The Aberration (2 page)

Traffic was a breeze for once, and he sailed across with the windows down and the radio on.  He hoped things would go well at work, but if they didn’t… that was all right too.  It was eight hours either way, then he’d come back to Cynthia.  Maybe they would work on making that baby again tonight.

Inelegant Rapture

Frumpy. 

That was Fran's word for the day.  It was the perfect word, really… a singular expression that summed up the whole of her entirety.  It was certainly how she
felt
, as she gathered calories sitting in front of the computer while her brain dissolved from mind-numbing data entry.  It described her bland sweater and slightly wrinkled pants, a combination that fit no style she could think of except… frumpy.

Her hair was certainly frumpy… dirty blonde and scattered on her head so badly that her hairdresser looked disgusted every time she came in.  Her mother had always said her looks hadn't passed on to her daughter.  Fran sighed.  Even in her coffin her mother looked like an aging Hollywood star, while Fran just looked… frumpy.

The pile of paperwork hadn't shrunk in the last hour, and the sample cans needed shelving,
and
the test tubes needed washing… but all that could be done in the morning.

Admit it, you're just waiting for Michael to show up.

She pushed her glasses up on her nose as she observed the girl in the reflection of the glare off the computer screen; the pudgy face spattered with a buckshot blast of freckles, the stupid lovesick grin that perfectly displayed the slightly crooked front tooth. 

The grin quickly faded.

Michael McDonald.  The bright light at the end of her workday tunnel.  She sometimes felt ashamed of how she looked forward to seeing him.  She always found a reason to stay over a couple of hours until he came in with the first sample.  He would smile and ask how she was doing.  He'd make her laugh at something silly, something only made funny because he was so
charming…

Of course she knew he was only being polite, only being
himself
… why would he
ever
look at a frumpy girl like her when he had that model-looking chick to go home to every night?  He'd shown her the picture.  She had died inside when she saw how his face lit up for the girl in the photo, the glow that would never be for her.

It was strange how his devotion to his lady made him even more attractive, stirred her imagination of him gazing at her with those crystal blue eyes while pouring out his love and affection. 

It almost made her sick when the fantasy exploded as it always did.  The train wreck of reality rumbled through with the annoying sound of the phone ringing.  She picked up; made appropriate noises in reply to queries she couldn't care less about.  Outside her narrow window the sky darkened as monstrously thick clouds gathered almost impossibly fast. 

Figures it would start pouring down right before I take off.
   

It was unfair.  Unfair that her mother selfishly refused to give up her genes.  Fran was left with her father's thin hair, pinched nose, and protruding belly.  It was unfair that the same woman would torment her about those looks until Fran wanted her to hurry up and die just so she could get some relief. 

It was unfair that Michael McDonald was the perfect specimen of a man.

But life was like that.  Unfair.  She looked at the clock.  Almost time.  In just a few minutes Michael would walk in.  He would smile, and ask how she was doing.  He'd make her laugh at something silly, something only made funny because he was so
charming…

Immolation

The flourmill squatted in the middle of nowhere, a wilderness sparsely broken by sprawled, battered homes; ramshackle remnants of a forgotten time.  It was a crude, leering stack of hastily poured concrete, a testament to the lack of imagination that infected contractors whose only aim was to squeeze in under a heavily slashed budget without a major disaster.  Towers housing raw wheat loomed twelve stories high, a roosting place for pigeons to defecate and molt their filthy feathers.

Guy exited the confines of his Mustang, frowning.  The sensation of being watched caused his shoulders to clench uncomfortably.  He kept his face casual as he yawned and stretched, scanning the surrounding area. 

Ghost fingers tickled the back of his head.  He turned around slowly.  Nothing was visible save for a solitary raven, perched on the railing of the truck ramp.

The bird cocked its head; its obsidian eyes gleamed with arcane answers missing only the question to liberate them.  There were others –ravens on the lawn, the wires leading to the building, the tops of the freight trucks.  They scarcely moved, scarcely seemed alive as they peppered the landscape.  They were… expectant.  The air almost crackled with their anticipation. 

They waited.

He slowly looked around, scanning the nearby woods and then the sky.  Dark thunderclouds massed in the far distance.  Quickly.  The wind picked up, carrying unintelligible whispers.

Guy’s brow darkened.  He hesitated for only a moment before slowly opening his car door again.  He removed the duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder, taking another wary look around.  The ravens had not moved.  They stared his direction as if petrified, onyx statues placed around the building to ward it from evil spirits.

Guy turned back to the building and saw the body right before it hit the ground like an overripe melon, fanning blood ten feet in all directions.

~*~

“Suicide…” Michael rubbed the back of his head, grimacing.  The rest of the employees were either gathered in the front office or out in the parking lot, talking in subdued tones.  The police had questioned everyone about their whereabouts when the event had occurred.

No one had been with Reese Campbell, the recently deceased.

The parking lot was crammed with police cars, along with a fire truck and an ambulance.  For what reason Guy couldn’t imagine.  There was nothing for them to do except clean up the remains.

“Looks that way.  He had no reason to be up on the roof at shift change.”

“Maybe he fell off.  Slipped or something.”

Guy knew that Michael didn’t believe that, but shrugged anyway.  “Maybe.”

“I mean, Reese was an outgoing guy.  Happy most times.  Didn’t seem the type, you know?”

Guy gazed out the window at the policemen who conferred among themselves, looking downward just outside the office door.  It was impossible to see from where he and Michael stood inside, but he knew that what was left of Reese lay there, nearly unrecognizable.  A freefall from ten stories up onto the concrete…

“No one seems the type, Michael.”

“There you two are.  I was, uh, looking for you.”

Rob was a bit jittery even on a good day, so it was no surprise that the mill supervisor was even more uptight right then.

“The police are letting the day shift leave.  They’ve gotten all the info they need from them.”

“So they’re shutting the place down?”  Michael brightened somewhat with the prospect.

Rob adjusted his glasses.  “Uh, no.  They’re going to curtail this section off for forensics and everything, but the rest of the mill is ok.  We plan to keep running.  The question is uh, whether you’re able to function or not.  You know.  Traumatic experience and all that.”

“Yeah, I’d say a fellow employee jumping from ten stories qualifies as pretty traumatic, Rob.”

Rob held up his hands defensively.  “And I understand that.  If you feel like you need to take the night off, it’s uh, perfectly permissible in this type of situation.  That’s what I need to know.  I’ll just have to call someone in to take your place.”

Michael looked at Guy.  “What are you going to do?”

Guy kept his gaze on the emergency crews outside.  “If I were you, I’d shut this place down, Rob.  Right now.  At least until we get some answers.”

“Uh… what?  Why?  I told you that the police cleared us to keep running.”

“Call it a hunch.”  Guy frowned.  “Something’s going on.  I don’t think Reese killed himself.”

Michael stared.  “You think he was killed?  But everyone was cleared.  They were all accounted for.”

“Doesn’t mean someone else didn’t do it.”

Rob ran his fingers through his hair.  “The cops went through the building.  There’s no one here but us.  Like I said, if you feel as though you need the night off, just say so.  It’s understandable.”

“And have someone else come in to all this mess?  No.  If you’re going to run, then I’m staying.  But I think you should reconsider.”

“I already called the district manager.  We keep running.”

“Fine.”  Guy took another look outside.  They sky was darker, smothered by cloud cover.  He slung the duffel bag over his shoulder.  “I guess I’m staying then.”

“I’m… I’m staying too,” Michael said.  “Guy’s right.  No need to bring someone else into all of this.”

“I appreciate it, both of you.  Just take it easy and let the mill uh, run itself.  All you need to do is make it through the night.”
 

Susurrus of Disquiet

"What are you still doing here, Fran?" Michael said as he walked in with the lab sample.  "The police cleared everyone to leave."

Her answer was high-pitched laugh, almost a nervous squeal." I know, I know.  While I was waiting I got caught up on all this
paperwork
.
 
It just never ends, you know, with this SQF audit coming up…
"

He reduced her droning to the corner of his mind as he ran the tests on the flour.  It was clear that she hadn’t left because she didn’t have much else to do.  He almost pitied her, spending most of her time at the job instead of doing… whatever normal women did in their free time.  She definitely wasn't much to look at with her wildly askew sandy hair, equine face and protruding teeth.  He was pretty sure she didn't have a boyfriend or anything.

She quickly looked down when he raised his eyes.  He finished the sample and recorded his numbers.  "So. Reese.  Pretty crazy, huh?" 

“I know.”  Her shoulders slumped.  “I guess I’m still in shock.  I mean, he was just in here, laughing…” She shook her head.  “It’s unreal.  He just didn’t seem to be the type…”

“I know.”  Michael sighed.  “Look, there’s no point in hanging around here.  Unlike us,
you
can go home.”

“I can’t believe Rob is making you guys work.”

“Well, it’s either us or someone else.  We’re already here, so…”

“It wouldn’t hurt to shut this place down for one night.  What an
ass
.”

“Money talks.  Talks us into working.” 

Fran managed a weak smile.  Michael picked up his sample containers.  “Go home, Fran.”

“I’m going, I’m going.  Just have to finish these last few…”

Her voice was lost as Michael strolled out the lab.  He passed the supervisor’s office.
 
Rob was still there, droning into the telephone.  Michael sighed and continued to the roll floor, where the din of the machines greeted him before he entered the miller’s office.  Guy sat in front of one of the computers, his dark eyes intently fixed on the screen in an almost feverish trance of concentration.  

Guy was as polarizing a person as he'd ever met, but the man didn't unnerve him like he did others.  They'd been working on the same shift for about a year, and he'd gotten used to Guy's somber and abrupt personality.  Work was nothing but business, and he'd never had any complaints about Guy's work ethic.  The man was nearly a fanatic.

"I see Rob the Robot is still in his office."   

Guy grunted without taking his eyes from the screen.  "Probably making sure that it’s legal to keep us imprisoned here.  I wish he'd go home.  Things run better that way."

“Why did you tell him that it was better to shut the plant down?”

Guy turned slightly.  “I don’t like the feel of this place right now.”

“What are you
talking
about?”

“It’s hard to explain.  Maybe it’s nothing.”  

Michael rubbed his eyes.  “I get you.  I mean, I’d be creeped out too if I had seen Reese falling like that.  I’m surprised you volunteered to stay.”

He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.  “Did you get a look outside?  Those clouds seemed to be moving pretty fast.  Hope we don't have another power outage.  That would be the
last
thing we need right now.”

"Yeah.  Lot of ravens out there too.  Never seen so many around here."

Michael gave Guy a sidelong glance.   There had been only pigeons flying around like always when he pulled up.  If Guy was seeing pigeons as ravens, he had to be on something
serious
.

The radio clipped to his belt crackled. 

"Mike, you got a copy?"  No one ever called for Guy.  The rest of them happily pretended he didn't exist unless they had to.

Michael gripped the microphone on his collar "Hey, Drake.  Shouldn’t you loading trucks instead of talking to us?"

"Ha.  Yeah… hey, was that you on the stairs a minute ago?”

Michael and Guy exchanged puzzled glances.  "Not me, buddy.  I'm in the office with Guy."

There was a long pause.  "I could’ve
sworn
… Anyone else here?”

"Just us, you, Roger and Fran.  You sure, Drake?"  He looked at Guy, who remained stone-faced.

"Naw, I just thought… never mind, man.  Never mind…"

"It's cool, Drake.  We’re all on edge right now.  You need someone to come down there?"  He held the receiver to his ear, but there was no response.

"Uh… Drake?"  He looked quizzically at Guy, who stood up with a tendon-popping stretch.

"His battery probably died.  Happens all the time with these cheap radios.  I was about to walk through the mill anyway.  I'll see if I can find him."

Without waiting for a response, he walked out into the roar of angry machines.

Esoteric Chaos