’s head on up, I’ll tuck Beth in, then we can crash.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  They had just started up the stairs when Carol suddenly stopped. “What about the elf?”

  “What?” Fran said, turning back to her friend.

  “The elf…aren’t you supposed to move it around every night so Beth finds it in a different location each morning?”

  Fran groaned and walked back across the living room. She picked up the elf and moved it from the right side of the mantel to the left.

  “Well, that was certainly creative,” Carol said when her friend rejoined her on the stairs.

  “It’s too late to be creative. I’ll just tell her little Paul was too tired to do any extensive traveling.”

  ***

  Fran was awakened the next morning by a continuous prodding in her shoulder and a high-pitched voice repeating, “Mommy, get up,” over and over. She tried to ignore it, but when it became apparent Beth would not be dissuaded, Fran finally pried her eyes open. She had pulled the curtains the night before, but white-hot sunlight leaked in around the edges, stinging her eyes.

  “Beth, please stop poking me,” she croaked. “It’s too early for this.”

  But was it? The sunlight suggested not. Raising herself on a forearm, she squinted at the clock on the bedside table. 10:25. Damn, much later than she thought. Not that it mattered, Beth was out of school for Christmas vacation.

  “Carol?” Fran said, but when she turned she found the other side of the bed vacated. Of course, Carol had a job and Fran vaguely remembered hearing the alarm on the other woman’s phone going off early this morning.

  “Mommy, you gonna get up? I’ve been up forever.”

  Fran yawned and arched her back. “You need me to fix you some breakfast?”

  “I already made some cereal.”

  Fran groaned. If Beth had made her own breakfast, that meant the kitchen was going to be a disaster area.

  “Mommy, please get up. I need you to help me find Paul.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t find Paul and I’ve looked everywhere.”

  Another groan. “Honey, you can’t have looked everywhere.”

  “But I did. I even looked in your room.”

  This brought Fran instantly to full wakefulness, and she sat up in bed, scanning her room. All the drawers of her dresser were opened, and clothes were scattered across the floor. “Beth, I’ve told you never to go through Mommy’s things. Santa is not going to be happy about this.”

  “But I’ve got to find Paul,” Beth whined. “He’s missing.”

  “He’s not missing. In fact, he’s probably not far from where he was last night.”

  “He’s not, Mommy. What if someone kidnapped him?”

  “Okay, okay, you win. I’ll help you look.”

  Throwing back the covers, Fran swung her feet onto the floor, pausing for a moment before heaving herself to a standing position, wobbling slightly before getting her balance. Her mouth tasted foul, like some small animal had crawled in there, taken a crap, then died. She wanted to go scrub her teeth and gargle mouthwash for about twenty minutes, but Beth already had one of her hands and was tugging her toward the hallway.

  Fran paused at the top of the stairs, remembering standing here two months prior, looking down to the first floor and seeing Paul sprawled on the landing, his head twisted at an impossible angle. Beth had been at school at the time, so luckily had been spared the sight of her father’s body. All she knew was that he’d had an accident and had gone to be with God.

  At least Paul’s life insurance had left them financially secure. Fran didn’t even have to rush to find a job, at least not for a little while.

  Beth was still tugging at Fran’s hand. “Hurry, Mommy, hurry! We have to find Paul!”

  “Calm down,” Fran said, following her daughter down the stairs. “I’m telling you, Paul is probably—”

  Fran stopped speaking mid-sentence as she and Beth walked into the living room. Her eyes fell on the mantel, zeroing in on the left end where she’d left the elf last night. Only now it wasn’t there.

  Beth had let go of her hand and run over to the sofa, getting down on her hands and knees and peering underneath it. Fran walked over to the fireplace and looked around on the floor, assuming the elf must have simply fallen off the mantel, but the thing was nowhere to be seen. But that was impossible, she may have had a bit too much wine last night but she distinctly remembered simply moving the elf from one end of the mantel to the other. Carol had even said—

  Carol. Of course. She must have moved the elf before she left thi
s morning.

  Beth was now on the sofa, digging down between the cushions. “Help me look, Mommy.”

  “Mommy’s starving, so I’m going to go get a bite of breakfast then I’ll help you ransack the place on one condition. You have to help me clean up once we find the elf. Deal?”

  “Okay, Mommy.”

  Fran walked into the kitchen, which was indeed a disaster area. Beth had drug a chair over to the countertop, apparently climbing up to get the cereal from the cabinet, in the process knocking over the salt and pepper shakers and a box of toothpicks, scattering them everywhere. Fruity Pebbles were also scattered all over the place, and the opened carton of milk was still sitting on the floor in front of the refrigerator which was not closed all the way.

  Picking up the milk, Fran stowed it away in the fridge, popped open the freezer and snagged a couple of frozen sausage biscuits, then walked over to the microwave. She pressed the button to open the microwave—

  —and gasped.

  There was the elf, sitting in the microwave grinning at her.

  ***

  Three days later, Fran got up early, earlier than she had in quite some time. She peeked into Beth’s room, finding the girl snuggled under the covers and snoring softly, then made her way downstairs.

  After tucking Beth in the previous night, Fran had placed the elf at the very back of the top shelf in the hall closet, behind a stack of photo albums. She didn’t even have to go to the closet now to check, because as she came down into the living room, she saw the damn thing perched on the coffee table.

  She froze where she was, feeling as if her entire body had been dunked in a vat of ice water. This was the fourth day in a row that the elf had ended up in a different spot from the one in which she’d left it, starting the morning she found it in the microwave. That first day she’d assumed Carol had moved it, but her friend said no, and Carol hadn’t stayed the night again since. Which only left Beth.