Interlude - The Message

Honestly, who delivers refrigeratables at this time of night?

My back protests as I dump another box on the shelf.

No point calling, they’ll raise one of those dead-end tickets.

I've been unloading this pallet for nearly an hour. I could swear someone keeps adding new boxes when my back is turned.

My knee clicks. My ankles ache from standing all day.

The way Koan’s going, I might need an extra set of hands. I can’t do this forever.

I hear the sensor chime for the front door. I had definitely flipped the sign, but I must’ve forgotten to lock that bloody door, or that damnable latch got caught again.

I move through the hallway and into the store proper, flicking on the lights as the racks are shrouded in gloom. I moan and groan as I try to stretch out the creaks of old age. I instinctively check the corner mirror, spotting no one yet, then I head towards the cashier’s desk.

There’s a faint hissing that grows the closer I get to the small booth. I stop, sighing as the fridge has frozen over again.

Bloody thing, Koan mustn’t have cleared the vents again, or the three times before that!

Bottles fizz and sputter as the chill covers every product. I jump, as the first pops like a car backfiring. I’ve hardly regained my footing when the second and third explode, bottle caps thwacking against the glass door.

I back up as they continue expanding. The world around me tilts as I slip on the slick tiled floor.

A warm grip steadies me before I can begin my descent, and my knee clicks again.

“You keep your drinks quite cool, it seems. It certainly wouldn’t do to have you take a nasty spill before I’ve had a chance to purchase anything. Bad for business, I would surmise.”

I turn to thank the stranger, and his caring tone spreads a soft unconscious smile across my face. He’s older than his voice implies. He’s a well put-together sort. A pristine black suit, black shirt and tie, with well-kempt hair, and a confident smile to add.

I note his briefcase on the ground and his stunning obsidian watch, immediately recognising a fellow salesman.

“You’re too kind, sir. Clearly, you were brought up correctly. I wouldn’t expect the youth these days to have done anything other than watch me slip and slide into an early grave. Aldabert’s the name, but a man like you is more than welcome to call me Al.”

I extend my hand forward, and he takes it, firm and composed. His hand lacks the earlier warmth, but he may have steadied himself on the fridge as I tried to embarrass myself.

I scoop up the briefcase he dropped in my rescue and proffer it, an odd wave of happiness overwhelming me. I welcome it after this week I’ve had with Koan.

“Most gracious. You’re of a refined breed, my good Aldabert. I must admit, I am glad you and I have engaged with such a prime promise, as I was actually here to discuss a matter of budding friendships and lasting bonds.”

He has a stunning way with words, this one. I wonder how I could get him in my corner.

His demeanour and smile don’t quite reach his eyes, but he speaks with such infectious fervour I’ve already forgiven him for entering past the closed sign. He continues as my mind blooms with the possibilities he brings.

“...I’ve borne the curse of kindness for some years now, and it's led me here to discussions of business. I would love to start by apologising for the forward nature of this conversation, but I manage many investments to keep the family comfortable and looked after.”

He pauses for a moment, a tinge of pain crosses his brow, but is swept beneath a mask of professionalism. I must’ve left the aircons running cool while I was out the back, as I begin seeing his breath as he speaks.

“I lose myself. Aldabert, I appreciate the way you manage with such care, and I have decided to extend a hand and elevate this auspicious operation. I know the hour is late, but the iron is hot, and I’m never one to strike too late. To offer some legitimacy to my proposal, I brought a security deposit.”

He ventures over to the cashier booth and places his briefcase on top.

I follow, careful to avoid any lingering wet patches. As I’m doing so, I notice it’s a film of ice along the tiles. There’s no spill, just a slick, pristine sheet of ice. What’s stranger yet is this man, whose name I’ve so rudely forgotten, has just gracefully navigated the frozen sheet without so much as an unsure step.

The man clears his throat, and my focus returns to his softening smile and the briefcase he clicks open. He motions subtly, something I would’ve done in my youth to claim my stake against another salesman on the floor.

I float to his side, ignoring the squeak of my boots against wet tile. The chill recedes as the glowing street light seeps through the windows. It was still a touch dark, but Koan had likely forgotten to change the bulbs again.

Before me, as expected, sits a briefcase full of clean, stacked, and wrapped cash. I instinctively go to lock the front door, since this is more than a few months' worth of bank deposits.

“This would afford you the gentrification every businessman yearns for, some creature comfort, and perhaps an improved roster of abled bodies. I believe you have worked too hard for too long, my good Aldabert. I wish to…”

I interject, this blissful fog clearing from my mind, as he makes an offhanded comment against my staff.

“Forgive me, I seem to have forgotten your name. I’ll have you know. I have a good roster of workers, and greatly enjoy their company. They also get the job done, most of the time. I appreciate the gesture of offering such wealth, but I’m struggling to understand what you wish for in return.”

He smiles faintly, with an odd air of resignation. He lowers the lid, clicking the latches, and turns to face me fully.

“I meant no offence, and can see how that may have been perceived as a jibe. I was in the area recently when one of your staff was having an episode, and in my experience, he appeared quite substance-addled. This, of course, does not speak to his work ethic or character, from one pragmatic businessman to another. Impressions are rather critical, and rarely revoked.”

I motion, preparing to ask him to leave, and he seems to know exactly what I’m thinking. His silken voice fills the space again, and my chest swells with a compliant urge.

“We have begun our dance on a good foot, with a minor fault. Unfamiliar dance partners are destined to be fraught with a misstep or two, but those that persist secure legacies far beyond that of a businessman.

How about we take a sojourn through the building? I would enjoy experiencing your vision for the future of this store.”

The cadence of his words makes it so hard to say no.

“Absolutely. Where are my manners!”

Motioning for him to follow, I lead the way through the hallway, aiming for the back office. The hall is shrouded in a heavy gloom that suffocates the yellowing bulbs above. The chill seems to have blown through, and my breath returns in plumes.

We move past the stock and the chilled product palette. I would’ve worried about putting them away quickly, but the boxes are nearly frozen over.

Entering the office, my ears pulse with a faintly familiar pressure. It reminds me of the day a teacher struck my son. It’s like a mounting static that makes me aware of every vein in my skull. My eyes beat in time with my heart. Adrenaline and a lustful rage swell, yet I have no malice for this man…

I am distantly aware of a creeping trickle, like spilt molasses. His voice chimes in as he takes out a small designer-branded box.

“Are you feeling alright, my good Aldabert? Your face is quite flushed.”

He takes his own liberties, wandering through the office while my mind yearns to introduce his smug face to the bottom of the fire extinguisher.

My hands shake, and like that, the feeling fades. I watch as he opens the box and begins pulling on a pair of leather gloves.

“I think it’s these damned air conditioners, throwing me through a loop with the hot and cold. I need to get them fixed.”

The trickle increases, sounding like rending flesh torn at by wild animals. I lean against the wall, trying to steady myself. I recoil, a blackish-purple sludge has spread amongst my fingers, stretching with my hand as I pull away. The feeling returns, overwhelming.

“Malice.” The man purrs.

“You will have your time soon enough. For now, he will need a little more information. I would rather avoid calling him here for such trivial matters.”

The room bursts alight, the rage vanishing before I can draw breath. The walls are pristine, shadows elongated yet expected, all but the one pooling at the man’s feet.

A reverberation deeper than anything I’ve ever heard, anything I feel I could realistically hear, rumbles through me. My knees buckle, my palms impacting with the ground. I groan as my stomach flips.

“Enough Malice, I care not to repeat myself.”

The man commands away the feeling.

The sickness passes, and I feel his warm grip take me again, muted this time by the gloves.

“Aldabert, I understand that you would place yourself in the position of father figure to the staff member Koan, correct?”

Koan? Of course, this is to do with Koan…

“You’re not a salesman then. Police, I’m guessing?”

“Not quite. I do have a penchant for detecting things, but alas, I am perturbed by the rebuffing of my abilities from your dear Koan. If you would be so kind, I would appreciate reviewing his personal effects, and once I am done, I will happily leave a message with you for our poor Koan. This is amicable, yes?”

The room is dense with a vicious resolve. The man has dropped his pretences, face near smug, but lingering on neutral. I point to Koan’s locker, integrity crumbling to adversity; I will see my family again at the very least.

“Very good. While I peep through, would you be so kind as to unlock your computer and assist me in drafting my message to Koan, please? You really do charm me with your work ethic, Aldabert.”

I walk to the desk, giving the man’s shadow a wide berth and dropping into the chair. My heart races, and I click on my security purveyor, intent on triggering the silent alarm they set up.

I pull up the settings and click across to select the trigger emergency button.

A searing pain carves through my arms, the bones in my hands squealing as there’s a moment's delay before I feel cold penetrate my wrists.

I shriek, trying to pull back, but I’m held firm by two broad pillars of ice. The chill begins spreading up my arms, lingering and aching the bones.

“That was not your most inspired decision, my dear Aldabert. The cost of insolence, as it stands, is your hands and forearms. That, however, was your only purpose: to help transcribe my message. As that is no longer available, I will have to contemplate an alternative option. A less conventional message, if you will.”

He nods to his shadow as he neatly picks through Koan’s locker.

I watch unmoving, terrified, as he pulls out Koan’s name badge, his uniform, and some general toiletries. He then, after quick inspection, methodically replaces everything save his shirt and name badge.

“I try to give most people a chance wherever possible. I believe everyone is inherently good, with the curses of the world working their way into the few. I am so often disappointed, though, particularly by a man of your calibre.

My draft was to read along the lines of "Dear Koan, so glad you could reconsider after meeting with Aldabert, who suggested you needed time off,” and it went on, smothered in pleasantries. Alas, no longer.

I fear that for once in my life, I am falling short of words. But that is why I have Malice after all. He is so keenly aware of the expression: Actions speak louder than words, and unfortunately for you, he is not much of a conversationalist.”

I watch as a mass of night sky undulates beside the man. It expands, and expands, until it encompasses most of the office. It has some sort of thick flesh that ripples, and crawling forms swim beneath the surface with a mass of noises circling as well.

I watch as eyes form and fade, maws with needle-like teeth, human ears, fingers, hooves, things I can’t perceive.

It grows closer, the skin chittering and tearing. It splits and pours forth a cacophony of moans and shrieks. I hear men below, children screaming, animals wailing. All the while that thrumming, so very deep, fills me.

My mind flees as pure animal instinct takes over. I don’t feel the lump of plastic pierce my throat. I only notice the shirt being plunged into my mouth as it’s impeding me from chewing through my forearm and freeing myself.

That man will die. This thing will die.

I thrash against my bonds till the fight bleeds away.

I see the picture of my family on the wall.

I’ve seen them one last time.

This will be enough.