The Black Chronicle (18 page)

              The office of Rue Morgue had never felt so foreign; so lonely before. Mary felt like a stranger walking its halls and got a glimpse of what it might all look like to outsiders. To those without a penchant for the macabre. Standing alone and staring at her plaques and posters of one of her most recent films, Death Maids, she had to finally agree with what she figured most people thought of it all along: It was all pretty fucking sick.

              Erin met her in the hallway with a venti extra strong-something-or-other which Mary gratefully accepted.

              “Lock the doors,” she instructed and made her way to her office.

              “Oh, okay, okay” Erin said, flustered and scrambled to get her keys out.

              “Are you going to tell me what's going on here?” Erin said, jogging to catch up to her.

              “I'm not supposed to talk about it.”

              Erin followed her into her office. It was clear she wasn't just going to let it go. And she deserved some kind of explanation.

              “Ugh! Okay! Look, there’s… a bad situation. Somebody dangerous has been harassing me.”

              “Another stalker?!”

              “Yeah. But this isn’t like the others. This is more serious than that.”

              “Really?” Erin said and took a seat across the desk from her and leaned forward with wide eyes as if listening to a ghost story around a campfire.

              “No, listen to me Erin. This isn't like the others. Those guys were just... fans. This guy is... it's serious okay. We need to be careful. I don't even know if I'm coming back in tomorrow or when I will be back in.”

              “But- but you need to come back in. I'm drowning here Mary. I can't do what you do. Martin doesn't want to help pick up the slack- by the way- I think we should replace him. I mean he's good at blogging whatever – but he's a dick. Not that it's my place to say who you should fire or not, it's just my opinion. As a friend, I'm telling you, Martin is a total dick. Seriously.”

              “Erin. I'm going to need you to take a breath, and please shut the fuck up for one second,” Mary said closing her eyes, trying to find her centre.

              “Sorry,” Erin said, embarrassed. “I don't mean to dump all this on you as soon as you get here. I'm just doing the best I can here and it's not enough.”

              “It's okay... Erin, I'm sorry.”

              “No, you’re right. I can't even imagine what you're going through right now.”

              “You have no idea.”

              “Do you want to talk about it?”

              “Not really.”

              “Okay, okay... Should we talk about Octobers issue then?”

              Mary really didn't want to talk about that either, but what choice did she have? This was her baby after all. She couldn't just let it die. There were employees to think about, and subscribers and advertisers who had already paid for ad space. This was her burden. Then something turned in her mind and she could see clearly what she had to do, what she
wanted
to do.

              “Octobers issue... yeah. Uh- do you think you could do this?”

              “Do what? Take care of the issue without your input? I guess I could but I- I don't know.”

              “No run the magazine.”

              Erin shrugged and stammered, looked this way then that, searching her memory and then her imagination, and finally had to conclude -

              “I suppose... I mean... Yeah. Yeah I can, I just need an assistant editor.”

              “Well we'll find you one.”

              “I don't understand.”

              “It's yours Erin.”

              “What is?”

              “The magazine. It's yours. I'm done.”

              “Oh my gosh!” Erin said covering her mouth with her little hand. “Is this situation really that bad? Are you going into hiding?” Then she pulled her head back and focused one eye down the ridge of her nose the way one does when they are trying to focus on something that's too close to their face. “What if he comes after me next?”

              “I don't think that's going to happen.”

              “Yeah, but how do you know? If you go into witness protection or whatever, I may be the next best thing.”

              “Erin, if I thought that was going to happen I would tell you. But if you don't want it-”

              “I'll do it!.. but really? This isn't a hypothetical?”

              “No it's definitely not. I want out of this industry. It's been too long Erin. You have worked side by side with me for years now. You love the industry, you've networked, you have all my contacts and I know you will do a great job.” 

              It was weird for Mary to hear herself saying those words. She didn't know if she felt sad, or relieved or what. But she did know this was the right choice. How could she carry on with this career after what had happened to Cindy? It would be hard enough for her family not to blame her for all this. How much more so if she didn't finally acknowledge how demented it all was. And it
was
. She wanted to tell Erin that but knew she wouldn't understand. Not to mention she didn't want to draw attention to herself by just sinking the magazine. This was the only way she could quietly just fade away. 

              “I wish you would stay. I mean I'm flattered but I know how much you love this mag.” Erin said, oscillating bizarrely between pity and excitement.

              “
Loved,
Erin. I want to do other things with my life.”
Before Mister kills me.

              “
What about money? How will you get paid?”

              “We will settle on a price. Something you will find fair. I can take a percentage of profits until it's paid off. And I've been careful with my money. I will be fine.”

              “wow this is... kind of scary.”          

              Mary guffawed and kicked off her shoes.
Right, scary
.

              “Can you please call Warren and have him set up a time for us to meet with him so he can get started drawing up the paper
work?”

              Recess was a war zone. Children running and screaming, jumping and twisting, little tribes of four and five, hands sticky from snacks of fruit and candy, mingling and mixing, running and skipping. 

Sugar and a briefness of freedom fuelling a wild frenzy to absorb as much worth from their all too short break from the mundane environment of books and rules and manners.

Sitting with his back against the large weeping willow at the far end of the schoolyard, Simon watched it all peripherally, listening to the din of gleeful madness and hoping that if he didn't observe it too intently they in turn wouldn't notice him. Though that never lasted.

              “What are you writing?” A boy asked from somewhere behind him. Simon turned to find a small group of red faced boys, sweaty and humming with that crazed kind of energy boys get when they horseplay. There were four of them and Simon expected the recess to take a sudden turn for the worse but he couldn't find any meanness in their faces so he cleared his throat and said:

              “Uh- just – some stories.”

              “Stories? What kind of stories?”

              And then a lump grew in his throat and Simon felt very embarrassed.

              “No, nothing... It's nothing.” he forced out.

              “Nothing? You said stories... Can I read it?” The boy asked and Simon could see the bully-glimmer in his eyes now. He was suddenly aware of how big the boy was. Maybe not that tall but kind of beefy, his wrists were thick, his body square and heavy.

              “No, it's just... no... Sorry I got to go.” Simon said, and calmly got up trying his best not to shake. He wanted to run but he knew they would catch him. If he just excused himself politely then maybe he could kind of trick them into not getting excited.

              And then one of the boys was ripping the notebook from his hands.

              “Give it!” Simon yelled.

              One of the boys tripped him and he landed on the grass so hard that it knocked the wind right out of him. He sucked at the air uselessly, two then three times before he could finally fill his lungs again, and by then one of the boys was on top of him.

              “Maybe you're writing love poems,” He said, sitting on his chest and tearing the pages out of the book one by one.

              “Feed it to the worm.” One of the boys said, and then someone else joined in.

              “Feed it to the worm!”

              And then they were all chanting, like they were repeating a spell which would possess the bully to make him do their bidding.

              “Feed it to the worm! Feed it to the worm! Feed it to the worm!”

              And then one of the pages was in his mouth and Simon couldn't do anything about it. And when another pages was stuffed in he started to worry if he would choke to death.

              “Get off him!” Someone yelled. The bully on his chest was thrown off and Simon rolled onto his tummy where he spat out the paper.

              “Hey, what the hell are you doing?” The bully yelled.

              A very strong looking boy with blond hair and at least a half a foot taller than the other boys helped Simon to his feet.              

              “Get out of here. Leave him alone.” He said to the group of bullies.

              “What are you? His hero?”

              And then he said the coolest thing Simon ever heard in his life.

              “Yeah, I am a hero. And unless you want to get punched in the face you should do what I say!”

              The bully then looked back at his friends for help but by this point they looked just as scared as he did. The strong boy stood his ground and waited for the bully to make his move but he never did.

              “You're lucky worm,” the bully finally said and led the bully bunch away to find a new target.

              “Are you okay?” The blond haired boy asked once the other kids were out of earshot.

              “Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks.” Simon said and then tried to scurry away because he was so embarrassed that he had to be saved like a little girl.

              “Hey, where are you going?”

              “Uh, recess is almost over.”

              “Well it's not over yet. What's your name?”

              “Simon.”

              “I'm Johnny,” He said and reached out to shake his hand. Simon shook his hand which felt strong and sure. He wanted to ask him why he was being so nice to him but that was a stupid question. That's how people were supposed to be. But still, he wondered.

              “You shouldn't let those kids pick on you,” Johnny said.

              “I didn't really have a choice,”

              “Sure you did. You could have hit him or something.”

              “They were too big. It was just me against them.”

              “Well it's not like hitting back was going to make it any worst. They were already being mean to you.”

              And that made a lot of sense to Simon. This boy seemed smart. He must have been a couple of grades ahead of Simon. That would explain why he was so tall and strong.

              “Yeah, you're right,” Simon finally said because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

              “Don't worry,” Johnny said slapping Simon playfully on the back, “I won't let them pick on you. They're not that tough. They just want you to think they are.”

              “I know,” Simon said and he really did but he wasn't brave like him. Though it must be easy to be brave when you're so big.

              The bell rang and they both walked back to the school together. After that they would meet at the weeping willow at the far end of the field every recess. Simon would tell him about his stories or about his favourite cartoons and how one day he wanted to make his own cartoons and Johnny would teach him how to swing on the vines of the willow or the proper way to throw a football with your fingers in between the little laces so it would spiral in the air. Nobody would ever pick on him when Johnny was around but he knew they were still there, watching and waiting. But he didn't care anymore if they liked him or not, because he could finally say he had a real friend and that’s all he ever wanted.