A Debt to be Paid Read online

  “Have a good night then,” he said.

  She stood up and put her coat on. “My name’s Meg by the way.”

  He nodded. “Yes, I remember now. From your nametag. I’m Brian.”

  “What’re the odds? That’s my father’s name. Good night, Brian.”

  “Good night, Meg.”

  She left the bar and zippered her coat against the cold, wishing she could always feel this pleasant buzz. The world seemed like a much happier place when it spun like a carnival ride.

  The scar was vaguely L-shaped. It began a few inches above her left eyebrow and curved toward the middle of her forehead before it followed a straight line down the center of her scalp. It was six or seven inches and since she’d changed her part, you could only see the curve of it, though it was mostly covered by her bangs.

  She studied it in the mirror that night, in between heaving into the toilet bowl. This time it was not dry-heaving. Her lunch and few bites of Ramen noodles came up easily.

  Dwight purred from the doorway, concerned. She told him everything was fine.

  Her stomach bubbled. She heaved again, repeated the pattern until she was almost certain she was empty. She thought back to her conversation with Brian, how he’d seemed genuinely interested. And how she’d come across as bat-shit crazy with her story.

  Not unlike her mother.

  The flesh itched. She scratched but it did nothing. There was no relief. The doctors had told her the itching should die down once the healing process was complete but it had only gotten worse with time. Some things never healed properly.

  She looked into the mirror and lifted her bangs. The curve of the scar was there, like a jagged smile, though there was nothing happy about it.

  For a moment her tiny apartment and her oncoming hangover and even her unpaid bills faded into the distance, so that it was just her and the mirror. She closed her eyes and she was back home, just a little girl.

  Her mother had brought her back from their trip.

  Her father had called the cops, and rightly so, though at the time Meg thought he was the bad guy. He didn’t understand what was happening to Mommy. They were being chased by something only her mother could see and hear.

  But that wasn’t exactly true, was it? Because there had been times on their little trip where Meg had sworn she’d seen something, quick movements, things darting across the roads or past storefronts. And that night, just before she got her scar, she had sworn there was someone through the window, standing in the front yard, though the cops would not arrive for another ten minutes.

  It was a shadow, void of any features, and it was looking through the living room window, directly toward her.

  Then Meg’s attention had turned elsewhere.

  There was a loud crash and the sounds of a struggle. Her father was grabbing onto her mother’s wrists. An anger rose up inside that she’d never experienced. Her mother was holding a bottle of wine, trying to fight away her father.

  “I won’t let you do it,” her father said. “I won’t let you bring us down because you refuse to get help.”

  “Stop it,” Meg had said. “You’re hurting her! She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  She ran to them, began pounding her fists into her father’s side, begging him to back away, to let Mommy go.

  Her father shoved her away. Later, she would realize he was trying to save her. From the sudden absence of his hands on her mother’s wrists, the bottle of wine came down, toward her father’s face but he dodged.

  Meg felt a thud, then a quick bolt of white light filled the earth.

  And then nothing.

  While the police and the paramedics had been shuffling through the house, handcuffing her mother, Meg had woken once. She could feel something wet and warm leaking from her hair and onto the floor. The man above her—an angel, she thought at the time—told her she would need stitches and to stay calm. She looked just past him and toward the window.

  Something was staring at her.

  She blinked and she was back in her bathroom. She hated remembering that night and the trip that led to it. Not because everything had changed or because there was so much pain to be recalled, but because it took every ounce of internal strength to tell herself what she’d seen was not real.

  Because to feed into it would make her one step closer to becoming her mother.

  And that, more than anything in the world, was her greatest fear.

  She thought about washing her face and rinsing the taste of sour vomit from her mouth but it seemed like too much effort. She shut the bathroom light out and collapsed onto her bed.

  Just as she began to drift off, she thought of that window again, and the face she had certainly not seen.

  She turned on the light and lay awake a bit longer, her head pounding.

  Chapter Three

  The next day, while Meg was opening a roll of quarters at work, the phone rang.

  She didn’t notice it at first. She was tired as hell, barely functioning despite the three cups of coffee. She’d thought about calling in sick but she didn’t have benefits yet and she could not afford to miss a day’s pay.

  “Yes, she’s right here,” Debbie said. “One moment.”

  There was a tap on Meg’s shoulder. “It’s for you.”

  Meg stopped dispensing the quarters. She set them down and her palms began to feel hot and icy at once. “Who is it?”

  “They didn’t say. Just asked for you and said it was urgent.”

  Meg looked at the phone, just ten or so feet away. The receiver and mouthpiece faced her, like two unblinking eyes. Just a phone call, nothing more.

  “Could you do me a favor?” Meg said. “Could you go ask who it is?”

  Debbie paused. “I suppose so. Is everything okay?”

  Meg nodded. “Yes, it’s just that…yesterday there was no one on the other end.”

  Debbie looked at her as though there was more to the story, as if Meg needed to explain further. Eventually she smiled and walked to the phone. “May I ask who’s calling?” A pause. “Okay. Certainly. I’ll grab her for you right now.”

  Debbie walked back over. “It’s your mother. She says she needs to speak to you quickly.”

  For a moment the words weren’t even a shock. She accepted them easily enough. Until their meaning weighed down on her. The bank became misty, like a fog had drifted in from outside. There was a small line of customers but she felt in no rush to help them. “My mother you said?”

  “That’s right. It sounds important.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “And why’s that, honey?”

  “Because my mother hasn’t spoken a word in over twenty years.”

  Debbie didn’t answer. She turned her head and they both stared at the phone. It lay perfectly still, waiting for an answer. After an eternity Meg broke her paralysis. She was being rash. Debbie had heard wrong. There was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

  She reached for the phone, wincing, as if it had a heartbeat and elongated teeth, something that could bite her if she wasn’t careful.

  She picked it up. “Hello?”

  It came as no surprise that her mother didn’t answer. Just like yesterday, there was no answer at all, just the sound of harsh breathing, and maybe something else too, beneath the surface. Something that scurried. She thought of rodents again but then another image formed in her mind: skeletal feet tapping across a warped floor.

  Or perhaps they were not skeletal at all. Perhaps they had no features to speak of, connected to a shadowy body with a shadowy face that watched you while you weren’t looking.

  She shook her head, shoved the thoughts aside.

  She cleared her throat and found her voice, though it seemed miles away. “Look, if this is some sort of prank, it’s not funny. I know this isn’t my mother
and I’d appreciate you telling me who’s really calling.” For a moment she thought that maybe she sounded tough.

  There came a whisper in her ear, words barely audible but words just the same. “All you have to do is say yes. It’s that simple.” The voice was distorted and faraway like a radio broadcast that had travelled the world and come back once more.

  “Say yes? What the hell are you talking about? This isn’t funny, you hear me? This isn’t fucking funny at all.”

  She heard gasping customers from behind her but she didn’t care.

  “Say yes and we’ll make everything better. It’s what your mother would want.”

  She hung up but that didn’t seem good enough. She looked at the phone sitting atop the desk and pictured it ringing again, so she ripped the cord from the wall outlet then tossed it into the garbage.

  There was a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay, honey?” It was Debbie.

  Meg didn’t answer. She batted away Debbie’s hand like a fly and ran for the bathroom. Inside she found a stall and slammed the door behind her.

  She waited there for a long time and told herself she was not losing her mind.

  When she came back out a half hour later there was a police officer chatting with Debbie, laughing about her retirement countdown, now one digit less than yesterday. Betty finished up with a customer and stepped out from behind her station. She walked up to the officer, whispered something, and brushed a hand across his arm, flirting with him. He didn’t seem to mind.

  When they saw Meg approaching they stopped laughing and stood rigid.

  “Ms. Foster?” the man asked.

  Meg nodded. “Yes, that’s me.”

  “I’m Officer Paul Granger. Please just call me Paul.” He held a calloused hand and shook hers. The skin was rough and the grip was tight. For some odd reason she imagined him as a cowboy in another life.

  “All right. Am I in some sort of trouble?”

  “Trouble? Not in the least. Your coworkers gave the station a call about fifteen minutes ago, said you’d received a threatening phone call from an unidentified number.”

  “It wasn’t exactly threatening.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “How do you mean?”

  “I mean they didn’t actually threaten me. They barely said anything.”

  “And what was it they did say?” He took out a note pad and a pen and she began to feel like she was in a bad movie.

  She opened her mouth to tell him the truth but stopped short. He waited patiently, nodding for her to go on. Betty and Debbie did the same. Meg’s manager was near the vault, staring her way. Meg couldn’t tell them what she’d heard because they would think she was either joking or losing her marbles. Either scenario could get her fired.

  But what if she had a stalker, someone who was trying to scare her?

  She needed to stop thinking like her mother. It was a prank and nothing more.

  “They told me to say yes.”

  “Say yes to what?” Paul asked, writing.

  “I’m not sure. They told me if I said yes…that everything would be better.”

  Paul scribbled down notes, his tongue peeking from his mouth. “Is that all they said?”

  “No. They mentioned my mother.”

  Concern washed over Paul’s face. “Your mother? Did it sound like anyone you may have known, a relative or friend of the family?”

  She thought of the voice, a gravelly whisper. She hugged her arms, rubbing against raised flesh. “No. I’ve never heard that voice before. I’m sure of it.”

  He scribbled some more. “Are you from the area, Ms. Foster?”

  She shook her head. “No, I just moved out here last month.”

  “Have you met anyone recently?”

  “No, just my coworkers and my land lord. Oh, and a man from the bookstore. Brian, I think his name was.”

  “The Peterson boy? I can tell you right now he wouldn’t be bothering you. He’s a good guy. I go back with his old man. If we can safely assume it’s not a coworker, then that means it’s someone who knows your schedule. A customer maybe. Have there been any incidents while you’ve been working here?”

  There had been plenty of weirdos that seemed to come in at the same time every day, people that made you wonder, but they hadn’t come off as threatening. “I only started three weeks ago. Nobody has bothered me.”

  Betty elbowed Paul. “But there are plenty of characters that come in here. That’s for sure. I bet she’s got herself a secret admirer. Probably trying to scare her into going on a date with them.”

  Paul turned toward her and cleared his throat. “We do take things like this very seriously. It could be nothing but one never knows. Ms. Foster, I’m going to get in touch with the phone company and see if we can trace the call. The one from yesterday, do you remember what time it was?”

  She looked at the clock and did the math. “Around three-thirty. Just like today.”

  He nodded. “That’s good. There’s a pattern.”

  “Should I be worried?” Meg looked outside. Though it was sunny out, the sky was darkening in the distance, rain clouds rolling in.

  Paul closed the notepad and slid it into his pocket. “I don’t think there’s any reason to jump to conclusions. Just be aware of your surroundings and I’ll be in touch as soon as I hear back from the phone company.”

  “Thank you.”

  Paul put on his hat, the cowboy analogy now more fitting, and spoke with Betty and Debbie for a few more minutes. He was smiling again, laughing at their small talk, loving the attention. It would not come as a surprise if he offered them his autograph.

  Meg went back to her station and waited for a customer to come through the doors, hoping to keep her mind occupied. She didn’t care if they were crazy, so long as they were a distraction.

  She watched the clock for an eternity, though she tried to block out her usual line of thought.

  I’m going to die here.

  That night, after her shift, she walked down the street to the Cooperative Bank. It would have been more convenient to open a checking account at her work but it would be too easy to withdraw money. She did not trust herself with her current budget, especially now that she’d gotten the first loan bill.

  She began to crunch numbers again while waiting in line, so much so that she didn’t notice when the woman at the far left station called her over. Meg shook her head and apologized. She handed the teller her check and waited an eternity before the woman slid over a slip of paper with her balance on it.

  Meg gasped as she saw the total. She left without saying goodbye. Outside she mentally subtracted the weekly portion of her rent, utilities, groceries and her school loan. It left her with fifty dollars to her name and she was sure the money would find a place to go. It always did.

  She either needed a second job or a higher paying one. Or else she was heading back home.

  No, that was not an option. She’d find something. She’d make it work.

  It’s only temporary. It’s only temporary.

  She repeated the words over and over in her head until she was actually whispering them aloud. She got a few odd looks from passersby but she didn’t quite care.

  Someone walked behind her, gaining as if they were in a rush. They could go around her. After the day she’d had, she was not moving over for anyone. She walked slowly but the individual did not slow their pace. They came closer so that they kicked the back of her left foot.

  She gritted her teeth and turned around, ready to tell he or she to go fuck themselves.

  Except there was no one there. A woman crossed the street a few yards away and a few seagulls and pigeons were picking at an overflowing garbage barrel.

  She began to walk a bit faster.

  She swore she heard footsteps behind her but each time she turned around there wa
s nothing. She was just beginning to blame it on her exhaustion or the wind when she passed an abandoned storefront and saw her reflection in one of the dusty windows.

  She saw a tired and slightly distorted version of herself.

  And behind her, just inches away, stood a tall shadowy figure that was not there when she turned around. The figure had no features but she could tell it was watching her with invisible eyes.

  She ran. Her heart began to beat too fast, blood pumping in her ears. Though there was a chill in the air, she began to sweat. She hadn’t run this much since the high school track team. Her lungs burned. She was out of shape.

  The thing was gaining on her. She could hear footsteps drawing closer.

  It reminded her of the scuttling sound from the phone call.

  Most of the storefronts were closed for the evening and she could imagine herself alone on the street, screaming for help while she was taken away by the thing with no face.

  Up ahead there was light on the sidewalk, an open door, one of the only shops still open. She picked up her pace, feeling faint and terrified and wanting to cry. She made it to the entryway and dove inside.

  She didn’t see the man until it was too late. She reached out, trying to push him to the side, but instead she fell on top of him.

  Her head connected with a shelf. The pain was instant but she was grateful to not be alone. She rubbed at the oncoming egg-shaped bump, about to thank the man and explain her situation. She couldn’t get the words out when she recognized him as Brian Peterson. The one who’d listened patiently at the bar the night before while she made a fool of herself.

  “Meg? Are you okay?” He helped her up.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” She thought her cheeks had never felt so hot in all her life.

  “What the hell happened to you? Why were you running? Is everything okay?”

  She thought of her pursuer and looked outside. The door was still open. It brought a shiver on, climbing her back, but there was no one there and part of her wondered if there had been anyone to begin with.