Excerpt From 12:01

A selection from 12:01, a story included in my short story collection, "Slow Machine and Other Tales of Suspense and Danger" now on Amazon Kindle:

12:01

"All we know is whatever they tell us."
Will wondered if what he had said made any sense as he sipped his can of cola. He needed something sweet for washing down his dry sandwich with and to digest the bitterness and ugliness of what he was seeing on the big screen TV at the front of the lunch room.
It was tuned to the all news channel, 24/7 News, and the announcer in her sensible suit jacket and blouse was talking about a young woman named Rena who had been missing for three days.
While Will stared at a picture of Rena that was being flashed on the screen, a vision of wild blonde hair and wide blue eyes, and struggled to see if the woman in the picture was at all the same as a woman he knew, one of his coworkers offered his own speculation.
"Hmm. She says Rena was last seen at Sweet and Locust Streets.”
“Not far from here.”
“No. A little too close. You know, I think the cops are stuck for leads. That's why they're going public with these pictures."
Will replied without taking his eyes off the screen. There was something so familiar about the woman. What was it? While he struggled to remember, he said,"I don’t think they know anything, either."
Al sighed. "I hope they get the bastard who took her."
Will nodded, turning to look at Al. Will's stomach tightened with tension as anger burned in him. His throat seared. That old feeling again. Anger he could barely contain, but somehow held back. He said to Al, "I know. I wish they'd catch the freak and hang him."
Another picture of Rena on the screen caught Will's eye. More blonde hair. A winning smile. Faintest hint of a lowcut blouse. Something about her smile and her eyeliner screamed to Will. But just what did they scream?
He didn't want to know the answer. Nor did he care to admit that he was having a vision that almost brought a smile to his face. Better not to smile just yet, Will knew, even though he kept seeing in his mind's eye Rena standing nude before him, arms crossed in front of herself, trembling. What if Rena were the woman he knew? Suppose she had deserved...
He stopped the thought before it went any further.
Nobody deserved to disappear. Nobody deserved to get hurt, ever.
That was true, wasn't it?
Al was talking again. "There's no hanging in this country, you know that."
Will turned to Al, still fighting to keep the image of Rena out of his mind, his stomach boiling with hot anger. "More the shame. Sometimes that's all you can do with these creeps. Can't teach them any right or wrong. Better just to get rid of them than keeping them around, you know, a burden on everybody."
Al folded his arms across his expansive stomach, his face a set mask of hard opinion. "Too true. But they'll never understand that here, you know."
Will found himself nodding and smiling. Mental auto pilot had taken over, running his side of the conversation for him. "They will. Someday they will."
"But how many people will have to die..."
Will had had enough. Time to get out. Time to finish off the shift and leave. "There's some people I have to sign out, Al, then I'm done here. See you tomorrow."
Will washed his lunch things at the kitchen sink and put them away in his knapsack. He tossed out his pop can in the blue box. Used to be so easy, just toss everything out in the garbage, but now you had to sort it before tossing it. Guess it's better that way, he thought. Better for the planet. Better for everyone.
He left the lunch room and returned to the call centre. He sat at his cubicle, behind the big Plexiglas partition that separated him from the rest of the office, yet gave him an all round view of it.
He glanced up at the ceiling. The old flip card clock was there, as always. Will wondered how long it had been there, looking down on the ever shifting masses of people who had passed through the phone room. Not to mention whoever had passed through the room when it had been used by other businesses over the decades. How long had the clock been there? Thirty years or more?
The clock read 12:01, as it had for the five years Will had worked at the call centre. He had started working here not long after Dad died and the clock had said 12:01 back then and it still said that now. It was impossible to know if the clock meant noon or midnight; a dead clock reporting an unknown, forgotten time to a room that no longer noticed it.
Will shook his head. No time now for philosophy. He looked at his desk. Nothing new in his "in" tray. Just the same pile of ten time sheets left over from last night's shift that still needed to be inputted to the database.
With a sigh, Will logged into his computer account and went to work, careful to note discrepancies. Spotting discrepancies was the whole point of his job as timekeeper. If the number of sales orders taken during a shift was below company requirements, he highlighted the workers' case files for review. The workers would be spoken to by a supervisor and dismissal could follow if the workers had had conversations before about productivity issues.
Will had no problems with that. After all, each employee signed an agreement when they were hired committing them to meeting production goals. If they couldn't meet those goals, well, everyone knew the consequences. It was the same with any other job. Take it or leave it.
By the time he was finished, Will had highlighted two people in the pile, bringing their files under review with a click of his mouse on a spreadsheet. He noted the names. No women. Nobody worth meeting. He had met that one woman order taker after she had been released from the company; she worked nights and he never knew her when she had worked in the phone room and she had no idea of who he was when he approached her and he started a little conversation with her...
Best not to think of it here. Clearing his mind of messy, cluttered thoughts and his day's work complete, Will logged out. As he put on his windbreaker, he took a final look around. Typical afternoon crew. Mostly middle aged people and retirees. No students. Nobody interesting. Just hard workers who always filled out their timesheets the right way. Good people that he liked.
As he headed for the exit, he glanced at the order takers at their desks. It always felt good to be around hard working people. Will liked the mood of easy assurance and competence they gave off. How did they do it? How did they manage to keep their cool and meet all the production targets when so many of the customers they talked to were boors and idiots?
I wish I could do that, Will thought.
Much as he enjoyed being in the presence of a well-disciplined group of employees, Will knew he couldn't stay in the office all day. After all, this was a part time job and he only worked five hours a day.
Will shrugged, knowing nobody would look up from their monitors and notice the gesture.
Yes, there was a time for everything and now was the time for heading home.
*
The route home took Will along Locust Street and then a westward turn two blocks down took him to Sweet Street. Home was five blocks down this street. Hadn’t Al said that Rena was last seen around here? If only Al knew he'd lived on the same street associated with her disappearance. Would Al suspect him of anything? Of course not, because Will was a good guy and as Will knew, he had done nothing at all.
Sure, there was that time many summers ago when he had lost his temper with the only real girlfriend he’d ever had, a college co-ed he’d met at that trailer park in the Muskokas. He’d lost his temper with her over something. He couldn’t remember what it was, but he’d given her a real talking to, but he hadn’t gotten carried away with himself. He was no killer.
Killing was a messy business not easily forgotten. Since Will couldn't remember anything, he couldn't possibly have done anything could he? Better to keep things easy and simple. Nothing worse than having a lot of clutter and mess in one's life, Will mused.
He passed the cool green woods of Friendly Hollow and followed Sweet Street as it sloped downward and intersected with a freeway overpass. He walked quickly here. This was the Valley of Shadows where phantoms tormented him, like the one he saw three days ago...
Never mind that. Concentrate on the here and now. Don't let the mind wander. Wasn't that a shadow drifting toward him now, emerging from the larger darkness of the underpass?
No just a passing car that kicked up a cloud of dust and underpass filth. He raised his arm to his face to keep from inhaling any of it. There might be pigeon droppings and worse mixed in with it - one breath and - death. Will wanted not to die so badly he tasted it, tasted it just like the salty taste of the grit that had blown into his mouth in spite of his uplifted, sleeve covered arm.
In the wavering orange light of the bonfire the gold braid and studded buttons of the jacket sleeve looked impressive. Even real. He would have no trouble presenting himself as some cop or government official cast adrift but still bloated with his own neutered importance and vanished authority. No trouble at all.
Now he had a plan, a plan to take food and other things he needed from people who passed by. No more hiding in the shadows, waiting for the right moment, waiting for the inevitable plunge down the hill and certain death in the pit. No more hoping that food or other valuables would fall out along the way to the pit, available for him only by chance. With this newly found uniform, he could emerge in the open and boldly demand what was his as keeper of the prize in the secret gallery.
He pulled the cuff back and checked his watch. One past twelve. The time it had shown ever since...well, everyone knew when "ever since" was. And those who didn't were dead, or anticipating death in the bonfire just up the road, or just like him, leaning against the crumbling remains of walls and waiting...
Will shook his head and blinked. Graffiti spray painted to the underpass wall spiralling ever outward in a jagged explosion of red and orange reminded him of where he was. He had to get out of the Valley of Shadows. These dreams always haunted him here: dreams of wastelands and death and an ever burning bonfire of hellish misery at the end of things. Dreams of being a guardian of a hidden realm.
He pressed forward and walked slowly out of the overpass and into the early afternoon sunlight.
Soon, he was passing before the faded brownstone business plaza that was his home. His pace quickened as he strode into the parking lot. He had chores to take care of. Especially the guest that he had...
At one time, four stores had operated here: a convenience store, a men's clothing store, a travel agency and the TV shop that Dad had ran until he had passed away five years ago. The other stores had closed in the recession and no one had moved in to the vacant spaces. Yet, the sign for Dad's store - an old neon sign nowadays never lit - secretly announced to anyone who still noticed: IT'S NEW IT'S HERE IT'S COLOR TV. Will couldn't bear to have it taken down. Dad had loved it even though it was so old. He had loved the colors of the neon.
Yes, the sign had too many memories. Memories of a time when it still might have been possible...
He looked away and his mind froze. A car was parked in front of the store. Will came to a halt as the driver got out.
That old real estate guy. Ross Creston. Will curved his lips into a bright smile as Creston approached, his hand outstretched in a gesture of greeting.
"Hi, Will, how are you?"
Will shook Creston's hand. His grip was firm and sure. "Pretty good. What's up, guy?"
Creston pulled a small rolled up newspaper from inside his navy blue sports jacket. Will saw it was one of those free newspapers passed out around town. For a split second, he caught a glimpse of a picture of Rena on the front page and then Creston opened it to a full page ad showing a sketch of a highrise building.
Creston pointed to the vacant lot across the street. "Got the go ahead yesterday afternoon from the city planning office. Just in time to place this ad in the paper for today's edition. It's going to be running for the next while too. It's on my website as well."
Will looked at the vacant lot, fenced off and barren, nothing but a carefully graded rectangle of dirt and gravel. Nothing but that sign posted at the corner of the fence saying AN APPLICATION HAS BEEN PLACED WITH...
Will tried to sound happy, but he knew his voice sounded skeptical. "Your condo scheme got the okay?"
Creston laughed. "Scheme? You make it sound like some ripoff. No way. This condo development will revitalize the neighbourhood. Room for five hundred residents. There'll be a shopping plaza in the basement. Open to the public, too, not just the residents. I want to bring lots of new people and business to the area. You should really think about getting aboard. On the ground floor, so to speak."
Will chuckled. Creston could be a real joker sometimes. "Thanks but no thanks."
Creston smiled sympathetically. "I know you've been here a long time. Forty years at least. And I know you don't want to part with the property that used to be your Dad's shop. But things change, you know. This part of the city's gone totally stale. We got to wake it up somehow. I know your Dad and your Mom, bless their souls, would've agreed."
The words tumbled from Will's mouth. He knew he should've kept quiet, but the rage forced them out. "I was one when Mom died. I never knew her."
Creston's mouth fell open. "I didn't mean you to take it that way, Will. I'm sorry. Please forgive me."
The anger fading, Will managed a grin. "Don't mention it."
Recovering quickly, Creston passed the paper to Will. "Take this. Please. And check out the website. If you change your mind, give me a call."
Creston strode back to his car, started it and fled the parking lot, with a squeal of tires.
Will looked at the ad and shrugged, the anger throbbing again. As his hands shook, he folded up the paper. No way he was giving up this space. No way. Creston could burn in hell.