The Corruption Within Read online

  “I don’t have any extra clothes here, so you’ll just have to hang out up there until your clothes dry. There’s no tv, but there are plenty of books and a bed that’s comfortable enough if you’d like.”

  I had been around enough to know that nothing in life comes free, and if something seems too good to be true it probably is. Alarm bells in my head started ringing the more I listened to him talk, and it must have shown on my face. With a wry smile, Gabe added, “The doors only lock from the inside, and you ain’t got nothing I want to see. Just get cleaned up and get some rest, kid. You look like fifty miles of bad road. I’ll see you around dinner time.”

  Chapter 2

  ◆◆◆

  I came back downstairs a few hours later, better rested and better smelling than I had been in a long time. The clock upstairs had said three-thirty, still too early for a dinner rush, but I figured I owed Gabe an early start. Besides, I had spent enough time trapped in small places and was feeling antsy in the little apartment.

  The restaurant was almost empty when I walked in. Three people sat at a single table finishing up their meal, and two men sat at the bar nursing drinks. Gabe saw me come out the door and waved me over. He reached under the counter and pulled out an apron that smelled clean but was no longer the crisp white it once had been.

  “Wesley, this is Terry and Simon,” Gabe said, pointing to the men at the bar. “Guys, this is Wesley, my new gourmet chef.”

  The two men nodded at me. The larger one crooked a smile at Gabe and said, “Gourmet chef? They’re good burgers, Gabe, but calling them gourmet is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

  Gabe smiled and said, “Watch yourself, Simon, or you’ll go home hungry.”

  Simon raised his hands in mock placation. “I sincerely apologize. Please excuse my humble palate and deign to bless me with thine burger of ham.”

  Gabe huffed. “I appreciate you volunteering to be the guinea pig for the kid here,” he said, gesturing to me.

  Terry’s jaw dropped in exaggerated wonder. “Gave, you’re actually going to trust another human with the Spatula of Destiny?”

  Simon laughed, adding, “Does the kid even know how to cook a decent burger?”

  “Good enough for an unsophisticated hick like you,” Gabe answered.

  I slipped the apron over my head and tied the strings behind my back as I walked around the bar. Gabe handed me the spatula and pointed to a fridge that held trays of burger patties. I tossed a patty on the grill and let it sizzle for a moment. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Simon and Terry watching me intently. “Don’t worry, Mr. Simon, I’ll do my best to not give you salmonella.”

  “Doesn’t salmonella come from chicken?” Terry asked.

  “Not the way I cook,” I said.

  The two men chuckled and turned their attention back to their drinks and casual conversation. Gabe slapped me on the shoulder and walked off.

  And just like that, with one lame joke, I was in.

  As the night went on, I realized most of the patrons of Gabe’s Bar and Grill were like that. They didn’t care so much about how I cooked their burgers or how dumb I sounded when I talked. They just wanted to know that I could take a joke and that I would be willing to give one back.

  I spent most of the night making burgers, each with whatever toppings were requested, and each with a bag of chips. The place was never even close to full, but there was a steady stream of people in and out all night.

  I watched Gabe interact with his customers. He greeted the regulars by name, giving each a handshake and pat on the shoulder, even hugging a few. He introduced himself to each new customer and shook their hand, repeating their name back to them as if locking it into his mind. With some people, he’d laugh and joke around, with others he’d ask about an ailing parent or difficulty at work. And every time someone left, he called them by name, even the new ones, and told them he was glad to have seen them.

  By the end of the night, I was exhausted and my feet were killing me. When the last person left, Gabe leaned against the bar and let out a sigh. “Tradition is when the last customer leaves, I sit and have a drink before cleaning up. With two of us, we should be out of here in thirty minutes.” He groaned as he sat down on one of the bar stools and said, “Pass me a beer.”

  I handed him a beer and watched as he used the corner of the bar to pop the cap off. He scowled at me and asked, “Are you legal?”

  “Birthday’s in a few months,” I answered.

  “You stick to Coke then.”

  I smiled, leaned against the counter, and sipped at my drink. Gabe took a long pull from his beer and wiped his chin with the back of his sleeve. “You did good tonight, kid.”

  “Thanks. Although I did burn three burgers,” I said, pointing to the trash can.

  “Only three, huh? I usually get distracted and end up burnin’ twice that. Next time, put them in a box so I can take them home to my dog. Although, at this rate, I’m going to have to start buying extra dog food.”

  I gave him my most solemn look and said, “I’ll try to burn more tomorrow.”

  “Thank you,” he said with equal gravity. Then, quick enough that I had to blink to keep up with the change in subject, he said, “You got a place to stay tonight?”

  My eyes flickered to the darkness outside and I groaned. “I, uh, I was going to ask you about that. Any way you could pay me cash tonight so I can get a hotel? Or do you have to pay by check?” I could feel my ears begin to burn with embarrassment, but the idea of sleeping outside again was more painful than the shame.

  Gabe nodded. “Yeah, I’ll pay you cash tonight, but why don’t you keep it for now. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of things you need to buy. You can sleep upstairs tonight. We’ll figure out a place for you to stay tomorrow.”

  “You’re going to leave me alone here? With all this?” I said in astonishment, gesturing to the bar around us. “You don’t even know me.”

  “Eh, let’s just say I’ve got a feeling about you, kid.”

  My eyes started to burn a little as I processed Gabe’s offer. No one had ever trusted me with anything before. Maybe it would seem like a simple gesture to most people, but to me it was an act of generosity and trust, unlike anything I had ever experienced. I took a moment to swallow the lump in my throat and coughed out a rough “thank you.”

  “Eh, everyone needs a little help every once in a while.” Then, as if to prevent oncoming awkwardness, Gabe clapped his hands against his knees and stood. “Well, this place isn’t going to clean itself!”

  Gabe washed the last handful of dishes and cleaned the grill while I stacked chairs on the tables, swept, and mopped. One of the benefits of having a rustic interior design plan, evidently, was the place was simple to clean.

  “Go ahead and take out the trash, Wesley,” Gabe said. “I should be done counting the register by the time you’re done. I’ll be able to pay you, and we can call it a night.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “And don’t forget the bathroom trash.”

  “Yes, sir,” I mumbled with less enthusiasm.

  I gathered the trash and shoved smaller bags into larger ones until I was left with two overly stuffed bags of garbage. With a grunt, I heaved a bag onto each shoulder, careful not to rip one and make a mess on my freshly mopped floors.

  I walked through the back storage room, swaying awkwardly from the extra weight. On the back wall of the storage room was the door to the alley, one of the few things in the restaurant not made of wood. It was a light metal door with a waist-high bump bar typical of fire exit doors. Beneath the dents, scrapes, and stains was evidence it had, at one time, been white. Some of the weather stripping around the frame had torn off and the yellow-orange of a street light peeked through the cracks.

  I smacked the bump bar with my hip. The door opened easily, and I stepped into the alley. The smell of the alley was almost overwhelming. The narrow strip did not allow for much airflow to disperse the smells f
rom dumpsters against the walls of various stores and restaurants. Trash day must not have been far off, because the smell of bad meat and worse dairy seemed to choke out the oxygen. A knot formed in my stomach as I thought about how I would have been looking for a place like this to sleep if it weren’t for the odd, generous man inside.

  If the smell of the alley was overwhelming, the sight of it was oppressive. Long, crisscrossing shadows, cast by too few lights, shivered and moved as bulbs flickered, struggling to remain operational. Deep, black pockets by dumpster and doorstop where the light didn’t reach hinted at innumerable dangers.

  The stark contrast of the open, comfortable restaurant to the foul, claustrophobic alley felt like leaving the comfort of a well-stoked fire for a blistering ice storm. My pulse quickened and a chill slithered down my back. As much as I tried to rationalize away the fear, I could not deny that I moved quickly toward the dumpster.

  I flung the dumpster lid open with a jarring bang that echoed down the alley and tossed in the two bags. I closed the lid and breathed a sigh of relief to be able to return to the security of the bar. I turned to head inside—and froze.

  On the far side of the restaurant door, curled against a neighboring dumpster, was a man. He was sitting on the ground in a ball with his elbows propped on his knees and his hands covering his head. Even from fifty feet away, I could see his shoulders twitch in quick, irregular motions.

  “Mister, are you okay?” I called out. The man didn’t look up. Other than a noticeable flinch, he gave no sign that he had heard me. “Sir?” I called louder.

  I hesitantly walked toward him, feeling panic tighten my chest. As I got closer, I could see he was wearing a black leather jacket with thick blue stripes down the sleeves. I had seen that jacket before. He had been one of the customers earlier in the night. What was his name? He had said he was a pilot, right? I had associated his name with pilot. Pilot. P. Paul the pilot! That’s right!

  He had a sharp, angular face, dull brown eyes, and a shiny, bald head. He had been nice enough, willing to talk to anyone at the bar and quick to laugh at any joke. He’d had a beer with his burger and maybe a couple more after, but surely hadn’t drunk enough that I’d expect to find him huddled in the alley.

  “Paul, are you okay?” I asked. Hearing his name must have registered something for him, because he lifted his head for a second before burying it in his hands again. “Paul!” This time I yelled his name, partly to grab his attention, partly because my own fear was making it difficult to control my voice.

  Just then I heard a growl, not loud, but a deep, sinister rumbling I could almost feel in my bones. My heart stopped as a figure stepped out of one of the deep shadows. I couldn’t make out any detail except that he was huge. He had to have been over seven feet tall, with narrow shoulders and long, slender arms reaching to his knees.

  Shadow covered his face so that his head looked like a solid, black sphere resting on his shoulders. He took a step toward me, and while it seemed like he should have been stepping into the light, instead shadow moved with him, still hiding his features.

  Except that wasn’t quite right. The shadows didn’t move. They didn’t expand, shift, or change shape. As the figure moved, seemingly stepping into the light, he was still in shadow. Shadows that were not there a moment before but had not just appeared either. It doesn’t make sense, I know. I saw it, and it still doesn’t make sense to me, either.

  The figure continued to step toward me and reached out with one hand that ended in long, sinewy fingers. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. I was frozen in panic. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t even think.

  The figure moved closer toward me, its fingers inches from my face, and I was overwhelmed with the realization that no matter what I did, I was about to die. The thing was reaching further to grab me when suddenly a hand grasped my shoulder. I was jerked back with a single, powerful pull and shoved back inside the building. Gabe, his face now hard and fierce, stood before me. “Stay here!” he demanded. Then he stepped into the alley, slamming the door closed behind him.

  I stood staring at the door in disbelief. My heart was pounding like a drum, but the overwhelming sense of doom and panic started to slowly fade. A brilliant light, a blue so bright it was almost white, shined through the cracks around the door. I heard Gabe yell something unintelligible and the figure growl a throaty, snarly response. The blueish-white light around the door moved and flickered as if someone was swinging an enormous flashlight in the alley. I heard the sharp clang of metal striking metal, followed by muffled thumps and bangs.

  It felt like I stared at the door for an eternity, but it was probably less than a minute before I realized I should call the police. I turned to run to the phone by the bar but stopped when I realized the alley had gone silent. The bright blueish light slowly faded into the familiar, dull light of the street lamps.

  A banging on the door made me jump, but then I heard Gabe’s voice say, “Wesley, open the door.” I sighed in relief and cautiously pushed the bump bar. Gabe stood there, his arm around Paul, holding the younger man up. I stepped out of the way, and the two walked to the lobby. Paul walked with short, careful steps but was mostly carrying his own weight like he was using Gabe for emotional support more than for physical.

  “Grab him a cup of water, kid,” Gabe said as he helped Paul lower himself into a chair. I did, trying hard to control the shaking in my hands as I set the glass on the table in front of Paul. Gabe ran around the bar gathering his things.

  “Are you all right?” I asked as I sat in a chair beside Paul.

  “I don’t even know what happened,” he said. “I was leaving the bar and just … panicked. I don’t … I don’t know how long I was back there. I … I don’t even remember going into the alley. I was just so … so scared.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I just put a hand on his shoulder. I felt his entire body shudder. After a couple of minutes, Gabe came back, minus his apron and carrying a small backpack.

  “I’m going to take him to the hospital and have him checked out,” he said. His face was drawn but his voice steady. “I’ll stay with him until his family gets there. I left your money on the bar by the register. Lock the door behind us, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Paul stood, looking dazed, and followed Gabe to the door.

  “Gabe?” I asked as the two reached the door. “What the hell was that thing?” I cringed at the quiver in my voice.

  Gabe looked at me with narrow, questioning eyes. “You saw that?”

  “Saw it? Of course I saw it! It was freaking huge!”

  Gabe shrugged, not quite pulling off nonchalant, and said, “It was nothing. The shadows back there do strange things to your eyes at night. Just lock the door behind you. This place has a … reputation. Nothing … no one will bother you here. I’ll be here by 10 a.m. tomorrow.”

  He didn’t wait for me to say anything else and just opened the door, ushering Paul through. The two climbed into a pickup truck and drove away. I locked the door and walked back into the dining area. I grabbed Paul’s glass of water and washed it in the sink behind the bar, letting my brain run wild during the mindless task. After setting the glass on the drying rack, I stepped to the register to pick up my cash.

  I stood for a minute trying to process what had to be the most bizarre day of my life. In a single day, Gabe had done more for me than anyone had in my entire life. What was more, after one day that little restaurant felt more comfortable, more like a home, than anywhere I had been before. But, the last twenty minutes had shaken me, and my instincts screamed at me to do what I always did when things were difficult: run.

  I looked at the money in my hand. It would be enough for a night or two in a cheap hotel and a couple of crappy meals. It wasn’t much, but maybe it could float me until I found something else. On the other hand, I was exhausted, and the idea of going back out into the dark was not appealing in the least.

  I sho
ved the cash into my pocket, turned out the lights, and headed to the little bed in the upstairs apartment. Sometimes, when I look back at the moment I almost left, I wonder if I made the right decision. Had I known then just how strange things would get, would I have made a different choice? Would I have taken my money and left? And I wonder what my life would look like now if I had.

  Chapter 3

  ◆◆◆

  I woke up the following morning tired and grumpy. It turns out that being scared half to death less than an hour before you go to bed does not facilitate a good night’s sleep. In fact, in my case, it led to several hours lying in bed staring at the ceiling, followed by a few hours of fitful sleep with dreams full of moving shadows and creatures chasing me down a dark alley.

  I found some coffee in a cabinet in the tiny kitchen and set it to brewing while I took a long, scalding shower. After showering, I sat on the edge of the bed with a towel wrapped around my waist and sipped my coffee. I hadn’t been able to find any cream or sugar, but the coffee was hot and dark, and its bitterness complemented my mood

  I tried, again, to process everything that had happened the day before, hoping my mind would be able to make more sense of it in the morning light. The brain has a way of rationalizing away the terror of nightmares come daybreak, and I desperately hoped for some kind of rationalization.

  I had seen some seedy people in my twenty years, both in and out of the prison system. I’d known people that enjoyed causing pain and reveled in intimidating those smaller and weaker than themselves. But that featureless … thing in the alley was something else. It had been dark and terrible in a way I could not wrap my brain around.

  Or maybe the ominous feeling in the dark alley had warped my perception? I remembered the fear, the panic, the sense of impending violence I felt even before I saw the shadowy figure. I remembered how I wanted nothing more than to return to the light of the restaurant as soon as I had stepped outside. Was it possible that I had allowed my fear to shape my perception of a regular person into some kind of monster?