I
He had been sitting alone at a corner table of The Cheesecake Factory for the last hour. A plate with a cheesecake barely touched was in front of him. He signaled to the waitress and asked for a refill. It was his fourth cup of coffee.
He glanced at his watch. He was starting to get annoyed. He was also feeling a sense of trepidation, he did not know why. He rechecked the text. It did say 6. How long was he supposed to wait? The place was starting to get crowded. One of the busboys stared at him while passing by. He suddenly felt self-conscious. He found he had absent-mindedly stabbed at the cheesecake and turned it into a mess. He threw down some dollars to cover the tab and stood up. He did not intend to wait any longer. To hell with her!
He wondered what next. He supposed he could call her. It went directly to voicemail. The Windsor Tennis Club was at some distance. But when she herself had set the time and place to meet, shouldn’t she know how long it would take to reach? Should he drive down Clarksville Rd and take a look? She did say it was important. He had no plans for the evening after all.
He tried to remember what she had said last night, the only time when they had talked. She said she had found him in the Yellow Pages. He smiled again thinking of that conversation. Yellow Pages! Who consults Yellow Pages anymore? Nowadays, if anyone wants to hire a private investigator, they google or maybe browse Craigslist. He was, however, neither online nor listed on Craigslist. He and his old-fashioned one-man private investigator agency could only be found while flipping through the Yellow Pages. Some snickered and called him a fossil, but he liked the old ways best.
At the corner, where the road diverted to Lawrence Dr, he stopped. He was near that place, the American Cyanamid Agricultural Research. She had muttered about something weird going on and then clamped up abruptly. His last paying client was more than three weeks back and it left barely anything after rent and utilities. So, when she had texted the place and time for the meeting, it was impossible to turn her down. Especially since, right after their talk, she had promptly made the online transfer of five hundred dollars that he demanded. Getting his financials connected to this online crap was one of his best decisions, he chuckled thinking of the day he decided and then managed to do it. It took time, but then time was all he had.
He checked his watch, and then his phone again. It was close to ten and she had neither called nor texted back. Even if she had reached The Cheesecake Factory after he left, wouldn’t she have tried to get in touch with him? He supposed he did feel somewhat obligated. That’s why he was driving towards the Windsor Tennis Club where she said she worked as a receptionist. But why was he going? Wouldn’t it be more logical to wait to see if or when she resumed contact? He had taken the money, come to the meeting at the agreed time and she did not show up. He had even called and failed to reach her. What more did he owe?
He tried to recall what he knew about the American Cyanamid Agricultural Research. It was some abandoned research facility that had been closed for almost 30 years. Not many people were probably left in town who remembered it or perhaps even had once worked there. It used to be a big deal but its heyday and fall from grace were both long past. She had sounded agitated on the phone, but refused to give any details, just insisting that they met. It did not seem like a promising case but then she had paid up the steep retainer. No questions, no haggling. He had liked that.
He was jolted back to the present. He had been driving without thinking. But instead of going to the Windsor Tennis Club as intended, he found himself parked outside the gates of the abandoned research facility. Even with no moonlight and clear sky, there was not enough darkness. He also seemed to be hearing something. He stopped his Ford Explorer and switched off the headlights. No, he had not been mistaken. In a place forsaken and desolate, there was a glow of some sort and a distinct humming noise. He wiped some sweat off his brow. There was no living soul anywhere around. A sudden unrelated thought flashed through his mind. He had felt a similar stab of anxiety without reason when she did not show up for the meeting.
He did not know why he looked up but what he saw left him slack-jawed. The hair stood at the back of his neck. A strange luminescence had engulfed his entire car like a spotlight. The humming noise had grown louder and ominous. His heart ached from beating so fast as his bulging eyes were transfixed at the unfolding scene. It did not make sense. His brain screamed for air and comprehension. He opened his dry mouth, breathless and suffocating. His scrambled mind cleared just before the end as he slurred his last words:
- The sky… the sky… it’s pink!
II
She glanced behind and quickened her steps. So far, no one seemed to be following her. In the last hour, she had witnessed something incredible and her senses still jangled painfully from trying to process it all, and failing. It now seemed impossible that the day had started out like another normal morning, except that, despite misgivings following a night of bad dreams, she had texted and confirmed the meeting with the detective.
She cursed herself and the curiosity that always left her depleted and hurt, and yet, she was a sucker for it. Last time, her impulsive inquisitiveness had revealed her fiancé’s infidelity with her best friend. Unable to deal with the fallout, she had unceremoniously left everything behind and moved here, even landing a job within the week. But now, it was not the loss of people she loved that was at stake. This time it was likely to cost her life.
As she crouched in the shadows of a dark corridor, she remembered the cursory warning she had willfully ignored. The janitor at the Windsor Tennis Club was old and they had become kind of friends in the two months she had been at her job. She liked the company of old people. She loved listening to their stories. The old man had first told her about the American Cyanamid Agricultural Research during one of their usual lunchtime tete-a-tetes.
It had to be an urban legend, she had thought, and her curiosity had been piqued. Of course, it all sounded mysterious and any sense of menace, if suggested at all, was very vague. But if the danger was not real, then why had she felt anxious and the need for secrecy? Why had she insisted that the detective first met with her before telling him all she knew? She stifled a whimper as a sinister chittering sound came from the other end of the corridor, distinct from the loud, incessant humming that engulfed the silent night outside.
Only if she had told someone. But then she had no friends except the janitor and knew no one socially or well enough in this town. Reconnecting with the past which she so painstakingly tried to block out, made no sense at that time. But now, in retrospect, she wished she were not that proud and stupid. The detective had seemed and then sounded alright over the phone which had felt oddly reassuring but was still an unknown quantity. Now it was too late!
She had dropped her phone somewhere while running and stumbling across the building. She was trapped in the nightmarish maze of this place! They would find her eventually. She thought for a moment of making a run for the window and jumping out of it, but even she was unconvinced of effecting a successful escape that way. She was too afraid to move, and the fear of getting discovered, if she stayed where she was, was no less terrifying.
Suddenly there seemed a flutter of excitement in the air with an outburst of high-pitched chittering amidst that constant, unnerving humming sound that was giving her a headache. Her panic was rising by the second and she steeled herself to just spring and run. Then an abrupt and utter silence fell that did nothing to calm her nerves. Something must have happened out there. Had they discovered her and this uneasy quietness foreshadowed a stealth attack?
In the end, her curiosity was stronger than dread and she peeked. An eerie silence and pitch-black darkness greeted her. No one was there. But she knew she could not just walk out of the door if she wanted. For the moment, though, they had left her alone.
She walked up unsteadily to the window drawn by a glow that faintly lit the panes. When she reached, the awaiting scene jarred all her senses with a debilitating shock. Outside the perimeter of the building, there was a Ford Explorer with doors wide open. Only the area where the car stood was lit up while the adjoining areas were engulfed in the blackest darkness. The light was coming from a portion of the sky directly above. When she looked at the pinkness of that strange night sky, she finally knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that it had been no urban legend. It was true!
She shuddered. How did she get mixed up in this? She did not curse herself anymore. She was bereft of all feelings, Even the overwhelming terror of a few moments back seemed unreal. What she was witnessing was extraordinarily fantastic but her whole being was too numb to care. She saw the strange light from the overhead pink piece of sky beaming up a limp body. It was a man. His face was visible and his eyes were open.
She knew with a sickening certainty that he was not alive anymore. It was not just any man. His smart-looking photo, which he had sent to let her know what he looked like when they met, and the no-nonsense ad from the Yellow Pages had inspired her with confidence just one short day ago. Every fiber of her body strained as the chittering and the humming came back to life once again, but she could no more move than pigs could fly. The disbelief and terror in the lifeless eyes of the man whom she did not even know had drained her fight or flight reflex completely. It was all inconsequential now. He was dead, and she would soon join him!
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