Page 20

NINETEEN

The mailroom is dark, and Alex can’t find the switch. She wanders in anyway, following the slim patch of light from the hallway. It illuminates the ragged edges of the bins. They have grown exponentially since she last saw them. They tower with letters now, masses and masses of them, piled so high they bow out overhead, threatening to topple. How are there so many? She hears something, a small voice, muffled by paper, calling for help. Is someone trapped inside the piles? She plunges a hand into the stack, trying to help. The voice calls out again. Clearer this time. Please, it says. Please help. It is frail and light, like the voice of a child. She begins to pull the letters away. But each time she stops and tries to orient herself, the pile has grown larger. It swells before her eyes, hitting the ceiling and bulging against the walls. She sees now that the letters are an organism, and this person is being slowly digested. She braces herself with her feet as she pushes her hand deeper; finally her fingers brush up against the hard warmth of a body. “I’ve got you,” she calls out just as the letters begin to fall. They are beautiful at first, like a gentle snow, but soon they are toppling, suffocating her, slicing at her face and arms. Now invisible hands clamp down on her wrists. But they are not the small fingers of a child. They are coarse and strong. She screams as the fingers grab her amidst the blur of white. The hands are at her neck, squeezing. They are familiar, and she knows they won’t stop until they extinguish every last breath—

Alex jolts awake in the dark with a shuddering gasp as she struggles to fill her lungs with air. The blankets are twisted around her, pinning her legs down. She thrashes against them wildly until the familiar ceiling fan and dark curtains of the window in the corner reassure her that she is in her own bedroom. Heart still thrumming in her chest, she slowly untangles herself and sits up. It is unbearably hot in her apartment and her throat is parched.

Alex drags herself out of bed, making her way into the kitchen to get a glass of water. She goes to the windows, still rattled from the dream, and checks the locks. Across the street the Bluebird is dark inside. She scans the sidewalk, reassuring herself that there is no one there she recognizes. Only a young couple clinging to each other, stumbling a little on their way home from a nearby Irish pub. Their laughter echoes up into her apartment.

It’s not normal to be like this, Alex thinks. She has been so isolated for so long. Ready to pack up and leave at a moment’s notice. She has done so much to escape what happened to her all those years ago now, but it is still with her. She is still locking doors and hiding. Will she ever be able to free herself from it, or will it lurk forever in her subconscious waiting to step out and torment her just when things seem to be going okay for a change? The job is a step in the right direction. She can no longer hide in her apartment. More and more she wonders if anyone is even looking for her, or if it is all in her mind. Maybe she exaggerated the entire thing. Either way, she realizes now, looking out onto the empty street, she can’t run anymore. Someday soon she’ll have to stop and look behind her.