Three, Page 2

and only the light of the blue moon filtered through the window. The three girls, all seemingly of the same age but clearly not twins, shared a glance as cold as the moon light. Together, they walked through a black doorway and into a corridor where a long red carpet ran its length. Colin stood at the end of the corridor and all else in the corridor was black except for the three girls. They marched in a triangle formation, bringing the blue light with them. Finally the light that followed them exposed, on the floor, two bodies. Twisted and ravaged, pools of blood had turned this once white carpet red. The girls marched closer to the bodies and as they go to them, the girls were lifted from the ground and levitated over the bodies. As they came closer to Colin their eyes were replaced with orbs of that blue moonlight. That light poured out of their mouths in a ghastly breath and they left a trail of blue light behind them that covered the dead mother and father like a blanket.

  Colin awoke. He felt the dried sweat that glued him to his once cool sheets. He looked at the digital clock that sat on his bedside. In the dark room, it read 2:53 AM.

  “Twe- Fourteen hours.” Colin croaked. His mouth filled with mucus that had clogged his through. Colin felt himself swirling about the room while his fever pulled the strings of his body. He poured himself out of the bed and went to his desk by the window like a drone. Colin used the bumps on the typewriter keys as a guide for his fingers and started typing while he spun around the room, orbiting somewhere a million miles away from Earth.

  Colin had fallen back to sleep again, but not back into his glorious fever. When he awoke, he noticed that Vickie's baby blue sedan was not in it's drive way. He made his way to his office, dragging his feet a long the way. His head still felt like it was ablaze, but he could feel his bones clash and clatter while his body shivered. He sat down in the room, empty save for his desk, the locked refrigerator and the clean spot on his desk where his typewriter once sat. He contemplated unlocking the refrigerator and crept towards it. The sound of his sliding slippers filled the room in his approach. He placed his hand on the lock and began to turn the dial when he heard a knock on his door.

  Colin, of course, was confused. Only he and Vickie had been living here. And he was sure he told his agent never to disclose his location to fans. Colin moved the dark green drapes aside to peek outside the murky window. It was hard to see through the mountain fog, but he could make out a car. Not Vickie's baby blue sedan, but some amorphous white blob. It blended in with the fog, but Colin could see shapes that formed the vague idea of letters on the side. Colin fastened the shawl tighter around his neck and pulled it above his head in a technicolor hood. This was an old cabin, built long before the time of global social unease, so it did not have a peep hole. Colin took a deep wheeze and could feel the breath ripple through his lungs. He opened the door.

  When he opened the door, he did not know what to expect to see. It could be his agent. It could be Vickie and her car broke down at the base. Through the eyes of his fevered mind he expected it to be those ghastly three little girls from his vivid dream the night before. Instead, he was met with an old lady. Tarnished emeralds sat in her eyes and gray hair fell at the sides of her head. It flipped up at the ends. It made Colin think of his childhood crush of Mary Tyler Moore.

  “Hello?” Colin rasped through his thorny throat.

  “Mr. Erics?” The old lady asked. She was clutching a dingy gray medical bag. She leaned forward as she asked and the collection of bangles on her left wrist jingle jangled in her greeting.

  Colin cleared his throat and stood up straight, though it pained the kidneys in his lower back. “Yes. That's me. And you?”

  “Wonderful!” The old lady exclaimed as she shuffled past Colin, who was too drained to react. “My name is Karen. Karen Tendy. Well, Nurse Karen Tendy,” she laughed as she sat down her medical bag on the kitchen table. “But just Karen will do, Mr. Erics.”

  “Please, come in,” Colin snorted. He took a look out the doorway and through the fog, he was finally able to make out the vague lettering on the side of the white SUV.

  MT. WALLACE HOSPICE

  “Hospice?” Colin asked as he turned. Karen was not at the kitchen table with her bag. Instead, he saw her wandering around the den, observing the grains of the wood. “I appreciate the thought, Karen, but I don't need hospice.”

  “Vickie seems to think otherwise,” Karen said as she came back to the kitchen with a strut. “She has been in contact with our company in the past week. First, we gave her some basic tips, but she thought an expert was needed. Tell me, Mr. Erics, how are you feeling?”

  “Annoyed, for one,” Colin said as he shambled to the refrigerator. “Juice?” He asked as he opened the door. Karen just nodded as she took out a yellow legal pad. “Well,” Colin said as he sat down at the table with his glass of orange juice. “Drained. Feverish. Delusional,” Colin took a sip. “The usual.”

  “The usual? Interesting. What do you mean by that?” Karen asked while scribbling. Colin peeked over. Karen's handwriting was so terrible, it might as well have been gibberish.

  “I'm use to feeling like this. Somewhat. Recently, it's gotten worse.” Colin sighed. “Karen, forgive me for asking, and please don't take this as narcissism, are you a fan?”

  Karen looked up over her glasses at Colin and put her pen down. She interlaced her fingers and bolted them on the table in front of her. “A fan? Of your work or of your illness?”

  To this question, Colin laughed. “One in the same. One in the same.” His laughter was cut off by the terrible rasping harmony of his coughing. Karen could hear the fluid jumping out of his chest and into his mouth.

  “What exactly do you mean by that?” Karen asked, taking off her glasses.

  “Who thinks of things like I do? Of space cowboys and cadets. Westerns where travesties meet triumph and justice is not an easy solution. If just any brain could concoct these things, well, I wouldn't be where I am.” Colin leaned back in his chair and ran his clammy hands over his face and through his greasy hair. “The truth is, my finest ability is my terrible immune system. I would get sick as a kid and have these... dreams. They were vibrant. Engrossing. I couldn't escape from them, no matter how grand or terrible they were. My work is a direct result of my sickness.”

  “This must be a great weight upon your wife, Vickie. Otherwise she would not have called me up here.”

  “Vickie doesn't know,” Colin said taking another sip. “I met her after I dreamed up all these terrible things. I had a reservoir of stories to write down. Now though, I'm all dried up.”

  “The north west is a perfect place to come to get sick. What luck on your part,” Karen said putting her notebook away.

  “I came to the north west for the seclusion, not for the germs. I have that part covered.”

  “Covered, what do you mean by that, Mr. Erics?”

  “I can't tell you that, Karen. A magician never reveals his tricks. The only thing I can ask you to do, is to leave and not come back. If you ever want to see another one of my books again,” Colin said, slumping forward. Karen could tell the man was weak. She could see his elbows shaking as they tried to support his weight. “Is to leave, and not come back.”

  Karen sat silent. She looked around the room, perhaps to avoid eye contact with the man. Although his spirit was admirable, Karen could tell a dying man when she saw one. At this rate, even if she did do as he asked, he would be dead before his next book even met its editor. “Okay,” Karen said. “But, there is a hole in your plan, Mr. Erics. Wouldn't Vickie become curious if the old hospice nurse traveled back down the hill and never returned. Why,” Karen said, leaning forward. Bags hung from her face over the table. “She might think you have something to hide. And you do have something to hide, don't you?” Colin sat still just holding his orange juice in his hand. The glass had began to condensate and form murky puddles atop the dusty table top. “Let me stick around and help,” Karen said as she got up. “Our appointment is over today, Mr. Erics. I shall see you tomorrow
.”

  Colin showed the old woman out of the kitchen and to the rustic cabin door. She stop once outside of the border and turned back to Colin. She was a ghost amidst the fog. A figure that hung in the air. Her dark gray coat wavered in the grounded clouds. “Name one of your characters Karen for me, Mr. Erics.”

  Vickie's blue sedan traced over the worn tire marks that she had produced in the weeks before as she drove up the mountain to the quaint cabin. Her day had spent paying bills and dealing with her husband's daily affairs while he was trying his best to earn their lively hood. Unfortunately, the past weeks had turned Vickie's golden heart cynical. She fully expected Colin to the in their bed asleep with the bedroom door locked. She had gotten herself a bottle of the cheapest wine she could buy to keep her company on the front room couch tonight.

  She was pleasantly surprised when she found the light pouring from the cabin windows. Vickie walked into the rickety house and saw the bedroom door completely open. Sounds of keys clashing against paper filled the house. Silently, she tip toed to the bedroom and peeked in. Colin sat in her grandmother's shawl with his fingers ablaze. Vickie admired the figure for a moment, waiting for a pause in Colin's writing. Without the guise of the keys