Shadows danced and morphed on the grey brick walls, a variety of mosses, mold, and mildew growing in between some of the bricks, dank water leaking and dripping, following the patterns of the brickwork from the top of the wall, all the way to the bottom. The sound of water dripping and plopping on the stone floors became a part of the white noise of the constant corridor, as she walked on and on.
Alene was vaguely aware of running away from something, though she could not be sure what, she just knew she needed to get away from it. If only she could get out of the damn corridor, she might be able to lose whatever wanted to capture her, but on and on it went, stretching out far in front of her, no end in sight.
It felt like Alene had been walking for hours, her legs felt tired, her feet were weary, but onwards she pressed. She’d gotten used to the smells of damp mold and mildew by now, although it didn’t make it any less unpleasant.
A door! Finally a door. She could be free of this never ending corridor. She felt her legs carry her faster until she was right in front of it. It was an old door, panes of light shining through the gaps in the wood, from years of disrepair. Alene pressed down on the heavy iron handle and waited for the click of metal and the feel of the door rolling away from her. She waited in anticipation for the light to become brighter. Nothing. She tried again, harder this time, grabbing the handle firmer, and then pushing. Success!
Alene woke with a start, breathing heavily. She was covered in a thin layer of cold sweat, her hair, which had been freshly washed that night before bed, was all matted and knotty, some of it clinging to her forehead and scalp with the sweat.
As her heartbeat slowed and she realized it had been a dream, she settled back down into bed. Vaguely, from outside her bedroom window, she heard the sounds of the late-night city; car horns honking, cats screeching and fighting, the sound of a long-haul overnight bus rumbling past. She imagined the life of the late-night; harshly painted prostitutes offering their bodies, drug dealers selling their wares, a young couple having a midnight fight.
Frustrated, she turned over in bed, unable to get back to sleep. She opened her eyes and looked at the clock on her bedside table. It was only half past two. The dawn was still a few hours away. There had been a time, only a few years ago, when two o’clock in the morning was considered early. Certainly too early to finish partying, go home and sleep. But now it seemed like an ungodly hour.
Feeling a sudden craving come on for the comfort that only warm milk could cure, she swung her legs out of bed, found her slippers in the dark, and quickly and quietly padded through the apartment to the small kitchenette. Being mindful of her sleeping sister in the other bedroom, Alene found a pot, careful not to make any noise or risk the other pans clunking and clattering, she shut the cupboard door, put the pot on the stovetop, got the milk from the fridge and waited for it to warm through.
Adding a dash of cinnamon to the near-boiling milk, as her own mother had done with the girls when they had a sleepless or restless night, Alene did the same, watching the flecks of warm brown powder disperse into the white, foaming liquid. Turning the heat off and getting a mug, she poured the warm, sweet-scented liquid from the pot into the cup and sat down on the couch to sip her night time treat.
Enjoying the comforting and cosseting that only a mug of warm milk could bring, Alene polished it off in no time, and soon she was back in bed, and in the dreamy throes of a relaxed slumber.
Exasperated. Anxious. The fear running through her veins. Alene ran up the tight, spiral staircase. It was cold and damp, and her lungs burned from running for so long, but she had to keep going, she had to keep running. She made it to the cold corridor and ran faster. She was running away from something, she just knew it.
She ran until she was no longer aware. She ran until she forgot what she was running from, and why she was even running in the first place. She slowed to a walk, trying to catch her breath. Every inhale and exhale burned and her chest felt tight. Her side was also starting to hurt; the feeling of a stitch coming on.
Ominously, she heard the vague sound of booming footsteps bouncing off the walls. It was coming. It was here. Run!
Alene awoke, her eyes finding the white ceiling in the dim, morning light. She was groggy, unsure of where she was and what she was looking at. She was aware of feeling smothered and warm. She moved her hands and felt the bedsheets tangled around her body. She was safe.
She sighed and sat up, pulling the blankets away from herself. She felt clammy and sticky. She’d been sweating again, she could feel stale perspiration clinging to her body.
She unhooked her cellphone from the wall charger. The screen instantly brightened up and hurt her eyes. Five-fifty, the large white numbers read. In ten minutes her alarm would go off. She turned her alarm off and headed for the shower, grabbing a towel off the living room floor along the way. She’d have to tell her sister to pick up her towels. Alene made the mental note.
The water was hot. Hotter than she usually liked it, but Alene got in the shower nonetheless, her skin being instantly scolded. She felt the need to scrub harder with the loofah and soap this morning, feeling like she needed to be extra clean. Alene scrubbed at her skin until it was pink, almost glowing with the abrasive way she washed herself. Rinsing off, she almost slammed the shower tap home. Standing in the shower stall, she let the warm steam consume her whole.
She made her escape from the warmth of the bathroom and slipped back to her bedroom, the cold floors shocking her feet. It was raining again, the drips of rain falling in a constant and steady stream, the sound of raindrops pinging and then slipping down her bedroom window. How long had it been like this? Four days now? Funny that it only rained throughout the day, but as soon as it was night and the moon appeared, it stopped, only starting again when the moon returned to her celestial home.
From outside her bedroom door, Alene could hear the dull sounds of the radio from the kitchen, faceless disc jockeys joking and laughing, and then the clanging of morning activity from her sister Bella. Being quite had never been her strong point.
“Morning,” said Bella when Alene appeared from her room. She held out a mug for Alene. “Coffee? It should be ready in a minute.”
“Please,” Alene replied. She sat down at the small, round dining table and accepted the mug of coffee her sister handed her, holding it up to her face, closing her eyes and inhaling the rich scent.
“You look stressed already,” Bella said to Alene. “Didn’t sleep well?”
Alene shrugged. “I slept okay, it’s the waking up that gets me.” She took a sip of coffee and swallowed, feeling somewhat rejuvenated from the caffeinated beverage already. Bella sat down at the table opposite Alene. Neither of them said anything, they sat and drank, song after song filling the room, the occasional interjection from the morning radio crew.
A yellow note stuck to the fridge caught Alene’s attention. “Did mom ring?” she asked.
“Yeah,” answered Bella. “Called last night while you were out. Did you not see the note when you got in?”
“I went straight to bed.”
“What time did you get in?” asked Bella.
“I don’t know. It was close to midnight, maybe after.”
“Work is killing you, Alene,” Bella said to her younger sister. Alene rolled her eyes. She couldn’t cope with the big sister spiel. Not this morning. “I’m serious Alene. You work all day for a boss who treats you like shit and doesn’t appreciate you.” Bella looked concerned for a moment. “You also haven’t mourned properly.”
Alene rolled her eyes.
“You deserve to mourn,” continued Bella.
“It’s fine,” said Alene.
“It’s not fine. This is wearing you down, you need to take a break some time.”
Alene let her sisters voice drift into the background until it had molded itself into the barrage of pop songs and lame, early morning radio presenters. She watched as Bella’s mouth moved and formed words, but she didn’t hear anything discernible. She was a million miles away while being in the same room as her sister. Bella just wouldn’t give up though, Alene knew that. She needed to make an escape. She watched as her sister’s facial expressions came to a stop, and then her mouth closed in finality. Quickly Alene stood, draining what was left off her coffee and dashing to her bedroom, to finish getting ready for another workday.
The smell of printer ink and instant coffee powder welcomed Alene into the office that morning, as she mentally prepared herself to face another day as an office drone. She slumped down at her desk, started up the computer and sarcastically thought that life didn’t get much better than this.
She made it to ten o’clock before the lure of the staff room was too strong to ignore. She left what she was doing, asked Greg in the next cubicle if he wanted coffee, and made the trek to the kitchen.
It was the pitying glances that people now gave Alene as she passed them by, that she couldn’t stand. What was worse was the slightly condescending way she was now spoken to. It was like she was a child; everyone spoke down to her or simplified their sentences as if the death of a loved one had dumbed her down. The lights were on but no one was home.
She noticed people also tended to avoid her; as if death was contagious and they were scared of catching if off her. Heck, she could have been Death herself, sweeping through the halls. Just one glance could bring people to their knees. She could always take a page out of the book of her college self, and be a Vamp again. That’d really scare people and make them uneasy. ‘Excellent,’ she thought. Mindlessly, she pushed coins into the vending machine and waited for her nutrition poor snack.
The wind churned and whirred outside, whistling around her. She was at the top of the stairs this time, the long corridor lain out in front of her. She was certain she could hear whispers in the wind. Someone calling out her name. “Alene,” they called. “Alene,” they beckoned.
“Alene?” Greg asked. Alene snapped out of her daydream, slowly regaining her senses and composure. She looked at Greg, blankly at first, and then realized she was still in the office. Her eyes darted to the clock on the back wall behind Greg, and she saw it was just past one. “You okay?” Greg asked.
“Yeah,” Alene said. She cleared her throat, which felt dry. “Yeah, I’m fine, I was lost in thought.”
“You don’t look too good. You’re all pale and clammy.”
“I’m fine,” she said, stubbornly. “What can I do you for?”
“Oh, ah, I was just wondering if you had the invoice for Mr and Mrs Poole.”
Alene shuffled through some papers and found what she was looking for. “Here it is,” she said.
“Thanks,” said Greg. He looked at Alene long and hard one last time, an odd expression washing over his face. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked. “You can always go home early, or take some time off, we’ll understand.”
Alene didn’t say anything, she just looked at Greg impatiently, and watched as he retreated back into his own cubicle, and, no doubt, his shell.
Deciding to do what someone else had told her, for once, she turned off her computer, quickly grabbed some reports that needed to be filed and headed for the door. She rang her boss’s office as she was halfway across the parking lot.
His long suffering assistant Sally answered, explaining that Mr Shaff was out for the next few days on business. Business, of course, was code for hookers, cocaine, alcohol, strip clubs and expensive dinners. Partying and booze came first, work was secondary.
“Take the rest of the week off, love,” Sally said, with that sympathetic yet condescending tone that Alene hated. “We all understand.”
Making the mad dash home in the heavy rain, with nothing but a beat-up Nissan to protect her from the elements, Alene went straight to bed, where she had a fitful, restless sleep.
She stalled at the door, her hand resting on the heavy iron handle. She could hear something from behind the panes of what seemed like Oak from the Medieval era. Something was stopping her from opening that door. Forces that be, that she couldn’t understand were telling her no, that she wouldn’t like what was in there. The walls were whispering, hissing things at her.
“Don’t take his hand,” she heard. “Beware!”
Alene heard the sound of someone heavy-footed gaining on her, the noise fast approaching. She opened the door and saw darkness.
“What the fuck?” Alene cursed, feeling totally confused and groggy. It was her phone on the bedside table, vibrating violently, that had woken her up. The screen was lit up, and Alene read ‘Mother’ across the screen. ‘Not today,’ she thought.