Close Your Eyes: A Horror Story Collection Page 8
He exited the vehicle and as he began walking to the main entrance of the building he thought to himself on what he would say. What would he tell them? That he was attacked by the owner of the company that he works for? That his boss had also, most likely, been attacked as well? That no one else at the company saw it being out of normal? That they filed everything under workman’s compensation?
Allen continued walking along the outside sidewalk of the parking lot. The sidewalk fed into a much larger walkway that led straight into the building. He turned without realizing it and began walking towards the mouth of the building. There were a large set of stairs that led up to the main entrance and to the left of the stairs was an elongated ramp to make the building wheelchair accessible. The building was made of stone that reminded Allen of ancient looking buildings that you saw in Egypt or Rome. These stones were most likely fake but it still gave the same effect as he walked up the stairs and towards the two sets of doors that waited for him.
Standing at the top of the stairs and staring into the door and windows Allen paused for a moment. He knew he would be saying goodbye to his new life but this was worth it. People like Brockford shouldn’t be in power. People like him shouldn’t be controlling others. He had to do the right thing, consequences be damned. He took a deep breath, and then pushed in the nearest door. Without realizing it he had begun to push the door with his broken wrist. A shot of pain flew into his arm and splintered up and down throughout his body. Soon the pain was gone but the memory remained fresh in Allen’s mind. He knew why he was doing this. He had to do it. He walked into the lobby and as he did he heard the door slam shut behind him with a thud.
The lobby was much darker than he had expected. Walking up to the building it looked dark inside but he attributed it to the tint of the windows but now that he was inside the darkness had not gone away. There was a main reception desk at the end of the rectangular lobby. There were few other people in the lobby besides the receptionist. A few people partway down the lobby were sitting on a bench discussing something. Another was walking towards Allen most likely heading for the exit. Allen began to walk down the length of the lobby. As he moved he noticed the decorations on the left side of the wall. There were framed pictures that went the entire length of the room. Above each frame in medium black font stated a year. He couldn’t be sure but it looked like the wall displayed every graduating police class since the department’s founding back in the early twentieth century. Every few feet there was a small metal bench and a window that let in some light. It was when Allen was about halfway to the reception desk that he noticed the right wall. He didn’t know why he hadn’t noticed it before but now it stood out like a sore thumb, or like his broken wrist. And now that he had seen it he was frozen in place staring at the lettering on the wall before him. There in big black letters that took up the entire top half of the wall read:
A
Brockford
Building
There was more writing below the primary text and out of curiosity, or fear, Allen stopped walking towards the desk and instead began moving to the right wall. As he moved closer he could began to read more of the display:
Chief of Police, Joseph Brady, shakes hands with Robert Brockford, owner of Brockford Construction, in front of the newly built Carolsburg Police Department.
Below the text was a large twenty by twenty-four picture frame. In the background of the picture was the newly constructed police building standing proudly next to city hall. In the foreground was a man that Allen didn’t recognize. He was wearing a shirt and tie along with a police badge that was clipped on to his breast pocket. His hand was outstretched and shaking the hand of another man to his right. The man he was shaking hands with was Mr. Brockford, red cheeks and all. Allen had been holding his breath since he walked over to this display without realizing it. He let it out in one big exhale and then tried to breathe normally but he only found it come in short and shallow gasps. His heart was pounding now and with each pound he could feel it in his broken wrist.
Was Brockford in bed with the police as well? Was this the emergency room all over again? Would the police even care if he reported it, or would they immediately call Brockford and inform him of his traitorous employee? Allen stood there in the lobby staring at the hanging picture, staring at Brockford smiling and shaking hands. Anger and contempt began to rise into him like a night’s tide. The money didn’t matter anymore. This company was corrupt. This company had its arms in every aspect of Carolsburg. This man had to be stopped, he had to be revealed. How many other people had he tortured? How many others had he forced into silence?
“Can I help you sir,” a medium built man dressed in a blue police uniform had come out a side door Allen hadn’t noticed.
Allen jumped slightly and then looked away from the wall and said, “No, I’m sorry I was just leaving.” Allen sighed, turned around, and exited the building.
--
He felt defeated. He felt lost. What was he going to do now? He didn’t want to leave town. His family was here, his parents were here. He shouldn’t have to leave town. The thought of quitting came to mind but he couldn’t even imagine Brockford’s reaction to that of someone quitting. If just looking around got a sledgehammer to the hand what did quitting get you? He shuddered at the thought. Not knowing what else to do of where else to go Allen found himself back at his cubicle desk forty-five minutes later after taking his lunch. He stared at his computer mindlessly. He felt trapped. He felt like an inmate with no end to their sentence. He was a slave day in and day out. Was this what his life would become? To top it all off the pain in his wrist was coming back to him. He hadn’t had time for lunch or his pain medication and now the dull ache that it once had been was now on fire. Every time he moved his fingers he felt the bones, muscles, and sinews pull, tighten, and ache.
The end of his horrible day came soon enough. It was a few minutes after five and Allen packed everything up, locked his computer, and started down the hall towards the exit door. As he walked a gaggle of other employees walked by him like a herd of cattle. The ‘herd’ bunched up a bit at the narrow one person door that led to the stairs. With no words spoken they reassembled a somewhat orderly line and exited the door one at a time.
It was when Allen was in the parking lot climbing into his car that someone knocked on his window. Startled, Allen let out a small scream that he tried to pass off as a coughing fit. When he recovered he looked up and out the window and saw Rich standing right outside his car. A look of worry and concern showed on his face. Allen rolled down his window and as soon as he did Rich leaned in towards the crack of the window and said, “Meet me at Tanner’s in ten minutes.” With that he turned and limped back towards his car. He didn’t know what this was about or where it had even come from but he felt that he should follow him. He backed his car out and headed towards Tanner’s bar.
Even though Allen left before him Rich had still beat him there. Given, he had made a few wrong turns but they had only added a few minutes to his trip at most. When he walked into Tanner’s he found Rich in the back of the restaurant sitting in a booth. His crutches laid on the floor directly in front of the booth. There was a tall beer sitting on the table next to him and as Allen walked over to him he watched in amazement as Rich drank half of the beer in one big continuous gulp.
As Allen reached the booth Rich looked up towards him and said, “The son of a bitch got you too huh?” He pointed to Allen’s wrist.
Allen sat down on the opposite end of the booth and as he did he muttered out an almost whisper, “Yeah.”
Rich stared at him saying nothing. His right hand was clasped around the beer mug like it was a life preserver. His once confident look had been erased and been replaced with a look of fear. There was something else there also that Allen couldn’t quite identify. There was something wild, almost manic, about Rich’s expression. Without another word between them Rich tilted the mug towards his mouth and finished the rest of the beer
.
“I’m going to get him.” Rich stated this like it was fact.
“How? I’ve tried going to the police and -”
“Psh. Don’t bother. They’re in Brockford’s pocket just like everyone else in this damn town.” Rich signaled the waiter with his hand for two more beers.
The booth went silent again. Rich stared down at his empty beer mug studying the foam that had accumulated at the bottom of it. Allen stared at the table not knowing what to do next. The waiter came over with another tall mug of import for Rich and then plopped another tall mug in front of Allen.
As soon as the waiter disappeared back into the restaurant Rich began to speak again, “I was looking at Appleton across town. They had a similar position open but they promised me twenty percent more. Can you believe that? Twenty percent?” He stopped and nursed his beer. “Somehow. Somehow that bastard Brockford found out. He called me into his office after hours and confronted me about it. I didn’t know what else to do. There was no use hiding it. Sure, I was looking at the competition. What did it matter? I hadn’t divulged any secrets or anything. I was still on his team. Or, so I thought…” His voice trailed off and then was cut off entirely as he took another drink.
“I’ve got to give credit to Hector. I didn’t even hear him come in. He surprised me from behind. Before I even knew what was happening his freaking arm was around my neck choking and pinning me against the chair.”
Allen sat listening not saying anything. His hand was clasped on his drink but he had yet to take a sip.
“Then that Brockford. That damned Brockford pulled my leg out so that my foot rested on his desk. A second later that sledgehammer of his came out from behind his desk. I tried to get away. I tried to scream. But Hector’s arm on my throat felt like a vice. Every time I moved or struggled he would squeeze harder.” Most of the color had drained from Rich’s face and as he recounted the story his hand that was holding on to his beer was shaking.
Rich looked over at Allen and then said, “So, what’s your story? What dirt did he find on you?”
“I didn’t do shit! The only thing that he had on me was that he found my resume online. That was it. It was just my fucking resume and what do I get?” Allen raised his wrist slightly from the table showing off the cast.
“Allen, I’m sorry. I really am.” Rich took another big gulp of his beer and then continued, “I had no idea things were like this here. Up until a few weeks ago the job had been cush. Sure you had to deal with Brockford’s bullshit every now and then but it was never this bad. I never would have brought you on board if I had known,” his voice cracked as he spoke. Allen just nodded his head.
Rich continued, “I’m going to get him Allen, but I don’t want you pushing things any further. Just keep your head down and continue like normal. I’ll take care of things.”
“How? What are you going to do?”
“I’ve been asking around at the office as discreetly as I can. I’m trying to gather a list of witnesses, or victims. If I can get five, maybe just four, confirmed victims all with similar injuries the police can’t deny it or hide it. They’ll have to face it.”
“I can’t just sit here and act like nothing’s happened. I’ve got to do something.”
Rich shook his head no back and forth and then said, “No. You let me handle this. I got you into this mess and I’m sure as hell not going to get you into any more trouble.”
“Ok. But if you need anything you let me know.”
“I can work with that.” He raised his beer off the table and then said, “Cheers, to better times.”
Their glasses clinked together and a portion of beer from Allen’s cup sloshed over the side and spilled on his cast.
--
Allen left the bar a little over an hour later. Throughout out his stay he had only nursed his beer off and on and when it was time to leave less than half of it was gone. He offered to give Rich a ride home as he had had at least five talls but he declined. He said that he had some more thinking to do and ordered another beer.
When Allen walked out the front door of Tanner’s and into the parking lot the sun blinded him. His eyes had grown accustomed to the dimly lit bar and the sudden shock of the sunlight caused him to squint. After he gave his eyes some time to acclimate to their new surroundings he began walking towards his car. He was about halfway down the parking lot when he saw him. There at the edge of the parking lot was a white pick up. It was parked lengthways and had taken up three parking spaces. The letters ‘Brockford Construction,’ were stenciled in large black letters on the side. In the driver’s seat was a mountain of a man. Allen recognized him immediately. Hector.
Chapter 8 – Family
The next morning Allen arrived at work at the usual time. He looked around the parking lot as he pulled in. There were a few other cars in there but for the most part it was empty. It was only seven-thirty and there was still time before all of the other employees came in. The one thing that stuck out to him though was that Rich’s car wasn’t there. He was almost always there at seven-thirty, just like him. Allen didn’t think much of it though, and went inside.
It was a few minutes before eight that a pit began to form in Allen’s stomach. That aching concern, that dread, was building in his gut. Rich wasn’t there yet. On the few days that Rich was late or had an emergency he would contact Allen. He had received no texts, no missed calls, not even an e-mail. There was just nothing. His office door was closed and the lights were out.
Allen tried e-mailing Rich’s company e-mail. Rich had access to his email on his phone and was constantly checking them. Most of the time he would respond with at least a confirmation after only a few minutes but today, today, when Allen pulled up his Outlook and typed in his name he found that the system didn’t recognize it. There was that feeling again. A tight, clenching feeling in his stomach. Where was he?
Thinking that maybe he typed in his e-mail incorrectly Allen went to previous e-mails that him and Rich had sent back and forth. He had a designated folder that he kept everything from Rich in. He clicked on the folder not knowing what to expect. At first nothing happened. Outlook just sat there not doing anything but after a few seconds the folder loaded, or tried to load. The folder was empty. There were no e-mails. No communications. Nothing from Rich.
Somewhat panicked now Allen checked his sent items folder. He knew that he had sent at least a few things to Rich just yesterday. Surely, they would still be in there. They weren’t. All of his other e-mails that he had sent out were there just like usual but anything sent to Rich was gone. It was like he didn’t exist.
Unsure of what else to do he sent him a text message asking where he was. The message was sent at ten after eight and Allen sat there for unmoving waiting for a response. The clock ticked the minutes away but still there was nothing. Even though he had only been missing for less than hour Allen knew something was wrong. He could feel it. He brought up his phone again and this time called Rich’s cell. There was series of five rings each one was achingly slow and seemed to last forever. The fifth ring was cut off in the middle and a robotic voice greeted him. You have reached the voicemail inbox of 1-573-244-7511. Please leave a message. Even his cell phone had changed. Brockford had something to do with this. He had to.
Allen nearly jumped up from his desk and walked around the corner to Rich’s office. The tan wooden door was closed and locked but there was a two paned window of glass that let you see into the room. There was also a set of windows on the other side that let a bit of light in. Allen first looked around him to see if anybody was watching and then he cupped his hands and smashed his face against the glass. As he was doing this he half-expected a hand to land on his shoulder and twirl him around. It would be Brockford with his red cheeks and sweat and he would drag him back into his office for another punishment. Allen tried to shake the thought from his mind but it was there like a piece of corn stuck in your teeth.
The office was empty, not in the sense that
Rich wasn’t there but it was completely empty. There wasn’t even a desk anymore, let alone an office chair. All of the personal touches, the belongings, everything of Rich’s was gone. It was just an empty box of a room. Even the shades that were on the windows were gone now.
The feeling of panic and fear that Allen was feeling began to change. The fear was still there but there was a new emotion rising up in him like a pot of water getting ready to boil. He could feel the anger. The hate was welling up inside him. This was Brockford’s doing. He just knew it. How else could you explain it? Just last night Rich was fine drinking in the bar and now less than twelve hours later every trace of him had been erased from this earth. Who else would do that? His hands clenched into fists. His head felt hot and sweat began to form at his brow line. Brockford had to pay.
Not thinking of the consequences or even his actions Allen turned from Rich’s old office and walked back into the sea of cubicles. He walked past his desk without giving it a second glance. He moved past the long hallway and out the main door that led to the stairs. The stairs were taken two, even three, at a time as he went down. Then he was in the parking lot popping the trunk of his car. There he rummaged for a bit moving bags and clothes until he found what he was looking for. A tire iron.
He gripped it tightly with his good hand. It’s cold metal feel felt cathartic to him. It felt right. He slipped the weapon into his open dress shirt and then buttoned it back up to hide it. When he was confident that it couldn’t be seen right away he went back into the building, climbed the stairs, and started down the hallway right to Brockford’s office.
--
No one gave him a second look as he moved towards Brockford’s office. Both of his fists clenched and unclenched over and over again, even his broken one. The pain shooting from his broken wrist only made him angrier. It only motivated him more.
As he approached he saw that the double doors were both closed. He hoped that at least one of them was unlocked. He stood just outside the doors for an unknown amount of time. The anger swelled in him like a balloon getting ready to pop. He reached his good hand out to the left door and turned. The handle didn’t budge. Frustrated, he tried the right handle. There was a moment where it too didn’t move but then with a click the door handle moved downward and the door opened slightly.