Chapter Three #3
I stumble through the door, hoping to sit down where I can breathe for a minute, when a constellation of multicolor lights blinks at me.
I fumble for the light switch and stare at what can only be described as a small armory.
Tasers of varying lengths and zapping ability hang neatly from wall hooks, along with batons, clubs, and an honest-to-god mace.
A long desk flanks the wall, its multilevel shelves stuffed with radio equipment, receivers and transmitters, a microphone on a boom arm hunching over a small, sleek laptop.
A low hum of frenetic, excited voices escapes various speakers.
“Y’all, this is the big one—”
“—if you can get off yer shitter, it’s time to gather arms and bug out—”
“—the virus is mutating at an unreal pace, becoming more and more virulent as it ravages America—”
She listens to amateur newscasts?
A speaker to my right emits a staticky crackle, then an old man’s voice comes on.
“CQ, CQ, CQ, Maisie-girl, you back yet? Did the fella put out, or are you still a virgin?”
The old man cackles as I stagger back, my hand flying to the doorframe for support.
“Everett? What’re you—” Maisie’s voice cuts off behind me.
I whip around, stumbling over my own too-large feet.
Her eyes are wide, mouth hanging open, hands stuffed with condoms hanging limply at her sides.
But the large whiteboard next to the door rips my gaze from hers, horror mounting as I scan the information, listing all manner of supplies, with calculations of pounds of foodstuffs, then doubled at the bottom with the words “Pandemic mate??” A few scribbles later: “Purchase zip ties.”
“Oh my god!” I try to swallow, but my throat is so dry, I sputter out a cough instead. “Are you—are you trying to Misery me?!”
“Misery you? What are you talking about?” Maisie frowns and takes a step forward, stopping abruptly when I throw my hands up to ward her off. The hurt in her eyes is sharp and sudden, and I feel like a massive asshole.
Then I remember the mace on the wall.
“Misery! The movie with Kathy Bates? The Stephen King novel that was adapted in 1990 into an absolute masterpiece of film?!”
“I haven’t seen it.” Maisie’s shaking her head, still confused. “Why?”
“CQ, CQ, CQ, Maisie-girl,” the old man tries again, and we both flinch back from the sudden intrusion of the invisible third participant in this conversation. “Dying to know if this professor’s bunker material, radio me when you get back.”
Bunker? Was Maisie going to seduce me, then transport me to some…some bunker?!
“This was a mistake, I knew this was a mistake. I have to go, now.”
Maisie’s perfect winter-morning eyes blink, filling with tears.
Disoriented, she shuffles out of the doorframe to let me pass, thank god, and I squeeze by her, my stupid, massive erection accidentally grazing her hip as I go.
The contact sends a stinging surge of need down my shaft, deep into my groin, as my idiotic cock sends ridiculous thoughts to my head, like maybe the story wouldn’t be called Misery if Maisie was the one holding you captive?
I’m not quite running for the door, fingers dumbly smashing buttons in the Lyft app as I slip my coat back on.
“Look, I’m sorry to run out, but I’m just not—ready—for all—this.
” I gesture at her, the crazy room beyond, some grumpy old man waiting for us in a bunker, and her hands full of condoms, though my cock insists it’s ready for those.
Her chin is trembling, and I bury my gaze in the phone buzzing in my hand instead.
We cannot complete your Lyft request at this time. Please try again later.
I bark out a short laugh, slightly hysterical. “No rides! How weird. I’ll just—walk, I guess!”
My house is six miles away, but what other option do I have?
My teeth grit together.
Sandeep’s. The asshole who got me into this mess lives a mile away, tops.
“I…could give you a ride?” Maisie’s voice has gone soft and hurt, and I could punch myself in my own stomach for upsetting this beautiful, kind, absolutely insane woman.
“No! No, I’m sorry, I mean—that’s very nice. Thank you. But no. My friend lives nearby. I’m just gonna—go—um.”
I strain at the door handle, but of course it’s locked fifteen different ways and refuses to budge.
I almost scream until Maisie smacks a green button that says Exit next to the door, and I stumble out into the hallway.
It’s not empty now—there are two people slumped over on the floor at the end, but I don’t stop to ask them if they’re all right.
They’re clearly not. Nothing’s all right, and I almost got Miseryed, and as if that’s not bad enough, my stomach’s killing me.
Everett: SANDEEP, OMG.
Sandeep: what? she’s hot! She’s into health food! She seems nice!!
Everett: She’s a DOOMSDAY PREPPER, SANDEEP. SHE WAS GOING TO CAPTURE ME FOR PROGENY SURVIVAL AND TAKE ME TO A BUNKER. A BUNKER!!
A garbled laugh of despair exits my throat. Me, in a bunker? What does she want, a list of who should’ve won Best Director for the last ten years of the Academy Awards? I’m useless.
I hammer out another text as I shoulder through the door out onto the street.
Everett: AND SHE’S A VIRGIN??
Sandeep: OMG NO
Everett: Laugh it up, jerk. No Lyfts available, so I’m on my way to your place to puke all over your bathroom.
Sandeep: Join the club, man. been lying on top this tile floor for hours. Thinking of popping the question.
Everett: get ready to grovel for my forgiveness. Forever.
Sandeep: I’ll start practicing now.
Sandeep: Be safe out there, man. Shit’s getting real weird.