A gunshot rang out in the short hallway and then silence.
Water dripped onto the tiled floor of the bathroom, mixing with a pool of blood and gunpowder. A man stood in the doorway to the bathroom, facing another vacant doorway across from him. The floor was coated in a layer of warm, bloodied water. Soon his feet were wet up to his heel. He stood there with a vacant expression, ignoring the warmth that reached his ankle. The doorway ahead of him was filled in a gloomy veil.
Two hands emerged through the darkness, followed by two arms and then a head masked by long brown hair. The man and the figure faced each other.
Silent.
Unaware of the presence of the other.
A faint light entered the hallway as a cold wisp of air blew over a few hazel strands, revealing youthful features. A soft and curved jawline and rosy lips. A tear streaked down its face and dripped onto the pooling water. The air was frigid and fed a growing darkness.
The figure’s two bright eyes glistened, but were constricted by the surrounding dark.
Frost began to grow on the walls and the warm water turned frigid and biting. The man’s feet were frozen to the floor.
A loud crack echoed as the flow of air was instantly ceased. The walls became hazy and foggy with the absence of air. The area was suffocating. The bright blue eyes floating in the mysterious doorway blurred into a pair of soft glowing lights. A shrill scream filled the entire hall until the man slipped downward toward the tile floor.
Darkness.
- - - - - - - - -
The eager journalist Corbin James spasmodically awoke from his bed. Sweat dripped down his young face, sticking to his medium length hair. He scratched his head and slicked back his bangs to look around his room.
Corbin’s bedroom was dark and cold in the early hours of the morning. He looked over at his electronic alarm clock that rested on his nightstand. The miniature green numbers blinking that it was six o’clock. I didn’t oversleep, he thought. The news made Corbin relax his startled heart and slow down his breathing.
The dim glow of street lights appeared through a window curtain by the end of his bed, illuminating white roadways outside.
The winter season was nearing a close, but Corbin felt like he would never escape the bitter cold of New England.
He saw the ice start to melt along the windowsills made of aged wood as the ancient oil furnace kicked back on with a clanking sound like a wrench striking a steel pipe. The defrosting panes of glass overlooked Main Street in Charlestown, New Hampshire nestled up to the Vermont border. The sparsely positioned homes, churches and businesses were all covered in a wintry white.
The floorboards creaked as he moved toward the bathroom. He felt the large temperature differences common in old New England homes. The floor was cold and a frigid breeze seemed to creep inside from all directions.
Corbin finished preparing for work and took out a comb to part his hair, covering an old scar that grazed across his left temple. He then placed his toothbrush in the cup next to the sink and left his toothpaste on a little nook, right behind an ornate angel carved into the top of his mirror. He took a deep breath. Here we go. My big day. He left his apartment and started his walk to work.
- - - - - - - -
Corbin trudged through the light snow toward two glass paned doors, each one imprinted with the Charlestown View name and logo in a semi-circle arch. It was only a few blocks down from his apartment, but the two-inch-deep snow made it feel like miles away.
Corbin smiled as he saw a familiar face trudge through the snow, “Hey Will.”
William Chase smirked and then adjusted his glasses.
“Hey, will this winter ever end?,” asked William, rubbing his arms.
Corbin shook his head, retaining his smile. He reached for the door and swung it open.
“So what’s the good word?” asked William
“I don’t know,” replied Corbin.
They walked inside and traveled up a steep stairwell to the second floor.
“Well any possible good stories to share with Mr. Richter?” asked William. “I’m sure he would be willing to put anything exciting in the paper.”
Corbin was silent.
“I heard from Jack at his store that possibly the town is going to renovate the building and continue to downsize the View.”
“Well, what would go into the newsroom?”
“I’m not sure,” replied William, “So best get in that story as soon as possible. It seems like were dropping like flies as each of us leave Mr. Richter’s office.”
Corbin pondered for a moment and then added, “Well, there were those teenagers that put that graffiti about the end of the world on Bakers Street.”
William snickered. “Yeah...you mean hooligans or terrorists.”
Corbin looked befuddled.
William sighed and then explained, “you see one thing you will learn about writing a feature, Corbin, is that ’you’ make the story. However miniscule, trivial or stupid the story may be...if you can make it ’your’ story than the world will never forget you. It’s a bit different than just taking pictures and writing literal captions.”
“What about you? Any good stories heading your way,” said Corbin.
“Don’t you worry about me. I have experience under my belt and a bit of tenure. I’m used to making mountains out of molehills.”
Corbin chuckled and shook his head, apparently confused by Will’s sense of humor.
They both entered the newsroom, which was open and spacious with four rows of identical cubicles and an office at the far end. The high ceiling housed oblong lighting fixtures that were straight out of a 1970s detective novel, which flickered now and again. The Charlestown View’s apparent distaste for keeping up with the 21st century. Surprisingly the room appeared incredibly busy although the staff continued to get smaller.
“Ah our Camelot awaits, Lancelot,” said William, taking in a deep breath.
Corbin replied, “Alright, but if this is Camelot you are definitely Lancelot and I’m Arthur.”
William was about to respond when he was interrupted by Corbin.
“Or on second thought you are more of a Merlin.”
William precariously touched his graying temples and groaned.
A light silence grew between them that was broken by a low gruff tone that boomed from behind them, “James, can I see you?”
Corbin faced his boss and replied, “Yes, Mr. Richter,”
Mr. Richter’s large bald patch shimmered as he glanced up at Corbin through his rectangular spectacles. His wild white hair responding to his quick head movements.
Corbin stiffened and threw away his smile.
“It will only be a minute,” said Mr. Richter, heading toward his back office.
Corbin followed his portly, old boss and noticed his peers diverting their paths from them with anxious and feared looks.
This is it. I’m being fired
Mr. Richter let out a low grunt as he passed by his frightened employees accompanied with a light nod of his head.
Corbin swallowed a large lump in his throat. Knots formed in his stomach.
Mr. Richter opened the door to his office.
“Sit down, James” he said in a calm voice, pointing over to a leather chair opposite his desk.
Corbin’s body sank into the comfy cushions and avoided eye contact with his boss.
Mr. Richter walked over to his desk, staring out at the winter scene displayed through tall, rectangular windows. He seemed puzzled for a moment, continuing to stare out at some apparently intriguing site on Main Street.
Corbin began to perspire. The walls of Mr. Richter’s office appeared to shrink and close in on him. He was trapped.
“Corbin,” said Mr. Richter.
The young reporter shook awake at his name and focused his attention on Mr. Richter’s desk. It was topped with pink slips and termination notices.
Mr. Richter took a long pause which became uncomfortable. He appeared to be deep in thought.
Corbin weighed out his options. What’s taking you so long? Just say it, “Your fired”...”your done”.
Mr. Richter motioned toward him.
“James, I want you to write a piece in the paper concerning the two-hundredth anniversary of Charlestown that will also be submitted to the New Hampshire Gazette for their piece on historical towns... Do you think you can do that?”
“Yes, sir... Of course, sir,” said Corbin.
Mr. Richter nodded and gruffly added, “Good, it’s not common that I would assign a feature like this to a new employee, but you have proven yourself over the past few months...You have worked hard and stayed long hours....you have shown commitment.” He now faced Corbin. “I want you to focus on famous persons in the town and create a profile on each of them....talk about what they had accomplished, how long they have lived here, why we should know these people...The New Hampshire Gazette doesn’t come our way often so this must make the Charlestown View look like an exciting paper.” His voice seemed light yet urgent.
There was a short silence between them. Mr. Richter wasn’t the most sociable of men usually keeping his word count limited, probably the frugal habit of an editor, as if words cost him too much oxygen or money.
Corbin was frozen in his comfy chair. Famous people?...Two-Hundredth anniversary?...New Hampshire Gazette?... Is this real?...I’m not fired?
Mr. Richter cleared his throat. “Now why don’t you get started. I want the stories on my desk Monday, a month from now.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Corbin as he lifted himself off his seat. He reached Mr. Richter’s door.
Mr. Richter called to him before he exited the room. His face appeared concerned. “For now the knowledge of this story stays in this room...Our relationship with the New Hampshire Gazette is paper-thin.”
Corbin tried to contain his smile and nodded.
“Alright...get started then,” Mr. Richter said.
Corbin entered the newsroom with a new-found confidence. He floated seamlessly toward his desk. He imagined he was King Arthur riding home from a victorious battle.
His reverie was interrupted by an uncomfortable sound from behind him, “So Corbin, what did the old man want with you?”
Corbin flinched and then turned to see Owen Hemingsworth, another new employee.
Owen rubbed his gold tie clip with anticipation, nearly removing his initials, OMH from the plating.
“Nothing, Owen. He just wanted to make sure that I was keeping up with my photographs,” Corbin said.
“Oh, yeah your little bridge story...You sure that was all?”
Corbin sighed. “Yes, that was all.”
Owen held his chin. “You sure...because we all know why Mr. Richter calls people to his office these days.”
“I guess I am just the lucky one that got away,” replied Corbin.
Owen’s thin face grinned, “I’ll find out at some point, what you are up to...I always do.” He then slipped away.
The last words seemed to sting Corbin. He precariously walked to his desk. How the heck did you know I was doing bridges this time? This is like the Fort story all over again. He sat down at his desk and faced his dusty computer monitor. But I have bigger fish to fry. He smiled. I just need to keep this from reaching Owen. This is it. My first big feature. Okay let’s admit it, this story is not big enough for the New York Times, but for the New Hampshire Gazette this is the story of the decade. He powered on his computer and heard his monitor beep and then crackle to life. So now I just need to find famous people... I guess a web search couldn’t hurt.
Soon the cacophony of the busy newsroom helped pass the time as he waited for his computer to boot up.
“So it looks like we survived...you are truly King Arthur,” said William, pretending to praise Corbin.
Corbin looked up and lightly grinned. “Doesn’t King Arthur get killed in the end?”
William paused and then added, “Yes.”
“So then in your Arthurian world, what do you think just happened to good old King Arthur?” asked Corbin.
William’s eyes grew wide. “Well maybe instead of Mordred, Mr. Richter is your Lady of the Lake and just handed you Excalibur?”
Corbin laughed. “Yeah, thanks for putting that image in my head.”
“Oh come on, I’m sure Mr. Richter would look good in a ...” William trailed off as he saw a woman approaching them from Mr. Richter’s office.
William was incredibly quiet.
Corbin was befuddled. “What is it?”
William began to whisper, “It’s Veronica, she’s coming this way.”
Corbin froze in his seat, looking at the progression of loading screens on his monitor. After a few moments, a prompt appeared for him to plug in his user name and password. He couldn’t turn.
“Mr. James,” came the stern voice of Veronica.
Corbin slowly turned around in his computer seat and gave Veronica a smile.
The young woman was there in an instant, gliding across the newsroom like a figure skater on ice without a hint of exhaustion on her arrival. Her straight silky, black hair flowed down passed her shoulders and soft pale skin, creating a clear contrast in her features.
She looked up at William, slightly irritated.
William cleared his throat.
Corbin acknowledged her. “Hello Veronica, How are you today?”
She outstretched her hand to give Corbin a manila envelope. A blank expression held on her face. “Mr. James this is for you.”
“Oh thank you,” said Corbin, placing the envelope on his desk.
Veronica cleared her throat. “Good day, Mr. James.” She then abruptly turned around and left.
Owen crept from behind a cubicle and called out to her, “Hey Veronica, How are you doing today?”
She kept walking without missing a step toward the back of the newsroom.
Owen let out a defeated sigh and looked over at Corbin and William who were gazing back at him with smirks on their faces. He quickly stood upright and callously walked away.
William looked over at the envelope that Corbin held in his hand. “Wow...must be something big. So what does he have you doing?”
“Sadly for you, there is nothing I can say,” replied Corbin.
William smiled, but appeared a bit distraught. “So one of those secrets you have with the Lady of the Lake, huh? …. Alright, well I’ll let you get to it. My King.”
Corbin waited until William was gone and then precariously opened the envelope. It was a list of names. He read it silently:
James Broderick, Joseph Glidden, Richard Sylvester, Phineas Harrison, and Carlton Fisk.
Some of the names seemed familiar to him, but the rest left a complete blank in his memory. A slight pain entered his head, but subsided quickly as he reverted his focus off the paper.
Corbin read the names over again, but this time the roster seemed to continue to the back of the page. How am I going to get all of this done in a month?...Features need time...right? He started to plug in his log-in information onto his computer. I guess I’m in for some overtime.
After a deep breath, Corbin decided to start with the first name on the list.
- - - - - - - - -
Corbin didn’t get home until late that night exhausted from his new assignment. How am I going to get all of this done in thirty days? He stumbled into the bathroom, forgetting to close the door behind him and started to wash his face. After he was finished, he reached up at the top to get his toothpaste and began to brush his teeth. He looked into the mirror, his vision slightly blurred by his fatigued eyes.
His hand towel fell to the floor by his feet, his hands gripping tightly to the edge of the sink as his eyes widened, peering into the reflective glass. Displayed on the clear surface of the mirror was a young woman with blond hair. She glanced over at the mirror and then walked into the entrance of his bedroom.
He quickly turned.
His blood pumping, filling his entire body with adrenaline.
No one was there.
Corbin returned his gaze to the mirror.
She was gone.
“God, I need to get some sleep,” he said to himself.
Even though it was for only a split second, he could remember the woman’s face vividly. Her long blond hair that fell passed her shoulders, dark blue eyes that glimmered in the light, and her pink flowing robe that was held loosely over her nightgown.
He searched his bedroom and saw that it was vacant. I must be imagining things. It’s been a long day. His heart calmed down and he went to bed.
That night, the unknown woman filled his thoughts and dreams, keeping him away from the calm shores of slumber.
- - - - - - - -
The next morning, at the Charlestown View, Corbin sat at his desk, cluttered with fifty-year-old newspaper clippings. He was looking up information on the actor James Broderick. His eyes had begun to strain after a few hours. He yawned frequently as he scanned over articles that talked about Broderick’s many acting accomplishments. This guy has to be the most famous person from here. He worked for an hour looking up the Broderick family until an old, flimsy packet that appeared to have been older than the town itself, was plopped on top of his desk. Loose paper shavings fell off the packet as if it was shedding its own skin. The ink in places was faded to the point that it was almost illegible.
“I thought you would be interested in this,” hissed Owen. He folded his arms and grinned.
Corbin asked, “What is this?”
“It’s a story about your apartment.”
Corbin scanned over the title, “J. Thornton gunned down.” He then precariously asked, “How do you know where I live?”
Owen scrutinized him and then added, “I live in the building across from yours...Remember...We talked out on Main Street a few months ago when you first moved in.”
Corbin sighed, “Oh yes.. I remember.”
Owen continued, “I got to talking with some of my neighbors this morning and found out that there was a murder in your building a long time ago...So I just had to go and look for it and within our old archives room, I found that.”
Corbin nodded his head, nearing the end of his patience with him. “Thank you, Owen. I’ll give it a read.”
Owen continued, “Well I thought it was perfect timing...considering you avoided your end with Mr. Richter. I guess we can say this guy wasn’t able to avoid his...maybe it’ll give you some perspective.”
Corbin’s hands balled up into fists. “Thank you Owen, but I have some work to do.”
Owen nodded his head. “Yeah, you know if I knew that my place could be haunted, I wouldn’t be able to get any sleep.”
Corbin raised his voice. “Yes, thanks Owen. I’ll get to it.”
Owen sneered, “Alright, I’ll talk to you later.”
Corbin relaxed his tense muscles and took a deep breath. Man that guy...I just want to punch him in the face. How does he get the nerve to talk to me like that after what he did? He grabbed the story Owen gave him and slammed it on his computer. Paper shavings spewed upward and littered his desk. I need to get back to work.
- - - - - - -
A week went by in a flash yet the cold, bitter winter continued to leave a fluffy chilling reminder on the New England roads. Corbin was now only three weeks away from his deadline and he hadn’t achieved as much as he hoped.
Corbin was at his desk when he heard Owen’s name called over by Mr. Richter. He turned and saw the young reporter enter through the glass pane door. His face bleached white and holding an anxious expression. Yeah let’s see if you can avoid your end. As they disappeared behind the door, Corbin continued his work, but every few minutes looked over at the glass door. Why does Mr. Richter want to see Owen? A grin curled on his face. Is he finally firing him? He should have a month ago. Karma. After about five minutes, Corbin saw Owen leaving the office, his face brimming as he disappeared to his desk.
Corbin grew concerned. Don’t tell me that he gave Owen a secret assignment too!...I need to know what he got. He rose from his chair and went to find Veronica. He searched the archives room. The dark room. The old broadcast room. Then the break room. Veronica stood near the coffee machine, stirring cream into her steaming cup.
“Hey Veronica, how are you today?” Corbin asked politely.
Veronica sighed, “Hello Mr. James, I am fine.”
Corbin smiled and paused. How do I ask her?...Geez, I’m not good at these things.
“So what can I do for you, Mr. James?”
Corbin looked around and lowered his voice, “Well, I was wondering about the bridge story I was working on for your uncle.”
“You mean Mr. Richter,” Veronica said.
Corbin nodded his head. “Yes, Mr. Richter... I was wondering if he would like me to take more photos of the Cheshire Toll Bridge and if there is any on spec stories I should be aware of.”
Veronica appeared confused. “Why ask me this and not Mr. Richter himself? I am only an intern.”
“Well I know Mr. Richter likes to see results and I don’t want to bother him until I am officially done...I want to do well here, Veronica. I like my job here.”
Owen slithered into the break room. “Hello there, Veronica,” he said.
She looked away from him and focused on Corbin. “I will ask him, but I need to go.” She glided out of the break room.
Corbin shared an awkward glance with Owen and then followed her out. At least there seems to be something Veronica and I have in common.
- - - - - - - - -
Corbin returned home late and was exhausted, with only four fully written profiles. Veronica did not return with news from Mr. Richter, but he knew that his boss appreciated people who ask to do more work.
Corbin decided to have a few beers and watch television to soothe his nerves. He rubbed his aching wrists as he watched an apparently dull episode of Wheel of Fortune that put him to sleep.
A few hours had passed when he awoke in a groggy state. He checked his watch and started when he saw the hour hand placed a few hours passed his usual bedtime.
I need to get to bed! Did I really sleep for four hours? In a hectic rush, Corbin started to brush his teeth. He looked up into the mirror.
Ding!
His toothbrush fell into the sink. Toothpaste dripped off the edges of his petrified lips.
Looking straight at him through the reflective surface was the blonde-haired woman that had faded from his memories. She was smiling within the doorway and then walked toward the mirror.
Corbin was frozen in place. His heart was racing, stimulating his intoxicated mind. Over his own reflection, the woman’s face filled the entire glass surface. Corbin’s heart started to beat faster and harder as his muscles constricted him from moving, and a presence surrounded him like a soft and warm cloud. He studied the reflective glass before him and was able to make out more details about the woman’s face. The freckles on her nose, her silver earrings and that this time she was wearing a blue robe. Above all else, what surprised him was her beauty. How for a split second he was afraid of her and yet attracted to her. Her reflection started to move about within the bathroom. She flipped up the knob to turn on the shower and began to take off the blue robe, revealing her underwear. She had the slim figure of a track runner. She had smooth, young skin that complimented her curves and edges. Her long blond hair reached the middle of her back.
Corbin grew uncomfortable as he scanned her body. She appeared real to him. He could sense her presence behind his back.
She didn’t acknowledge Corbin and motioned her hands behind her back to unsnap her bra.
Corbin closed his eyes. What is happening right now? He stood there for a few moments. It was silent.
“Okay I’m going to leave now,” he said, slowly pacing backwards.
Corbin turned and then peeked in her direction.
Nothing.
He sighed. Man, I really need to get some sleep.
Corbin returned to his bed, but again his mind remained restless. He tossed and turned, thinking of the young blonde-haired woman. Her eerie and ghostly appearance. Her body and smile. Am I truly losing my mind?