Chapter Nine:
Always Another Way

It took little to get me away from Eddie. I didn't know if he was telling the truth about the body in the fridge. He did admit to killing the monsters in the hall outside the room, and I certainly couldn't fault him for that, but that body in the room sure as hell didn't look like any monster to me. It wasn't right to assume he did kill the guy for any reason besides perhaps fright. God knows there were enough moments since I came to town where I had been jumpy enough to possibly pull the trigger on someone unintentionally. Nevertheless, he made me feel quite uncomfortable, even beyond what he did to his roommate. I was glad to put distance between us.

There was little left for me that I could tell. The fire escape on the second floor seemed to be the final option, and I was anything but unhappy to finally utilize it. I re-entered the main building and ascended the stairs.

In the hall, I heard the tapping of a straight-jacket, one that I didn't think had been there earlier, but it was distant, and in the other direction. Good. I dug around in my pocket and fished out the fire escape key. It slid in with a little resistance, apparently it hadn't been used in quite awhile, but when I turned it, I heard the satisfying click of the lock turning. I almost allowed a bit of a smile to creep across my face as I turned the knob and pushed the door open, squealing on its old, rusty joints.

It fell off of my face before it even had time to fully form.

There was no fire escape. That first step was a good twenty-five feet down. Instead, I found myself staring at a large brick wall. It seemed as though the fire escape didn't survive the construction of a newer building next door. There was perhaps a three-foot gap between it and the Woodside building, and directly across was a wide-open window. I groaned in frustration, though I have to admit it sounded less like a groan and more like a strangled cry. This was my way out, apparently, and I had no desire to stick around here any longer.

It didn't turn out to be as difficult as I thought it might be, pulling myself across that gap. With barely any strain, I gripped the window frame and basically jumped. I landed on the floor inside of the new room, my fall punctuated by the dry crunch of broken glass beneath my shoes.

It was a pretty pathetic room I landed in, that was certain. The only things in here was a broken-down old bed that reeked of piss and a closet sliding door that half hung to the ground. I stepped over the bed and crossed down a pitch-black hallway. There was a bathroom directly ahead, and the smell from in there was even worse, so I went down the absurdly-narrow hallway instead. It emptied into a dark, crummy room that was mostly empty, save for a large steel safe perched precariously on an old dinner chair. Nothing else of interest, so out the front door I went.

I found myself in a hallway not very unlike the apartment building next door, but this place looked to be in considerably worse shape, and I suppose the entire place had its own varied collection of bad smells, I'd had plenty since stepping through the window. The smell out here was of rotten wood and flashing, and the source was obvious. Puddles of water soaked the floor everywhere, water that was as black as old motor oil. There was water rot on the walls as well, and probably more than a little mold, making me wonder just how safe it was to even breathe the air. Woodside had its own share of neglect, but it seemed to permeate this building with greater malignancy. The stench of decay was thick and solid in the air, and I had to breathe through my mouth to keep from gagging.

The map I had was no good to me here, and it was disconcerting to suddenly have no idea where to go. Best thing to do was to assume there was a front door and look for that, I figured – for all the good it had done me in Woodside. I tried a few doors, finding one with a note taped to it, though it was obviously around for whatever flooded the place and was completely illegible. I finally spotted a door that looked distinct from the others, and not a moment too soon; the radio started squealing, and in the distance, the light reflected off of something standing still about fifteen feet away. It looked like another one of those mannequins, but I didn't stick around to make sure. My collarbone was reminder enough of how that went last time. I ducked inside the white door.

The upper levels were blocked off by a good ton of debris that had cascaded down the stairwell. Down I went, the plank gripped tightly in my right hand. I opened the door on the first floor, but it hit something before it opened enough to allow me through. Whatever it was, it was solid, but it moved when I pushed harder. The third time, I threw most of my weight at the door, and the obstruction fell away completely. The force of the movement made me stumble and almost plant my face into the wet, pockmarked wall. I didn't dwell on that much though, once I saw what had been blocking the door.

A mannequin. Couldn't tell for sure if that was what I had seen upstairs, but there was no doubting it this time. It lay flat on the ground, thrashing and twitching just like the other one. I didn't waste any more time staring at the thing. I kicked it, three, four, five savage blows right to the middle. On the fifth kick, my foot punched through the side of the disgusting thing, drenching the tip of my shoe with dark crimson. It shuddered, and finally died.

I made for one end of the hallway, hoping to find the exit, hoping not to find any more animated obstructions. None on this end, and when I made my way to the other end of the hallway, I found none there either. No exits on the ground level. Normally I would just give a bitter laugh and complain about shitty building design, how the hell would someone get out of here in a fire? Right now, it was a little more pressing to get out though, and I didn't let my inner sarcasm rise here. No point.

It was with a sigh that I resigned myself to trying doors, and as with Woodside, most of them here were boarded over or made inaccessible thanks to busted lock mechanisms. Room 109 was the first to open, and the room it opened into was about as clean and inviting as any I'd seen so far, which is to say, it was a train wreck. A ceiling beam was hanging from above, inches above an old TV cart and a rank old sofa.

There didn't appear to be anything unusual in here, until I saw the door. There was one, boards nailed across it like so many others, but directly next to it was a white door, and it was what stood out, for it was perfectly white and clean to the point of being immaculate. There wasn't a speck of dirt or old water stain to be seen on it. It looked like it had been installed perhaps five minutes ago. Too intriguing to pass up.

The door opened into a small bedroom, so I assumed from its size. There was no bed, though, no furniture except for the small table next to the door. There really wasn't much of anything except for the huge mirror that dominated the opposite wall. It definitely added the illusion of doubling the room's size, but it also reflected the image of a woman on the ground, a woman in a grey sweater and red pants. It only took me a second to recognize the outfit, it wasn't but maybe an hour or two ago that I last saw it.

She lay on her side on the floor, parallel to the mirror and staring into it, looking lost for a second, until I noticed her head cock slightly as she noticed my presence. I also noticed she held something in her hands, something that I found rather chilling. It was a large butcher's knife, and even from here I could see blood stains spotting the blade. She was clutching it very tight to her body.

"Oh… it's you," she said. Her voice sounded dull and rather dead, quite unlike the scared kitten she seemed to be back in the graveyard. I didn't like what I thought I was seeing.

"Yeah," I told her, "I'm James."

She sighed, as if my presence was something unwelcome and she had to bear it. "Angela," she finally said.

"Angela… okay," I said, and I hesitated for a second or so before I continued. "I don't know what you're doing with that," inclining my head towards her knife, "but don't be rash. There's always another way."

A sneer crossed her face. It was slight, but I caught it in the mirror. "Oh yeah? That's a funny thing for you to say. You're just like me, you know. On the run. It's the easy way out. People like us don't deserve any better."

It was a shock to hear her group me in with her. I may be slightly off my rocker for being her, but I wasn't sitting on the floor clutching a knife, either. Frankly, I was a little offended, and I made little effort to hide it."

"I'm not like you. You don't know me."

She laughed. "Hah! You sound like you're scared. Did I touch a nerve?" Before I could respond, she rubbed her forehead, and then she spoke again, to apologize, and it was creepy how completely different her voice was. Gone was the sharp, bitter Angela, replaced in an instant by the meek little mouse Angela I first met.

I accepted her apology. Then I asked about her mother, as I had remembered her being the focus of her search here. Anything would have done, to get her thoughts away from me.

"No, I haven't found her. I can't find her anywhere. She's not anywhere." Meek mouse still.

"Well, you're here… is this where she lived? Did she live in these apartments?" The question sounded a little funny in my ears even as I spoke them. I didn't look like anyone had lived here for a good decade or so, though it could have been that long.

She just shrugged, and turned back to the mirror.

"She did live in this town, right?" I asked.

She abruptly got up and faced me, looking straight at me with a wild kind of desperation. "How did you know that?" she asked, and the tone of her voice was strained. I couldn't tell if it was surprise or accusation I was hearing, not that either would have made sense.

"Take it easy, it was just a guess. I mean, you're looking for her here; it only made sense to me. How else would I know?"

"Yeah." Disappointment.

"So I'm right, then?"

She turned back to the mirror again, but didn't lay down. Instead, she buried her face in her hands for a moment. "Sorry. I'm just tired." This conversation was going nowhere fast.

"You are here looking for her, aren't you?" I asked.

She seemed to think about that for a second. "I'm sorry," she said once more, and it seemed as though the topic was closed. Then she looked at me again. "Did you find that person you came here looking for?"

I shook my head. Then, just in case, I pulled out my wallet and showed her the picture I carried. "Her name is Mary. She is… she was my wife." I corrected myself in mid-sentence, but she didn't seem to catch it. She just looked at the photo and shook her head.

"Worth a shot anyway, I guess. Anyway, I don't really know why I'm looking for her here, or anywhere at all." She inclined her head at that. She caught on this time. "She's… she's dead." I added.

Her eyes widened.

"Don't worry," I said, putting my hands up, "I'm not crazy. It sounds crazy, but… ah hell, I don't know. I don't think I'm crazy. I know I'm not."

The look on her face told me that she definitely did not agree. She stood up, still gripping the knife, and tried to advance towards the door, her eyes still locked on me. "I'm going to look for mama," she said, with a slight bit of determination.

I moved ever so slightly to block her, and she flinched visibly. Her grip tightened on the knife, and I'd lie if I said that didn't worry me. She made it this far somehow, and those nasty things out there hadn't gotten her. Perhaps she was better with that knife than she appeared to be. Yet, that look in her eyes made me wonder if she'd just as soon use it on a human…

"Do you want me to come with you? Now I know what you were talking about when you warned me back in the cemetery. This place is a god damn insane asylum."

"Oh, no, no, that's okay. I'll be alright on my own. I don't want to slow you down." She moved quickly past me towards the door.

"What about that?" I said, pointing at her knife. Damn, but that was disturbing. Her response was no small shocker to me.

"Will you keep it? I don't want to hold onto it. If I do… I don't know what might happen…"

Fantastic idea, Angela. Fantastic. I wholeheartedly agree. I reached out to take the knife from her. I abruptly jerked my hand back, as she screamed and turned the knife on me. Her eyes were wild, wild and totally insane for a second. My heart was racing like a motor in overdrive and I started sweating. I didn't want to hurt her, because she was obviously not all up there, but I wasn't in the mood to get cut or stabbed, either.

I was very relieved when she backed away and placed the knife on the small table, apologizing profusely and babbling about being a 'bad girl'. She then slid out the door, in a strange and graceful serpentine motion that was completely unlike her usual jerky, almost tentative movements. I didn't move a single inch until I heard the outer door open and close again, and even then, I had to will myself back into motion, and that motion was just as wooden as hers. My hands were shaking and I felt the strong and sudden urge to urinate right where I stood.

I took a few seconds to compose myself, and I did the best I could, but as my fingers closed around the knife, they still quivered, and I didn't know what I could do about it. I stared at the blood staining the blade, examining both sides. I wondered briefly if it wasn't the blood of some real person, and not the monsters that she had surely seen in town. I had no way of knowing short of asking her, and in all honestly, the idea was anything but appealing to me. I hooked the knife in my belt and made sure it was secure. As I did, I noticed something on the floor, something that looked like a piece of paper. I bent down to retrieve it.

It was a photograph, and it had been ripped clear in two. It was a family portrait, apparently, and in it were four happy, smiling people, a mother, father, a daughter, and another child. I couldn't tell what the other kid was because the tear crudely bisected the face. The father, a large, burly guy, was alone on the left side, and the mother and daughter alone on the right. It had to be Angela's, for her description of her family matched more or less what this photo told me. She was looking for her mom, and they were together on one half of the photo. I also remember her mentioning her father and brother, and I couldn't help but wonder if there was some bad blood going on. I didn't know and I doubted I'd find out anytime soon.

I dropped the torn photo on the floor where I found it, and took my leave of this strange room and its strange mirror. I wasn't unhappy to be rid of it, either.