Do Us Part

Preface

  NYC Midnight hosts an annual short story writing competition. I competed with over 1,400 writers in the first round of the 2015 writing challenge. Writers are placed random in heats and are given a genre, subject, and character assignment. They then have 8 days to write an original story no longer than 2,500 words. Heat 9, my heat, was assigned Ghost Story for the genre, Agoraphobia for the subject and Divorce Lawyer for the character. I came up with two stories that I liked, Liberty Meadow and Do Us Part. I submitted the former. For your reading pleasure here is the latter.

  Do Us Part

  By Aaron Blaylock

  © 2015 Aaron Blaylock. All rights reserved.

  At last, the back of the moving truck was empty. A small dining room table and a filing cabinet sat on the sidewalk. Two tie down straps lay perpendicular across the concrete walkway. Dean emerged through the entry and scooped up the straps on his way to the truck. He wound them up, carelessly, and tossed them into the back of the orange and white U-haul.

  “Is this it then?” Rick asked in his usual upbeat way.

  “This is it,” Dean said. “Grab an end.”

  They stood at opposite sides of the table and lifted it off the ground. Rick moved backwards toward the front of the condo, while Dean kept a wary eye to ensure they stayed on course. The sun had dropped beneath the rooftops and trees of the sleepy suburb and dusk settled in. As they made their way across the threshold, the table scraped along the door jam.

  “Oops,” Rick said.

  “No worries,” said Dean. “I never like this table.”

  “I’m not worried about your table; I’m worried about my deposit.”

  “I said I’d pay you back, man.”

  “Oh, I know you will,” Rick joked. “I know where you live.”

  “Seriously, Rick,” Dean said. “Thank you, for everything.”

  “Hey, I’m your one stop divorce shop,” Rick replied. “This is a full service operation.”

  “I just wish you were as good at litigating as you are at lifting.”

  “Been sitting on that one all day, haven’t you?”

  They both smiled and eased the table into the small dining nook near the front window. With the table fit snuggly against the wall, Rick drew up a chair and sat down. He looked out the window at the small patch of grass between the front door and the sidewalk. Dean leaned against the wall and looked down at the checkerboard linoleum floor.

  “This is a pretty nice area,” Rick began. “If you take in a deep whiff you can almost smell that crisp ocean air.”

  “Ocean air?” Dean questioned. “We’re twenty miles inland.”

  “Hey, this is the best we could do in your price range,” replied Rick. “That bimbo took you for all you’re worth.”

  “Hey! That’s my wife,” Dean exclaimed.

  “Ex-wife,” Rick corrected.

  “Well she’s still your sister.”

  “Yeah, but I never really liked her,” Rick answered. “Most guys want their sister to find a nice guy. Me? I prayed nice guys would be smart enough to stay away.”

  “She really is terrible.”

  “She’s the worst. Her lawyer on the other hand…”

  “That woman was amazing.”

  “Yeah, we never stood a chance.”

  Their chuckles settled into an uncomfortable silent. The daylight outside had all but disappeared. The dining room was dark but Dean could still see his shadowed friend’s broad face. He thought about turning on the light but wasn’t exactly sure where to find the switch so he stood there and waited for a subject change.

  “Well I’d better return the rental before it closes,” Rick said.

  He stood up and Dean led the way out the front door. They walked to the back of the U-haul. Rick reached up and pulled down the sliding rear door. Dean lifted the lever to lock the door in place.

  “You need help with that filing cabinet?” Rick asked.

  “No man, I’ve got it,” Dean said. “You should get home.”

  “Alright brother,” he replied. Rick opened his arms wide and they stepped toward each other. They embraced briefly for a standard double-pat man hug before stepping back away to a safe distance. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

  “Sounds good,” Dean said.

  Rick walked to the front of the truck and pulled open the driver’s side door. Dean took a couple of steps onto the pavement, to better position himself to wave goodbye. Rick stepped up into the truck and closed the door. He leaned out the window and turned back to Dean.

  “Oh, one last thing,” Rick began. “No big deal, just an FYI. The last tenant died in here about a month ago. Everything’s been clean real good though, so no worries.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Dean asked.

  Rick turned the key in the ignition and the V-10 engine roared to life. He shifted the truck into gear and let his foot off the brake. “It’s nothing to worry about. I’ll talk to you mañana.”

  Dean watched as the box truck pulled away from the sidewalk and eased out into the road. Rick waved out the window and smiled. The truck moved down the oak bordered lane until it reached the four way stop. The bright red brake lights pierced through the subdued evening tone. Dean shook his head and looked up and down the empty neighborhood street. His heart sunk at the thought of returning to the empty condo. As he turned around to pick up the filing cabinet, he thought he saw a silhouette in his front window. He did a double take and peered carefully at the figure. There was an unmistakable form of a person behind the glass. He was certain his mind or his eyes were playing tricks on him. Still, he felt his heartbeat quicken and a chill shot down his spine. The sound of the truck accelerating in the distance caused him to look back up the street. Rick turned left at the intersection and the truck pulled around the corner and out of sight.

  When he turned back around, all he saw through the window was the dark and empty room beyond. He bent down and picked up the short plywood filing cabinet. Cautiously, he hefted it up the walkway and through the front door. He set it down just inside and flipped on the light switch nearest him. The porch light behind him turned on and casts his shadow down the narrow hallway. He flipped the switch next to it and the light in the hallway illuminated the entryway. He closed the door behind him and stood quietly, to listen for any sounds of movement.

  “Hello?” he called. He wasn’t sure whether or not he hoped for an answer.

  After a few moments he made his way back to the bedroom at the back of the condo. As he turned on the light and entered the room his throat tightened and his heart fell. There were several boxes scattered about at the far side of the room near an old dresser that Rick lent him. The box nearest him was a nearly new karaoke machine, still in the box. He had reluctantly purchased it for his ex-wife and claimed it in the divorce out of spite. Centered beneath the window was a mattress and box spring they purchased that morning and hastily setup during the move in. This sad room represented the state of his affairs. His life had been reduced to boxes, borrowed furnished, bitter karaoke and a new lonely bed. He walked over, sat down and fell backwards unto the bare mattress looking up at the ceiling. He thought of Rick, the best friend and worst divorce lawyer a guy could ask for. He had spent the past few months on his couch and this would be the first night he had slept by himself in over eight years.

  He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. As he exhaled, he felt uneasy and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Quickly, he opened his eyes and sat up. He looked out into the hallway and saw a woman standing just outside his bedroom door. She had long dark hair and wore a beige t-shirt and sweat pants. She moved ever so slightly and her imagine blurre
d for a second or two. He looked closer and he could almost see through her. His heart raced and his hands began to shake. This is not real, he told himself. He closed his eyes tight for a moment. When he opened them he was alarmed to see that she was standing, much closer, in the room with him.

  “Holy mother of mercy!” he shouted, as he leapt from the bed and ran into the adjoining bathroom. He slammed the door and locked it. While he tried to calm and quiet his labored breathing he looked around for a weapon or shield of some kind. To his disappointment all he found was an old plunger and a box labeled toiletries. He reached into his pocket with his trembling hands, pulled out his cellphone and dialed Rick.

  “Miss me already?” Rick answered.

  “Dude, there’s a woman in my room,” Dean blurted out.

  “That was fast,” Rick said.

  “No, not like that,” Dean said. “She’s a ghost or something.”

  “What?” Rick questioned.

  “Seriously Rick, I can see through her,” Dean explained.

  “Are you having a mental breakdown or something?” Rick asked.

  The vapory form of the dark haired woman emerged through the bathroom door and stood in front of Dean.

  “Judas Priest!” he yelped. His phone slipped from his hand and dropped into the toilet.

  He stepped backwards and stumbled into the bathtub. His head smacked against the tiled shower wall and he crumbled into the tub with his legs hanging