Head in the Box, Page 3

  A favorable murmur to this promise of new friendship flew out in the air. No doubt Peter was fitting well in their midst.

  There was a loud knock on the front door which leveled all voices out. Charlie proceeded to see about the person knocking, hoping it’d be Max.

  Even now, she was still encased in the bad feeling she’d been having since she woke up… Yes, something was definitely amiss, she could feel it.

  III

  The door swung open on an elderly lady. Charlie startled then smiled uneasily. It was the landlady.

  “Mrs. Brummer?” Charlie said, sounding surprised to see her hovering on the threshold to the apartment.

  Her visit wasn’t totally unexpected though. They’d made quite a mess of things last night once the karaoke got really going full swing; the whole time, Charlie feared a police officer would turn up and shut the party down. Luckily, things didn’t come to that; no complaint, it seemed, had been put out. But notwithstanding, here she was, Mrs. Agatha Nafius Brummer, the severe keeper of the rules, the one and only hand of the housing brigade. And she was looking at Charlie as if the sight of everything gave her some stomach pains.

  Charlie kept the door a little ways between them.

  “Good morning, young lady,” Mrs. Brummer said in a kind of bored drawl. “How do you do?”

  “Good morning.” Charlie felt compelled to apologize at first. “Hum, listen, about last night, I know it got a little noisy in here but we didn’t mean to disturb or anything. We’re … hum … going to fix up everything back like new.”

  “Good to know, huh. For what you people fronted for your security deposit, I’d expect you do just that yourself. But I’m not here to give you a much-needed lecture on civilities, though it wouldn’t matter anyway because those things no longer mean squat to your generation. But I’ll only tell you this: you young people should seriously learn to think about others’ needs before yours. This anything-goes, no-holds-barred lifestyle thing is a problem, okay? It’s incompatible with the rules of this house.”

  Charlie took on a defensive mode. This scolding was really knocking the wind out of her sails. She said, “I mean, Mrs. Brummer, you’re exaggerating; this was like the only party we ever had in here.”

  “Well, let’s not make it a habit, alright?” Mrs. Brummer said. Her head slightly poked forward. “And should you ever throw another one, just don’t let it blow out.”

  Charlie slowly nodded. She said, “Sorry,” knowing it was the best thing to say.

  Mrs. Brummer looked at her, obviously pleased to have had her way. She was a tough-as-nails, long haired sexagenarian woman who rocked a lean body, not totally bent out of shape by her many years. Her face was pointed, particularly fleshy on the cheekbones and gaunt everywhere else. Her blubbery lips were set in a permanent zealous twitch accenting her intimidating countenance, especially when she stood silent. And finally, her heavy-lidded eyes made her out to look like she scowled at you at all time and for no particular reason, which was quite off-putting even when you got used to it. Looking back at her, Charlie imagined Mrs. Brummer to have been a looker in her heyday, not beautiful perhaps, but certainly pretty-looking—in her own stern way—and, at any rate, less like the self she was right now.

  The old landlady restarted their conversation in a different tone, almost amicable. She said, “Anyway, I’m here to tell you that the door that leads to the lower tiers of the building is––well, jammed.”

  Charlie stared.

  “Jammed?” she repeated, incredulous. “What do you mean, jammed? Isn’t the door automatic?”

  “Yes it is,” Mrs. Brummer said with a bit of annoyance. “It’s supposed to automatically lock up at 12 a.m. unless, past this hour, a tenant enters a code to make their way in or out of this floor. But regardless of that, the door locks up again all the same.”

  “Yeah, I know all that.”

  There were nine housing buildings in the complex which were tenanted out and Charlie’s apartment sat on the last floor of the second building (the one nearest to the main building), therefore, she was already familiar with the lockdown routine.

  “Then you know the door automatically unlocks at 6 a.m.,” Mrs. Brummer went on. “Which it did, but that silly gizmo just relocked itself twenty minutes ago, just like that. And now it won’t open again.”

  There was a short pause. Then Charlie said, “So you’re saying we’re pretty much locked up in here?”

  “Not locked up… I mean you’re not confined inside your apartment; we still have the landing and the hall to wander about.”

  That didn’t make much of a difference to Charlie.

  “Alright,” she said. “So what happens now?”

  “That cranky old fart of a janitor called in sick this morning; obviously, he can’t be of any use. So I rang the door company and the best they can do is send someone over within the hour.”

  Charlie sighed loudly. There was nothing to be done but wait. Those doors were quite heavy-duty to be tampered with by a non-technician.

  She finally said, “Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait.”

  “I’m glad that you understand.”

  “No worries. It’s just one of those days, huh.”

  Mrs. Brummer nodded. “Tell that to the people next door… Bunch of spoiled, degenerate kids––”

  The old landlady suddenly held her tongue, grunting at herself for going so overboard. She was usually more composed, even when boiling from within with a hot spot of acrimony.

  She said, showing her teeth in a mirthless smile, “Anyway, do well to let your roommates and––” she peeked past Charlie’s head into the apartment “—and your visitors know about the situation, will you?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “That’s all there is for now.”

  Mrs. Brummer turned on her heels to leave at once. Obviously, her apartment was on the same floor as Charlie’s.

  “Hum… Mrs. Brummer,” Charlie called, stepping out more onto the little landing outside the front door where the elderly woman stood paused. “I was just wondering if, maybe, you saw my brother around this morning.”

  “What brother?”

  Charlie got thrown off by the question.

  She said, a little unsure, “Max, my brother… You know, unkempt look… Don’t you know my brother? I’ve introduced you to him…”

  “Oh, you’re talking about that young man?”

  “Have you seen him?”

  “No, not this morning, I haven’t seen him,” Mrs. Brummer said. Then she seemed to think for a second and added, “I saw him walk out of the complex last night though; around ten o’clock, I think.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Brummer pulled away, walking as if she had a spring in her feet. Charlie hung out for a moment, mooning alone on the landing. Though she hadn’t been keeping an eye on Max, she hadn’t seen him again even after the party was over. So Carol was right after all, Charlie sadly thought. Max had left without saying goodbye.

  IV

  “What was that?” Simon immediately asked Charlie when she came back in the living area.

  The others were now roped into an ongoing discussion about the deterring effects of stockpiled nukes for world peace and each had an insightful point they wanted to impress upon the group of listeners, so they hardly paid any attention to Charlie’s return.

  “That was the landlady,” she said slowly. “Something’s happened.”

  “What? Was she pissed about the party noise?” Tara said. “And they say the walls are soundproof in the flyers.”

  Peter mouthed something to her which made her laugh.

  “The door that connects our floor to the lower floors is jammed,” Charlie announced.

  Everybody quieted down at once. Carol was the first to recover. She said, deliberately, “Jammed? How? It wasn’t one hour ago.”

  “Yeah,” Jen seconded, “we went out shopping for food th
is morning. It was working fine then.”

  “Well, Mrs. Brummer says it’s not working now.”

  Charlie passed her eyes over everybody’s face and noted the sudden change of expression. They were all, more or less, looking at her with some kind of unspoken expectation because she was the bearer of the bad news; therefore she was to deal with the problem.

  “So what now?” Dom suddenly spoke, making an inquiring gesture.

  Charlie was about to answer when Simon addressed her, as if thinking out loud.

  “You mean we can no longer go outside?”

  “It’s just temporary,” she said. “It’s gonna get fixed in an hour or so.”

  “This is complete bull!” Tara broke out. “I mean, for what we pay here you’d think at least they’d have apparatus that doesn’t break down, huh?”

  Jen turned a reproachful eye on her roommate, saying calmly, “Come on now, huh? Seriously, it could be worse.”

  “Just saying…” Tara said tersely to avoid sparking an undue drama, even though she had more beans to spill on the issue.

  “I’m sure this is nothing,” Dom said to all. Then, to Charlie, he added, “One hour, right?”

  “Yeah... The door company guy will be here in an hour.”

  Peter put down his rucksack on the floor. He didn’t seem too upset about the stranding situation. He even installed himself comfortably back on the couch he’d been lounging on and shoved the moveable cat stairway off a few inches.

  “So much for leaving huh, buddy?” Alvin said to him.

  “Yeah, sorry about that.” Charlie apologized to him too.

  “That’s all right. I don’t have to be someplace in particular for a while so it’s all good,” Peter said, all laidback. “I’ll just put off my plans until later.”

  The excitement over, they all fell back to their cordial-selves and picked up whatever bantering chatter was left.

  Tara was now talking with Peter; Simon was telling Charlie about his misplaced wallet; Alvin was silently playing drop-and-catch with his rubber ball and Dom was making a pleasant effort to entertain Jen and Carol, but Carol was less into it than Jen was. For a moment, she even subconsciously tuned out and listened to the traffic getting abuzz outside the window. Then she said in her clear voice, “Man, I’m getting bored…”

  “Oh, sorry if I’m such a heavy bore to you,” Dom said with mock admonition.

  “I could hear you talk all day, silly; you know that, don’t you?” Carol said, her voice chiming with her signature playfulness which was known to draw smiles from even the most hard-bitten person.

  “Want to catch up on some writing?” Jen asked.

  “I would if I’d brought in my laptop. Plus I need to unwind. I mean, it’s Sunday.”

  Alvin said, in between two ball-rebounds, “Right. After our little drunken and sinful night, you can’t cope without your Sunday sermons, can you?”

  Carol made a childish face at Alvin. In response, he tossed the rubber ball at her and she tossed it right back at him.

  Those two were behaving like rival siblings—in a positive way—more than they even knew, Charlie thought.

  She said, “Anyone care for a drink? We still have some wine left.”

  Jen nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, good idea. Let’s have that.”

  The notion of pursuing some sense of festivity appealed to everyone. Peter, on the other hand, asked to have a drink other than wine, since the likes of that beverage didn’t sit really well in his belly. As good hosts, Charlie and Tara moved to the kitchen to do the serving.

  In a conversational manner, Alvin asked Peter, “So, you mentioned that you were considering enrolling in Jacksonville University?”

  “Yeah, I flew all the way down here from my native Arizona for that reason,” Peter replied. “Needed to check it out for myself, you know. Nothing is set in stone yet, but you know, I want to make sure it feels right. ”

  Tara, who had now returned from the kitchen expedition with two wine bottles and a handful of soda cans, said, “I hope hanging out with us helps with the decision making of it.”

  Peter said, “I’m pretty sold already.”

  Jen volunteered with an enthused smile, “I’m sure you’ll like it. The school’s great; the teachers too. They know what they’re talking about, which, believe me, make it easier to figure stuff out on your own. You just have to dig it, that’s all.” She added, “You’ll just love the experience.”

  “And make great friends along the way,” Charlie said, bringing her comment home to Jen and Tara. The three girls shared a knowing look for a bit, the recognition of genuine friendship passing between them.

  On the central table, Charlie had put a platter bearing a set of glassware and a plateful of pastries and then invited everyone to help themselves. They did and, pretty soon, several glasses got filled with wine and they began knocking it down with steady measure, eating the appetizers as well to counteract the light alcohol effect.

  Like Peter, Tara contented herself with a soda. Then, off a side table, she grabbed a fine-point sharpie and drew something on the topside of the wine cork stopper. At the same time, Carol leisurely stood up as if to stretch and paced over to an inward-open window which was quite isolated from the three other windows in the living room. She looked out for a minute. A bit of roofing from another building of the apartment complex was hiding the best part of the view, but Carol took in sights and sounds from the busy block across, letting the cool morning breeze blow on her face. Then, as Simon was complimenting the wine, she noticed something on the floor, next to her.

  “I didn’t have much of this stuff last night,” Simon said, referring to the red beverage in his glass, “but it’s incredibly good. Very up-market, I’d say.”

  Dom said, guzzling, “Yep, it’s the real thing or it’s not.”

  Charlie nodded. “It’s courtesy of Carol and her exquisite taste.” She turned to Tara. “Eh, what’s that?”

  Tara revealed the drawing she’d been sketching out on the wine cork: it was some sort of flower leaf.

  “It’s a magnolia leaf,” Tara explained, “a noble flower which can be delicate and yet tough and persistent all the same.”

  Peter said, “Cool.”

  Dom cocked his head slightly on one side and said, “Looks more like a cat’s profile to me.”

  Tara hissed at him, “It’s not a cat; I know a magnolia when I see one.” Then, casting a loving eye at Charlie, she added. “And I see one every day.”

  Tara put the cork stopper into Charlie’s hand and said, “Something to always remind you of that as you grow old.”

  Charlie didn’t say a thing at first, simply making out the said leaf in Tara’s scrawling drawing. Then her lips curled back from her white teeth and she said, with good levity in her voice, “A cork … really? That’s how you’re going to make up for the birthday present I never had from you?”

  Tara smiled broadly. She said, “What? I’m cheap, you know that.” She took the wine cork back. “And if this is too quaint for you, I’m just going to put it back in here and that’ll be it.”

  Tara, in effect, jabbed the cork stopper back into the wine bottle neck as Carol approached, carrying an all-around duct-taped cardboard box about a foot square.

  “Speaking of present,” she said, “I think I just found one over there.”

  “A present?” Charlie said.

  Carol put the box on the central table among the drinking items and pastries.

  The group leaned closer in.

  Her eyes blinking uncontrollably at the box, then at Charlie, Jen said, “Hum… Someone got lucky.”

  Simon hesitated; then he asked, “Any idea who brought it?”

  “I don’t know,” Charlie replied. Then, to Carol, she said, “Was there a note or something with it?”

  Carol moved her head from side to side. Dom gave a low whistle and said, in a spooky tone, “Maybe you hav
e a secret admirer, girl; some guy who was here at the party and who’s either too shy or too confident in his game to reveal himself to you. And this, my dear, is a token of his burning love.”

  “Stop joking around,” Simon said at once. He was feeling a sharp twinge of jealousy in his core, even though it was unwanted. He knew he had no reason to be jealous.

  Plopping down next to Jen, Carol said, with a hint of contempt, “Secret admirer or not, I wouldn’t have shown my face either if my gift was so poorly wrapped.” She added, “I mean, seriously, we’re not even sure it’s a gift…”

  Tara said, “Who the fuck cares?” To Charlie, she said, “Just open it.”

  Charlie hesitated. She simply glanced at all the faces leaning in with interest around the mysterious cardboard box, thinking this was probably another surprise treat from her friends to put the cherry on top, or, knowing their runaway imagination, an attempt to make her the butt of some after-party joke.

  She may have hesitated too long, for Tara said, impatiently, “Alright, I’ll open it for you.”

  Before Tara could reach for the box, Charlie began peeling the duct tape off, her fingernails straining to remove it because of its overdone and inelegant use.

  She said, “If it’s a present, then it’ll be weird not to know who to thank.”

  With the last piece of tape peeled off, Charlie opened the box, unsuspectingly.

  Her eyes instantly widened with terror at the sight of the box’s content. Her expression seized into primitive shock as she turned white as a sheet. Stumbling clumsily backwards, she held the back of her hand to her mouth and everyone around made a similar gesture of panic and repulsion. For their eyes were all transfixed on the severed human head sitting inside the box, wrapped in a see-through trash bag…

  III

  The same mask of horror hung on everyone’s face. This appalling finding was so sudden and so unexpected that it took their breath away. And yet they all stared, quietly retching at the bodiless head in the cardboard box.

  The beheaded wretch was a balding man in his early fifties. Charlie had taken that much in from the first glance. His facial features were overall nondescript, except for his sallow skin, greasy with blood and, by the texture of it, other body juices. A twisted mouth gave the dead man a macabre pout, with his tongue sticking out and dangling from his lips like a worm from a hook. But his eyes, Charlie thought with fright, God… His eyes told the tale of his terrifying demise. Although lifeless and half shut, they plainly expressed a pitiful outcry; a kind of hopeless plea for mercy, frozen in their last horrible moment of living. In this hideous portrait, they were the most haunting to behold.