Plasticity Read online

  “It was a date, I guess.” Meg was a smiley person, normally, but she seemed a little more so, today. “Nothing permanent, but it got the job done. You should try it sometime.”

  Thom blushed, lightly. He was at a loss, as far as a response went. How could he respond to that in any way that could not be construed as flirting? Thankfully, Dumb Mouth was there to pick up the slack. “I'd like that.” What the hell was that?! What did that even mean?

  Meg eyed him funny, which is usually how their conversations ended, and said nothing.

  “Well, I'm going to get started, so, I, um, I'll be in my office if you need anything.” What the hell was he even saying? It was nothing but gibberish laced with innuendo. He disappeared into his office before anything else could come out of his intellectually challenged mouth. He didn't even see Meg watching and smiling at him.

  Once in his office, he realized he could have asked Meg to look up the information on the Aceros. She was infinitely more trust-worthy than Cynthia. Although, he probably would have messed that up, too, so maybe it was better that he had not asked. He kept his computer powered up all the time, so a simple swipe and password got him started toward his search. He looked up his patient records, which would have any of the information he was actually searching for. He didn't need medical records, or anything that may have been considered confidential. Nothing came up. He searched again for 'Hayley' in case he spelled their last name wrong, but he was met again with the message “Your Search Has Returned (0) Results.” Now he knew something was wrong. He knew, for a fact, that he had added notes to Hayley's client sheet, specifically mentioning her by name, definitively spelled as 'Hayley.' The files were gone. And Cynthia was gone, right after being asked about the Aceros. Thom didn't like to imagine conspiracy theories, but a seed had been planted, and it was beginning to sprout.

  Thom left his office and slid up next to the nurse's station where Meg was currently engaged in conversation with a nurse that Thom recognized, but whose name he could not remember. If he had ever known it in the first place. She had her phone tilted toward the young man.

  “Yep, it's just me and little Jim. His daddy fell off a cliff while he was rock climbing. Damn tragedy.” Her smile never faltered. Not for a second.

  Thom stood by silently while the two had their conversation. He worried what might come out of his mouth, and he certainly didn't need any witnesses around when whatever it was came out. After a few minutes, Meg turned to Thom and addressed him, apparently signaling the end of the conversation with the nurse.

  “Yeah, uh, I had a client shortly before lunch, today, right?” Good job, Thom. Staying on point. Keep it up. “Something's come up and I need to cancel or reschedule that appointment. Would you be so kind as to...” Meg was already typing away on the keyboard.

  “I'll contact them and take care of it.” Meg scribbled something down, by hand, on paper, which struck Thom as supremely odd. He meant to make a witty remark about it. Instead, he let Dumb Mouth do the talking.

  “I thought your husband was hit by a truck out in Vegas.” No you didn't! Why would you let her think you believed that story?

  Meg laughed a kindly old black maid laugh, and Thom was taken aback. He didn't think anyone really laughed like that. It was absurd. She didn't slap the table, or her leg, or anything like that, but otherwise there it was, in real life, a laugh straight out of an ancient movie. After his initial surprise, Thom realized it suited her well. That was the perfect laugh for her to have. It was charming as hell. Thom found himself leaning into the counter, resting on his forearms, smiling.

  “Well, Thom, some men die, and some men are as good as dead. The minor details don't change the outcome, much.” She winked at him, and Thom almost fell over.

  “Er, right. Yes. Indeed.” Thom jabbered. “Well, I'm off then. On to my next adventure, heh heh.” If he'd had a gun, he would have put it to his temple right then and there. “Thanks for the help, and all.” He turned to leave, tripped over his own foot, righted himself, and walked out of the hospital. Red-faced as he could possibly be. A first place embarrassment, if awards were given for such things. He didn't even see Meg watching and smiling at him.

  Thom may not have had a phone number for the Aceros, but he knew where they lived. If he had known where Hayley lived, he would have gone there first, but he had never had a reason to go to Hayley's apartment, or house, he didn't even know which she lived in. So, he drove toward Hayley's parents' house, trying to clear his head of his earlier stumblings. He didn't want to be clumsy when he spoke to Hayley's parents. He didn't want to alarm them with the missing person potential, in case it was an innocent misunderstanding. Hayley could have simply gone home, and Portland was making a big deal out of nothing. Although, that wouldn't explain the surveillance footage. As he pulled up in front of the house, he hoped he wasn't showing up too early. He was already less-than-happy about having to bother them, in the first place, but it would be even worse if he had to wake them up for it.

  At the door, Thom knocked gently. He had not intended to knock so gently, though, and he was sure no one inside could have heard the knock, even if they were awake. Now he had to stand there, awkwardly, and wait, just in case they had heard the knock. He couldn't knock again for at least a minute, in case they had heard the previous knock. He didn't want to appear impatient. After a minute, Thom set to rapping at the door slightly harder. He got the first knuckle to door contact, right before the door opened and Marianne stood before him. He should have waited a few extra seconds, because she had obviously heard the earlier knocking. Thom was embarrassed to be caught in mid-knock, and his embarrassment grew when he realized that Marianne was wearing a bath robe, and it didn't look like she had anything on underneath it. He quickly averted his gaze and tried to focus on her face, which was devoid of any makeup. For real no make up, not the fake kind of “no makeup” people post pictures of on their social media. It was obvious she had not been out of bed for long before he had come knocking, if at all.

  “Hi, Missus Acero, it's me, Thom, from yesterday.” He waited for recognition, or a response of some kind.

  “Thom from yesterday?” She sounded puzzled, and Thom was a little confused. There was no way she wouldn't remember meeting him less than twenty-four hours ago. Was there?

  “Uh, yes, we met yesterday when I came over, at your daughter's request, to talk to you about the prosthesis for your daughter.” He almost ended that with an upward inflection, like a question, but caught himself just in time.

  “Yes, Thom, I know who you are. I was questioning introducing yourself as 'Thom from yesterday.' Anyway, what can I do for you, Thom from yesterday?” She hunched a little, and drew her robe tighter around her torso.

  “I am terribly sorry to bother you, but I seem to be having trouble getting a hold of Hayley, and was wondering if you could help me.” Thom stood on the porch, wondering if this was as far as he was going to get. The early morning wind was brisk, and his jacket didn't seem to be blocking enough of the cold. And Marianne was wearing nothing but a robe. The cold air must be bothering her even more, but she just stood in the doorway, not inviting him inside.

  “Have you tried going to her place and... whatever you're doing? Confessing your love or whatever?”

  Thom felt like a chastised child, even though she was off the mark on his reason for tracking down Hayley at this hour. “Actually, that's where I was hoping you could help me. I do not seem to have her address on file, so I was unable to meet her at her place today, and her phone goes straight to voicemail, so I think it's off.” Thom prayed he would not have to elaborate on his lie. He hated lying, but he could not come up with anything close enough to the truth to consider it anything other than a lie.

  Marianne sighed, seeming to realize that the best way to get Thom out of here was to just give him the information he was looking for and send him on his way. Hayley could be angry with her later, if that's what she wanted, but for now Marianne wanted to go back to be
d.

  After getting Hayley's address, and saving it in his phone in her contact file, Thom thanked and bid farewell to Missus Acero, who shook her head at him as she closed the door, but Thom didn't see it as he rushed back to his car.

  Hayley didn't live far from her parents' house, and it took little time to arrive there. Thom was a little surprised to see how nice the apartment complex looked, although he didn't know what he had expected it to look like. He looked up at the height of the five floors, and tried to guess which window was Hayley's window. When he walked in, it felt more like a hotel than a suburban apartment, complete with a front desk, attendant and elevators. He nodded at the attendant behind the counter, but walked straight to the elevators and pressed the “up” button. He could feel the eyes of the attendant on his back, and he wished the elevator would arrive faster. When it finally did, he got in and pressed the button for the fifth floor. He was alone in the elevator for the ride up, and when it arrived at the fifth floor, he had to maneuver around a few adults and a gaggle of children, that may or may not have belonged to them, as they got in the elevator to go down. He followed the numbers down the hall until he reached the last door on the left, and went to knock, before he saw that there was a keypad. He pressed the call button and waited, this time for more than a minute, but there was no response. He pressed it again, certain he could hear it dinging behind the door, which meant that it was working. He waited, again, and got no response. He normally would have never tried to break in to anyone's apartment, but if she were truly missing, something inside could give them a clue. He started inputting numbers into the keypad. Beeps and red lights responded with each incorrect input, and it took less than a full minute to become an irritating activity. In frustration he hit star, zero, zero, zero, zero, and the keypad beeped once, the green L.E.D. came on, and he heard a click. He pushed gently, absolutely astounded that he had managed to get in.

  He nervously squeezed through the door, butterflies swelling from his stomach into his chest and back again. He had not expected to gain access, and now he felt the illicit thrill of being in someone's house without permission. He called out, softly, trying to maintain the pretense that he was uncomfortable, but secretly being more excited than he had been in a while. The apartment was an odd mix of clean spots and piles of random stuff. Clothes sat in a pile by the small hallway between two of the rooms on his right, and the couch had books and magazines scattered over it, with a small space in one corner open for sitting, but the coffee table was clear and clean. Coffee sat in the coffee pot on a counter covered with dishes, most of which looked dirty, but the rest of the kitchenette was clean. He opened the refrigerator, just generally being nosy, and saw that Hayley had little to no actual food. A couple of pizza boxes sat beneath some take out boxes at the bottom of the fridge, but the other shelves were almost completely empty. No alcohol, very few condiments, and not so much as enough of anything to make one good sandwich out of. He closed the refrigerator, and headed for the remaining rooms.

  He checked the bathroom, first. It was much like the other rooms he had seen, so far. The clean parts were clean, the messy parts nearly unusable. Thom had not had many girls in his life, but he had enough to know that, aside from the exceptional mess, this was a typical girl bathroom. Standard issue toiletries, hair implements, the obligatory brush full of hair, and various lotions held court on the sink counter. Hobby store decorations adorned the walls, and discarded feminine hygiene products took center stage in the small, bagless, rubbish bin.

  Disinterested, Thom moved on to the other rooms. It was a two bedroom apartment, but Hayley appeared to use one of the rooms as a walk-in closet. She had racks of clothes, racks of shoes, posters on the walls, mostly hidden from view by the aforementioned racks, and piles of clothes on the floor. Dirty or clean, Thom couldn't tell, and he had not reached the point in his life where he was low enough to start sniffing at ladies' clothing. The last room appeared to be the one she used as a bedroom. It held a king size bed that nearly came up to Thom's chest, a couple of nightstands on either side of it, and a dresser with a large television monitor on it. This room was surprisingly clean, compared to the others, although Thom thought it may have been that way simply because it was too sparsely populated to be anything other than clean.

  Thom sat on the corner of the bed, defeated. As much fun as it had been to get the illicit thrill, once it wore off, it just left the empty feeling that Hayley had actually been taken, and nothing in her apartment looked, even remotely, like a clue. He would have to talk to Charlie and see if...

  “Goddammit.” Thom had just realized that he did not get any contact information from Marianne Acero, so he did not know how to get in touch with Charlie.

  “Oh well,” He thought about how odd it was to be talking to himself out loud, “I'm not going back to bother Marianne, again.” He decided he would go to the restaurant, and see if he could get information from them, though he was skeptical.

  It took longer than he thought it would to get to the restaurant, and it was approaching what he believed to be lunch time. If they were busy, it might make it harder to convince them to give him Charlie's number. Although, if they were distracted, maybe they would think less about it. What if they wouldn't talk to him unless he bought something? Thom ran through several scenarios in his head, none of them good. By the time he had arrived at the restaurant, he had built the task into an unscaleable wall, and he was completely certain he did not want to go into the restaurant.

  Chapter 14: Charlene's Morning Shift

  Charlie almost knew it was a dream, but she had forgotten that fact as soon as she had known it. She lay in bed with Portland's head pressed against her breast. An eerie warm red light filtered through the open window, like a sunset over a lake somewhere near the Gulf of Mexico. Somewhere where it was humid. Somewhere south. The light reflected from her dresser was inverted, a reverse black and white fire. It's funny the limits we impose upon ourselves, she thought. She looked down at Portland's cold blue body and felt remorse, but for what, she could not remember. Someone came into the room and rearranged the fire of the dresser and somewhere in the distance someone was screaming, an endless, high-pitched oscillation. And there were war drums, pounding a march through her head, and the closet door slid open, revealing nothing. And Charlie woke up to her alarm ringing and the downstairs neighbor thudding something against her floor from below.

  “Fucking disturbing.” Charlie rolled over and hit the snooze button, and lay there for several minutes, dreading the thought of getting out of bed. She had been sweating, and the cool morning air coursing over her damp skin was pricking at her senses, but it was not unpleasant. A song was floating through her head, something very staccato with an exaggerated syncopation, and she knew fewer than half of the words, and so those were the only ones she could whisper-sing along with, as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She sipped from a cup of water that sat next to her alarm clock, and turned the alarm off, before rising to her feet and feeling her right shoulder creak. A shot of pain lit her up for a split second, before settling into a dull ache.

  At the mirror in the bathroom, she flexed the fingers of her right hand. They felt stiff, and she knew it was all in her head. Phantom stiffness that could not actually be there in her digital digits. She brushed her teeth with her robot arm, splashing it with the froth that spilled from her mouth, while she let the water in the shower get up to temp. The mirror began to fog from top to bottom, while she picked at the sleep in her eyes. She languished in the heat of the shower until it lost its heat, and she was forced to bathe in increasingly cold water. She shivered and felt her skin tighten in goosebumps, except for her right arm, as she got out of the shower and walked to the bedroom, leaving her naked body to dry in the frosty air.

  Waking up this early never failed to put Charlie in a foul mood, which would force her to pretend even harder to avoid upsetting early customers to the restaurant. She dressed in her work attire and blew her
hair dry while waiting for coffee to brew. She did not have time to finish the first cup before she had to leave for work.

  Out the door, she was greeted by an iron grey sky and a gentle wind that lowered the overall temperature by several degrees. She picked leaves off the damp, cold seat and tank of her bike, pulled a rag from her jacket pocket, and wiped as much visible dew from the seat as she could, and straddled the bike. It took a bit of work to get the bike to even start, and the amount of throttle it took to keep it running, she was sure, was going to get some neighbor to call the cops. None showed up before she tore off down the street, though, so she was in the clear, for now.

  By the time she got to work, the clouds had shifted enough to let small glimpses of sun through, but it was not enough to have warmed the air. Her knuckles were screaming in pain, and, added to the usual pain in her legs and back from the bike, she had the displeasure of the cold damp from the seat. Oh, yes, today was going to be a fine day. She rolled her eyes and clocked on under the watchful eye of the manager. He was a snooty bastard, but his saving grace was that he rarely spoke more than a sentence at a time, and even more rarely was that sentence pointed at her.

  Dejah had done her usual substandard job of closing the night before, forcing Charlie to re-clean the tables and chairs, then run a quick broom through the dining room before the first customers began to arrive. Manager Snoots had put on coffee and powered everything up, so she was at least prepared for the customers, today. Some mornings were a mad rush to get everything up and running, while making up for the incompetence of the previous crew. Charlie was just feeding her foul mood with these negative thoughts, and she was more certain than ever that, if it weren't for human labor paying her bills, the world would be better off if there were no more human laborers at all. They certainly weren't doing much to earn their keep, which might have been fine in the past, when they were the only game in town, but was completely unacceptable now.