Stability
Routine. That is what Ian Sanford's life is in it's most plain and simple definition. Everything must be constant and unchanging. Spontaneity is a trait Ian has lacked ever since he was born. Any change whatsoever must either be planned in advance or avoided at all costs. Everything is expected and everything is what it seems. True, this lifestyle offers no excitement, but living this way has many benefits. Without change there is no danger. Without danger there is no fear. With the stable routine Ian lives by, he has always held a sense of safety, security, and tranquillity. Hakuna Matata, no worries. The two major necessities in Ian's routine are work and movies. Work is a necessity for obvious reasons. It already runs by a routine, it takes up almost all of a regular weekday, and it is important in order to fulfill the second necessity. Ian watches a movie every night. He makes a routine trip to the same video store after work, rents one movie (never two), takes it to his small, but efficient apartment, and watches it. He started this routine when he was about fifteen. Movies provide him with an escape from his uneventful life. He loves to get engrossed in them. If Ian is occupied, he is satisfied. Thinking about his life doesn't help anything. As Ian sat at his desk at work, his thoughts were far from his problems in life, they were on the work he was completing. As they should be. Ian stopped typing for a moment to relax his fingers. Software engineering isn't difficult, but filling in code all day can cause your fingers to become fatigued. He glanced at his watch. 3:51pm. July 27th. Four more days to go. Only four more days. This did not trouble him. He had already waited twenty-seven days. He was anxious, but not too anxious. It had to be done, but only once a month. Never more. That would interfere with his routine. Just as he was going to continue his work, a fellow coworker tapped him on the shoulder. Ian shifted in his chair, but did not look upwards. He knew who it was and did not want to risk catching a glance of his face. It was Fred Balart, not a mean person, but a constant nuisance to Ian's routine. Ian kept his eyes trained on Fred's muddy shoes as he spoke. "Hey, Ian. How's it goin'." Fred asked in a friendly voice. "Same old, same old." Ian replied. "What would you say to goin' out bar hoppin' with me tonight? Try to pick up some ladies." Ian knew that Fred was now holding a disgusting grin. "I'd say no." Answered Ian. "C'mon, what are you doin' tonight?" "Things." Ian became agitated at Fred's presence. "What things?" Fred pressed. "Things that are my own business." Ian said in a rather unpleasant tone. Ian turned back around in his chair and began typing again. Fred said nothing and returned to his desk. Ian hated to be rude, but being blunt is the only way to get rid of some people. The rest of the day flew by in the space of a breath. But for some odd reason, the four days that followed did not. He did not break his routine in any way and yet, he was not fully satisfied. Something was missing and Ian didn't want to admit it. He sat in his cubicle at work continually checking his watch, unable to concentrate on work any longer. 5:58pm. July 31st. Only two more minutes. The seconds seemed to go on for hours, but 6:00 finally came around. Ian quickly grabbed his briefcase and jacket only to find Fred standing in his way, with that grin. That evil grin. "Hey, Ian, sorry for eggin' you on about...well...you know. Let me make it up to you tonight." Fred's voice sounded sincere, but Ian knew he wasn't. Ian was forced to see the entire Fred for a moment. His hair was greased back and plastered to his head, which was quite small for his body. Flakes of dandruff covered his shoulders. He probably hadn't bathed for days. Various kinds of junk food stains littered his shirt and tie. He wore the same clothes every day. The last few buttons on his shirt were missing, leaving some of his bulging stomach exposed. Acne seemed to envelop his entire face. His nose hair protruded out so much that you could see the curls in it. However, his smile was the worst thing a man could witness. His mouth contained rotten yellow teeth that would make a dentist vomit and his breath always reeked of onions and salami. The lingering smell that Fred carried with him was even more nauseating. Fred was the epitome of all things wrong with the world. Ian had yet to figure out how Fred obtained a job there. He couldn't bear to look at Fred any longer and sweat was dripping in Ian's eyes. Nevertheless, he kept his cool and told Fred that he was very busy that night and he would take a rain check. Fred agreed and stepped out of his way. As Ian made his way towards the elevator, the thought of spending time with Fred almost made him laugh, or did it? Maybe they could hang out together sometime, say at the end of next month? Ian pushed the button for down. The elevator took only a moment. Ian took a long, deep breath as the elevator descended down to the first floor. He felt relieved to be finally leaving the building. The elevator music soothed his tightened muscles. It was the same music that played everyday he had worked there, just as expected. He closed his eyes and swayed to the beat of the repetitive melody. It was interrupted by the ding of the elevator, signifying he had reached the lobby. The elevator doors seemed to sling shot open as he stepped out into the lobby. Everyone and everything that surrounded him seemed to be moving faster than him. No matter how hastily he walked to the exit, he was still too slow. The spinning doors at the exit drew people in and out so quickly they looked like debris caught in a relentless tornado. He feared that if he didn't complete his monthly task soon, he would break his routine. Ian had never been in a hurry before and it frightened him. He had always been on time to everything, done everything at the same time he had done it the day before, and the day before that. If the balance of Ian's routine were compromised, his sanity would break apart like a planet exploding from the inside. And the mangled pieces of what was left of Ian would plummet into a deep darkness where they would never be found again. He sweat profusely, his stomach curdled, and his brain pulsated, nevertheless Ian pushed himself through the raging tornado and stepped out onto the sidewalk. A swift breeze swept over him, helping him to overcome the anxiety attack. He had had them before, but not often. In a few moments, Ian came upon the parking garage where his car waited for him. He took long, deep breaths and began to calm down. He thought of movies, work, and what he was about to do. Before long, Ian reached his car and felt back to normal. The car started smoothly, as always. As Ian pulled out of the parking garage, he checked his watch. 6:12pm. He was almost on time. He passed the intersection where he usually turned left to get to the video store. He didn't need a movie to occupy himself tonight. He passed his apartment building also. No need to go there yet. Not yet. After driving for about five more minutes, he took the onramp to highway 101. Just as he always did at the end of every month. In an about an hour, the only thing visible was the same stretch of road that was eliminated by Ian's headlights. And the occasional pair of headlights that passed him going in the opposite direction. The white lines on the pavement that constantly brushed past Ian's car would become hypnotic or eventually disorienting to any normal person. But to Ian, they were extremely calming. The lines were constant and unchanging, like his routine. Ian looked up from the road for a moment to check his watch. 8:02pm. He had been staring at the lines longer than he thought. He immediately pulled over onto the shoulder. After making sure his car was a good foot or two away from the road, Ian made a complete stop and turned the car off. As he angled the rear view mirror to see if there were any cars coming, he caught the reflection of his face. He had the face of a man with no worries. The face of a man with no problems. The face of a man with a stable and unchanging life. He smiled widely and pulled the lever in his car that turned on his hazard lights. He then popped the hood and got out of the car. Ian opened the hood all the way, but he did not inspect the engine. There was nothing wrong with it. Instead, he had his attention on the underside of the hood. It was covered in orange stains. For all anyone knew they were from rust. For all anyone knew. He made his way around the car and unlocked the trunk. He quickly unfolded a black sheet that he had previously put there and spread it out carefully. Making haste in his work, he grabbed a crowbar that leaned against the back of the trunk and left it open only an inch or two. Just holding the crowbar made his body shake in anticipation. He leaned against the left headlight and waited. Soon enough, Ian saw the faint glow of headlights in the distance. He checked his watch. 8:24pm. He was making very good time. In under a minute, the car was getting close. Ian stood at the side of the road waving his hands. There was no way the oncoming car could not see him. The car slowed down and stopped about seven or eight feet in front of Ian. It was the first time the first car that passed actually stopped to help. Luckily, the person that stepped out was alone. Ian remembered when a father and his young boy stopped to help, that was inconvenient. The man that stood before him now was very young and plain looking, probably no more that twenty years old. "Havin' some car trouble?" He asked. His smile was friendly and reassuring. Kind of like Fred's first smiles were, until they were repulsing. "Yeah, she was running fine until the engine just died on me and to be honest, I don't know a thing about cars." Ian replied in a calm voice when in fact his heart was beating faster than it ever had. "Well, my brothers' a mechanic, so I might be able to help. I'm Matt." He reached out to shake Ian's hand. Reluctantly, Ian shook hands with him. "Thanks a lot. I've been waiting here for a while. You want to take a look under the hood?" Ian asked. "Oh sure, I imagine you're in quite a hurry." Matt said as he made his way to the front of the car. He leaned over the engine checking various things. Ian stood behind him, slowly picking up the crowbar. "I don't really see anything wrong yet." His voice was beginning to sound like Fred's. His focus remained on the engine. " Maybe you should-----" His statement ended abruptly as he was struck in the back of the head with the crowbar. Fred responded in a grunt of pain. Ian hit him in the head again, hard. Then again, and again. Again. Again. When Ian finally stopped, saliva dripped from his chin and his chest heaved in exhaustion. Blood dripped from the underside of the hood. Fred's limp and lifeless body slid off the car and fell to the ground face up. His face was bloody and disturbing, but it did not belong to Fred. Regardless, Ian felt refreshed, satisfied, good. He wiped the saliva from his chin and dropped the crowbar. Ian took a moment to look around. No cars had passed and none were coming. No one had seen him, just as planned. He shut the hood and picked up the crowbar. He cleaned the end of the crowbar with the edge of the black sheet and set it down in the back of the trunk where it had been before. As Ian turned off his hazard lights, he saw a glimpse of light out of the corner of his eye. He quickly turned around to see an approaching car. Judging by the speed of the car, Ian would not have enough time to get Matt into the trunk. Thinking quickly, he grabbed the body and pulled it behind the car where the other driver could not see it. The driver passed Ian's car without so much as a glance in his direction. Ian exhaled slowly. He checked his watch. 8:36pm. As Ian dragged the body to the trunk, Matt's belt buckle scraped against the asphalt. Ian strained, but was able to lift the body into the trunk. He took off his white work shirt and wiped the blood from his face and hands on it. The bloodstained shirt was then lain out over the body. Before finally shutting the trunk, the body was wrapped tightly in the black sheet. Ian slid back into the driver seat and grabbed a neatly folded T- shirt out of the back seat. Slipping it on, he smiled at his reflection in the rear view mirror again. Everything was according to plan. Everything was perfect. The short trip back to his apartment building seemed to only take a few minutes. He couldn't believe how happy he was. How stable he was. He drove around to the back of the building and parked next to an old, rusty door. As Ian sifted through his keys, a horrible smell from a nearby dumpster lingered. The stench reminded him of Fred. He quickly shook the image from his mind and found the right key. The door opened slowly. All that could be seen inside was darkness. Ian carried the body to the door and threw it into the pitch-blackness. Thumping sounds echoed back betraying the silence of the night. He surveyed his surroundings to see if anything had been disturbed. Everything was fine, just as expected. Before going through the doorway, Ian retrieved a flashlight out of the glove compartment. As he stepped into the darkness, the flashlight revealed a body wrapped in a black sheet at the bottom a stair case. When Ian reached the last step, he looked around with the flashlight. The giant room was a jungle of pipes, gauges, steam, and machinery. This area of the building hadn't been renovated since it was built in the 50's. The rest had been. North Brook Apartments offers central air, laundry facilities, 24-hour maintenance, sheltered parking, affordable rent, flexible leases, utilities included, small pets welcome, and also an oversized blast furnace, a plus not usually mentioned in the yellow pages. Ian only has this information because he was hired as the lone custodian of the basement. Every two weeks he is required to clean, check, and maintain the basement. About 4 months ago he had added the job to his routine as a way to kill time and earn some extra income. Since then he has found a better use for it. He checked his watch. 10:23pm. Ian began to get tired as he pulled the body towards the boiler room. The second he came upon the room, he felt the temperature begin to rise. The heat was coming from the blast furnace nearby. He dropped the body 3 or 4 feet from the large incinerator. He stepped forward and opened the hatch to the furnace. An increase in heat could be felt immediately. The inferno inside dimly lit the small corner of the huge basement. Ian stared into the flames. The sounds of burning were soothing. Then Ian heard a different sound. From behind him. He turned around to discover the body shaking, twitching, moving. Ian then began to hear muffled moaning. Not loud, but not quiet. This was unexpected. Frightened that Matt would get loose from the sheet, Ian quickly picked him up and started to push him headfirst into the furnace. Loud screaming began when his head caught fire. Ian struggled to get Matt's whole body in, but was unable. Matt was squirming too much. Ian pushed half of Matt's body in, but the screaming still did not cease. As a result of frustration, Ian pushed the body in much too fast, and not carefully. Ian accidentally touched a part of the furnace very close to the hatch, severely burning his hand. He fell backwards, clutching his hand. He mumbled and cursed in pain. He let go of his hand for a moment to survey the damage. His left hand was a purplish, black color. It was the most painful thing Ian had experienced. Nevertheless, he finally got up from the ground and returned to his car. When he had at last reached his apartment, he dealt with the burn as best as he could. After taking a few aspirin, he was able to ignore the pain and go to sleep. He dreamt of Fred being eaten alive by rabid dogs. He awoke refreshed and good. The swelling had gone down. The weekend went by fast, but when Monday came around Ian began to feel that something was missing again. He needed something, but what was it? It was on the tip of his tongue. He despised that it distracted him from work. Along with Fred, the mysterious hole in Ian became more and more frustrating. This made his hand hurt worse. Fred's constant questioning was unbearable. "What happened to your hand?", "When are we gonna' go out bar hoppin'?" If there was only a way to be rid of these nuisances at the same time. Thursday seemed like the best day of his life. Fred was home sick. Still the hole remained, but Fred's absence was very calming. That night he rented a Kung Fu flick and enjoyed it very much. The pain in his hand had almost gone away completely. He slept, but not peacefully. He dreamt of Fred. Fred chasing him through an endless labyrinth with a crowbar. He did not wake up refreshed. He woke up sweating and scared. He arrived at work only to find Fred well again. Somehow, Ian survived a long day of Fred's frequent visits to his cubicle. Ian had been blatantly rude to him numerous times. Fred would not take a hint. After work he stopped and rented a movie, like normal. But he did not feel normal. When he finally reached the comforts of home, he felt a little better. Droplets of sweat covered his forehead. He plopped down on the couch and yawned. He was about to put a tape in the VCR, but a horrible sound shook the very marrow of his bones. Someone knocked on his door. He slowly approached the door. The peephole revealed that Fred was in the hall. Ian didn't move and remained silent. "C'mon. I know you're in there. I'm sorry I followed you. I just really want us to hang out. C'mon, Ian. Open the door." Fred continued to knock on the door as he spoke. Ian began to feel sick. He felt he was going to vomit. He can't let Fred inside. It would break his routine. Fred will never stop. When will he stop!?! Shooting pains of fear coursed throughout his body. The agony of inevitable change terrified Ian more that anything. The room seemed to get darker. Ian felt like he was going to pass out. Or worse. He began to keel over when a thought passed through Ian's head that relieved him of his pain. The relentless fear and pain slowly receded like an ocean's tide. He finally figured out what was wrong. Ian stood up straight and smiled widely. The first time was an accident, his car wasn't supposed to break down. But for the past few months, in order to maintain his routine, he had to make what he had done normal. He had to make it part of his routine. He didn't want to admit it, but there was only one real necessity in his routine. "Fred, I'll be right out. Give me a minute." Ian replied. Fred finally stopped knocking and answered, O.K. Ian went into his bedroom and opened his closet door. There was a cardboard box in the back corner. Ian pulled a brand new black sheet out of it and grabbed a T-shirt off the top shelf. He won't break his routine. Not in the least. He'll just change it. Once a week would do. Yeah, once a week. That would do. Maybe.
By: Rollin DeSalle
Routine. That is what Ian Sanford's life is in it's most plain and simple definition. Everything must be constant and unchanging. Spontaneity is a trait Ian has lacked ever since he was born. Any change whatsoever must either be planned in advance or avoided at all costs. Everything is expected and everything is what it seems. True, this lifestyle offers no excitement, but living this way has many benefits. Without change there is no danger. Without danger there is no fear. With the stable routine Ian lives by, he has always held a sense of safety, security, and tranquillity. Hakuna Matata, no worries. The two major necessities in Ian's routine are work and movies. Work is a necessity for obvious reasons. It already runs by a routine, it takes up almost all of a regular weekday, and it is important in order to fulfill the second necessity. Ian watches a movie every night. He makes a routine trip to the same video store after work, rents one movie (never two), takes it to his small, but efficient apartment, and watches it. He started this routine when he was about fifteen. Movies provide him with an escape from his uneventful life. He loves to get engrossed in them. If Ian is occupied, he is satisfied. Thinking about his life doesn't help anything. As Ian sat at his desk at work, his thoughts were far from his problems in life, they were on the work he was completing. As they should be. Ian stopped typing for a moment to relax his fingers. Software engineering isn't difficult, but filling in code all day can cause your fingers to become fatigued. He glanced at his watch. 3:51pm. July 27th. Four more days to go. Only four more days. This did not trouble him. He had already waited twenty-seven days. He was anxious, but not too anxious. It had to be done, but only once a month. Never more. That would interfere with his routine. Just as he was going to continue his work, a fellow coworker tapped him on the shoulder. Ian shifted in his chair, but did not look upwards. He knew who it was and did not want to risk catching a glance of his face. It was Fred Balart, not a mean person, but a constant nuisance to Ian's routine. Ian kept his eyes trained on Fred's muddy shoes as he spoke. "Hey, Ian. How's it goin'." Fred asked in a friendly voice. "Same old, same old." Ian replied. "What would you say to goin' out bar hoppin' with me tonight? Try to pick up some ladies." Ian knew that Fred was now holding a disgusting grin. "I'd say no." Answered Ian. "C'mon, what are you doin' tonight?" "Things." Ian became agitated at Fred's presence. "What things?" Fred pressed. "Things that are my own business." Ian said in a rather unpleasant tone. Ian turned back around in his chair and began typing again. Fred said nothing and returned to his desk. Ian hated to be rude, but being blunt is the only way to get rid of some people. The rest of the day flew by in the space of a breath. But for some odd reason, the four days that followed did not. He did not break his routine in any way and yet, he was not fully satisfied. Something was missing and Ian didn't want to admit it. He sat in his cubicle at work continually checking his watch, unable to concentrate on work any longer. 5:58pm. July 31st. Only two more minutes. The seconds seemed to go on for hours, but 6:00 finally came around. Ian quickly grabbed his briefcase and jacket only to find Fred standing in his way, with that grin. That evil grin. "Hey, Ian, sorry for eggin' you on about...well...you know. Let me make it up to you tonight." Fred's voice sounded sincere, but Ian knew he wasn't. Ian was forced to see the entire Fred for a moment. His hair was greased back and plastered to his head, which was quite small for his body. Flakes of dandruff covered his shoulders. He probably hadn't bathed for days. Various kinds of junk food stains littered his shirt and tie. He wore the same clothes every day. The last few buttons on his shirt were missing, leaving some of his bulging stomach exposed. Acne seemed to envelop his entire face. His nose hair protruded out so much that you could see the curls in it. However, his smile was the worst thing a man could witness. His mouth contained rotten yellow teeth that would make a dentist vomit and his breath always reeked of onions and salami. The lingering smell that Fred carried with him was even more nauseating. Fred was the epitome of all things wrong with the world. Ian had yet to figure out how Fred obtained a job there. He couldn't bear to look at Fred any longer and sweat was dripping in Ian's eyes. Nevertheless, he kept his cool and told Fred that he was very busy that night and he would take a rain check. Fred agreed and stepped out of his way. As Ian made his way towards the elevator, the thought of spending time with Fred almost made him laugh, or did it? Maybe they could hang out together sometime, say at the end of next month? Ian pushed the button for down. The elevator took only a moment. Ian took a long, deep breath as the elevator descended down to the first floor. He felt relieved to be finally leaving the building. The elevator music soothed his tightened muscles. It was the same music that played everyday he had worked there, just as expected. He closed his eyes and swayed to the beat of the repetitive melody. It was interrupted by the ding of the elevator, signifying he had reached the lobby. The elevator doors seemed to sling shot open as he stepped out into the lobby. Everyone and everything that surrounded him seemed to be moving faster than him. No matter how hastily he walked to the exit, he was still too slow. The spinning doors at the exit drew people in and out so quickly they looked like debris caught in a relentless tornado. He feared that if he didn't complete his monthly task soon, he would break his routine. Ian had never been in a hurry before and it frightened him. He had always been on time to everything, done everything at the same time he had done it the day before, and the day before that. If the balance of Ian's routine were compromised, his sanity would break apart like a planet exploding from the inside. And the mangled pieces of what was left of Ian would plummet into a deep darkness where they would never be found again. He sweat profusely, his stomach curdled, and his brain pulsated, nevertheless Ian pushed himself through the raging tornado and stepped out onto the sidewalk. A swift breeze swept over him, helping him to overcome the anxiety attack. He had had them before, but not often. In a few moments, Ian came upon the parking garage where his car waited for him. He took long, deep breaths and began to calm down. He thought of movies, work, and what he was about to do. Before long, Ian reached his car and felt back to normal. The car started smoothly, as always. As Ian pulled out of the parking garage, he checked his watch. 6:12pm. He was almost on time. He passed the intersection where he usually turned left to get to the video store. He didn't need a movie to occupy himself tonight. He passed his apartment building also. No need to go there yet. Not yet. After driving for about five more minutes, he took the onramp to highway 101. Just as he always did at the end of every month. In an about an hour, the only thing visible was the same stretch of road that was eliminated by Ian's headlights. And the occasional pair of headlights that passed him going in the opposite direction. The white lines on the pavement that constantly brushed past Ian's car would become hypnotic or eventually disorienting to any normal person. But to Ian, they were extremely calming. The lines were constant and unchanging, like his routine. Ian looked up from the road for a moment to check his watch. 8:02pm. He had been staring at the lines longer than he thought. He immediately pulled over onto the shoulder. After making sure his car was a good foot or two away from the road, Ian made a complete stop and turned the car off. As he angled the rear view mirror to see if there were any cars coming, he caught the reflection of his face. He had the face of a man with no worries. The face of a man with no problems. The face of a man with a stable and unchanging life. He smiled widely and pulled the lever in his car that turned on his hazard lights. He then popped the hood and got out of the car. Ian opened the hood all the way, but he did not inspect the engine. There was nothing wrong with it. Instead, he had his attention on the underside of the hood. It was covered in orange stains. For all anyone knew they were from rust. For all anyone knew. He made his way around the car and unlocked the trunk. He quickly unfolded a black sheet that he had previously put there and spread it out carefully. Making haste in his work, he grabbed a crowbar that leaned against the back of the trunk and left it open only an inch or two. Just holding the crowbar made his body shake in anticipation. He leaned against the left headlight and waited. Soon enough, Ian saw the faint glow of headlights in the distance. He checked his watch. 8:24pm. He was making very good time. In under a minute, the car was getting close. Ian stood at the side of the road waving his hands. There was no way the oncoming car could not see him. The car slowed down and stopped about seven or eight feet in front of Ian. It was the first time the first car that passed actually stopped to help. Luckily, the person that stepped out was alone. Ian remembered when a father and his young boy stopped to help, that was inconvenient. The man that stood before him now was very young and plain looking, probably no more that twenty years old. "Havin' some car trouble?" He asked. His smile was friendly and reassuring. Kind of like Fred's first smiles were, until they were repulsing. "Yeah, she was running fine until the engine just died on me and to be honest, I don't know a thing about cars." Ian replied in a calm voice when in fact his heart was beating faster than it ever had. "Well, my brothers' a mechanic, so I might be able to help. I'm Matt." He reached out to shake Ian's hand. Reluctantly, Ian shook hands with him. "Thanks a lot. I've been waiting here for a while. You want to take a look under the hood?" Ian asked. "Oh sure, I imagine you're in quite a hurry." Matt said as he made his way to the front of the car. He leaned over the engine checking various things. Ian stood behind him, slowly picking up the crowbar. "I don't really see anything wrong yet." His voice was beginning to sound like Fred's. His focus remained on the engine. " Maybe you should-----" His statement ended abruptly as he was struck in the back of the head with the crowbar. Fred responded in a grunt of pain. Ian hit him in the head again, hard. Then again, and again. Again. Again. When Ian finally stopped, saliva dripped from his chin and his chest heaved in exhaustion. Blood dripped from the underside of the hood. Fred's limp and lifeless body slid off the car and fell to the ground face up. His face was bloody and disturbing, but it did not belong to Fred. Regardless, Ian felt refreshed, satisfied, good. He wiped the saliva from his chin and dropped the crowbar. Ian took a moment to look around. No cars had passed and none were coming. No one had seen him, just as planned. He shut the hood and picked up the crowbar. He cleaned the end of the crowbar with the edge of the black sheet and set it down in the back of the trunk where it had been before. As Ian turned off his hazard lights, he saw a glimpse of light out of the corner of his eye. He quickly turned around to see an approaching car. Judging by the speed of the car, Ian would not have enough time to get Matt into the trunk. Thinking quickly, he grabbed the body and pulled it behind the car where the other driver could not see it. The driver passed Ian's car without so much as a glance in his direction. Ian exhaled slowly. He checked his watch. 8:36pm. As Ian dragged the body to the trunk, Matt's belt buckle scraped against the asphalt. Ian strained, but was able to lift the body into the trunk. He took off his white work shirt and wiped the blood from his face and hands on it. The bloodstained shirt was then lain out over the body. Before finally shutting the trunk, the body was wrapped tightly in the black sheet. Ian slid back into the driver seat and grabbed a neatly folded T- shirt out of the back seat. Slipping it on, he smiled at his reflection in the rear view mirror again. Everything was according to plan. Everything was perfect. The short trip back to his apartment building seemed to only take a few minutes. He couldn't believe how happy he was. How stable he was. He drove around to the back of the building and parked next to an old, rusty door. As Ian sifted through his keys, a horrible smell from a nearby dumpster lingered. The stench reminded him of Fred. He quickly shook the image from his mind and found the right key. The door opened slowly. All that could be seen inside was darkness. Ian carried the body to the door and threw it into the pitch-blackness. Thumping sounds echoed back betraying the silence of the night. He surveyed his surroundings to see if anything had been disturbed. Everything was fine, just as expected. Before going through the doorway, Ian retrieved a flashlight out of the glove compartment. As he stepped into the darkness, the flashlight revealed a body wrapped in a black sheet at the bottom a stair case. When Ian reached the last step, he looked around with the flashlight. The giant room was a jungle of pipes, gauges, steam, and machinery. This area of the building hadn't been renovated since it was built in the 50's. The rest had been. North Brook Apartments offers central air, laundry facilities, 24-hour maintenance, sheltered parking, affordable rent, flexible leases, utilities included, small pets welcome, and also an oversized blast furnace, a plus not usually mentioned in the yellow pages. Ian only has this information because he was hired as the lone custodian of the basement. Every two weeks he is required to clean, check, and maintain the basement. About 4 months ago he had added the job to his routine as a way to kill time and earn some extra income. Since then he has found a better use for it. He checked his watch. 10:23pm. Ian began to get tired as he pulled the body towards the boiler room. The second he came upon the room, he felt the temperature begin to rise. The heat was coming from the blast furnace nearby. He dropped the body 3 or 4 feet from the large incinerator. He stepped forward and opened the hatch to the furnace. An increase in heat could be felt immediately. The inferno inside dimly lit the small corner of the huge basement. Ian stared into the flames. The sounds of burning were soothing. Then Ian heard a different sound. From behind him. He turned around to discover the body shaking, twitching, moving. Ian then began to hear muffled moaning. Not loud, but not quiet. This was unexpected. Frightened that Matt would get loose from the sheet, Ian quickly picked him up and started to push him headfirst into the furnace. Loud screaming began when his head caught fire. Ian struggled to get Matt's whole body in, but was unable. Matt was squirming too much. Ian pushed half of Matt's body in, but the screaming still did not cease. As a result of frustration, Ian pushed the body in much too fast, and not carefully. Ian accidentally touched a part of the furnace very close to the hatch, severely burning his hand. He fell backwards, clutching his hand. He mumbled and cursed in pain. He let go of his hand for a moment to survey the damage. His left hand was a purplish, black color. It was the most painful thing Ian had experienced. Nevertheless, he finally got up from the ground and returned to his car. When he had at last reached his apartment, he dealt with the burn as best as he could. After taking a few aspirin, he was able to ignore the pain and go to sleep. He dreamt of Fred being eaten alive by rabid dogs. He awoke refreshed and good. The swelling had gone down. The weekend went by fast, but when Monday came around Ian began to feel that something was missing again. He needed something, but what was it? It was on the tip of his tongue. He despised that it distracted him from work. Along with Fred, the mysterious hole in Ian became more and more frustrating. This made his hand hurt worse. Fred's constant questioning was unbearable. "What happened to your hand?", "When are we gonna' go out bar hoppin'?" If there was only a way to be rid of these nuisances at the same time. Thursday seemed like the best day of his life. Fred was home sick. Still the hole remained, but Fred's absence was very calming. That night he rented a Kung Fu flick and enjoyed it very much. The pain in his hand had almost gone away completely. He slept, but not peacefully. He dreamt of Fred. Fred chasing him through an endless labyrinth with a crowbar. He did not wake up refreshed. He woke up sweating and scared. He arrived at work only to find Fred well again. Somehow, Ian survived a long day of Fred's frequent visits to his cubicle. Ian had been blatantly rude to him numerous times. Fred would not take a hint. After work he stopped and rented a movie, like normal. But he did not feel normal. When he finally reached the comforts of home, he felt a little better. Droplets of sweat covered his forehead. He plopped down on the couch and yawned. He was about to put a tape in the VCR, but a horrible sound shook the very marrow of his bones. Someone knocked on his door. He slowly approached the door. The peephole revealed that Fred was in the hall. Ian didn't move and remained silent. "C'mon. I know you're in there. I'm sorry I followed you. I just really want us to hang out. C'mon, Ian. Open the door." Fred continued to knock on the door as he spoke. Ian began to feel sick. He felt he was going to vomit. He can't let Fred inside. It would break his routine. Fred will never stop. When will he stop!?! Shooting pains of fear coursed throughout his body. The agony of inevitable change terrified Ian more that anything. The room seemed to get darker. Ian felt like he was going to pass out. Or worse. He began to keel over when a thought passed through Ian's head that relieved him of his pain. The relentless fear and pain slowly receded like an ocean's tide. He finally figured out what was wrong. Ian stood up straight and smiled widely. The first time was an accident, his car wasn't supposed to break down. But for the past few months, in order to maintain his routine, he had to make what he had done normal. He had to make it part of his routine. He didn't want to admit it, but there was only one real necessity in his routine. "Fred, I'll be right out. Give me a minute." Ian replied. Fred finally stopped knocking and answered, O.K. Ian went into his bedroom and opened his closet door. There was a cardboard box in the back corner. Ian pulled a brand new black sheet out of it and grabbed a T-shirt off the top shelf. He won't break his routine. Not in the least. He'll just change it. Once a week would do. Yeah, once a week. That would do. Maybe.
By: Rollin DeSalle