Bottled Yellow Liquid #2
Jamie points at it with his thumb. “We need to change out a breaker in the box. None of the plugs in this hall are working.
Can I go ahead and do it?”
I nod.
Without missing a beat, Jamie pulls a little light bulb device from his toolbox and plugs it into the hallway’s outlet. “I’ll
be five minutes. Text me when that lights up.”
“Oh, sure.”
He stomps past me fast enough to create a draft, pulling a flashlight and screwdriver from his tool belt as he leaves the
apartment, which I didn’t expect.
Now I’m alone with Norm. Shit. He probably did overhear what Jamie said before. And he’s got something from my company on
his fridge. Is that where he keeps the corpses?
I occupy my time with staring at the thing that’s supposed to light up and try to pretend I am not in a possibly life-threatening situation.
I dare another glance at Norm. His headphones are back in their rightful spot on his head, pale pointy elbows poking out from either side of the chair as he clicks his game controller.
So long as he stays absorbed in his game, I should be okay.
No sooner than the thought crosses my mind, the powers that be seem to decide I haven’t been screwed with enough. A beeping
noise from the microwave is my only warning before darkness envelopes me.
It happens so fast that my brain takes a second to register that the power went out. It’s pitch black in here because Norm’s
blacked out all the windows with cardboard.
“NO!” Norm yells, or more like screeches, followed by a crash—I think his chair. “My game! My team.”
I hear the sounds of Norm’s tall body fumbling in my direction. I stumble backward, my heart instantly in my throat.
“Hold on,” I say. “Just stay where you are.”
The sounds of glass shattering makes me yelp.
“Fuck!” Norm cries out.
Somewhere beyond this unit, I hear the sound of doors opening. Other tenants must be coming out to see what’s happening.
I need to get out of here. I feel the apartment walls and make my way toward what I hope is Norm’s apartment door. To safety.
Meanwhile, Norm continues cursing and wailing.
Another beep sounds, and then the power surges on again, the lights flickering back to life. Norm snaps back into view. His
eyes are pressed shut, a sheen of sweat on his patchy pink-and-white forehead.
Then I notice the smear of red. Blood is dripping from his hand.
“What happened?” I ask, frozen in place.
Surrounding Norm is a pile of broken glass and yellow liquid. That crash I heard must have been the cup I thought was filled with pee.
“I knocked a glass over,” he stutters. “I cut myself trying to catch it too late.” He holds out his hand just enough that
it feels vulnerable. There’s a giant gash straight through the middle of his palm, blood pooling to the surface at incredible
speed.
I don’t mean to suck air through my teeth. “Do you have some kind of cloth?”
His eyes flash like the idea never occurred to him as he tentatively steps around the glass and makes his way to a kitchen
cupboard and pulls out a roll of paper towels.
Without announcement, the suite door bangs open and Jamie stomps back into the room. He looks at me and says, “I ended up
cutting the power for longer than my usual, but we should be all good now.” He moves toward the hall and starts assembling
his toolbox. “That place is done. Ready for across the hall?”
“You didn’t warn us the power would go out,” I hiss, gesturing toward Norm. “He’s hurt!”
Calling out Norm was obviously the wrong move, because he starts to bend into himself again, the mound of paper towels in
his grip slowly darkening. He seems seriously uncomfortable with so much attention from us strangers.
“Ya didn’t think I’d keep the power running to change a breaker, did you?” Jamie doesn’t wait for an answer as he pulls out
his iPad and taps it. “You ready, then?”
There’s nothing more I’d like to do than get the hell out of here, but Norm was intact when we showed up, and now he’s hurt,
and I feel like that’s gotta be my responsibility. “Um, I think he might need medical attention.”
Norm’s eyes widen at my words. “No, I’m okay,” he says to his feet. The paper towels he’s holding are already fully saturated.
They look like a crushed rose.
“Hey, let’s rinse you off.” I go to the kitchen sink and start running the tap, waving Norm over.
Jamie shifts on his feet. “I got a work order in Bankview coming up soon. How ’bout we schedule the rest of the appointments
for . . .” He stares at his iPad and continues. “I’m booked solid until June eighth. I can come back then.”
I look at Norm, at the sink, and resign myself to my fate. This quick fix isn’t going to be so quick after all.
“Okay, sure,” I say. “I’ll call you.”
Jamie stops in the doorway. “Hopefully with that much warning, you can have people actually let us in then.”
I fight the desire to say something back as he stomps out. It’s not like his winning personality was doing us any favors either.
Norm sticks his hand under the sink and we both wait a beat as the water cleans the wound.
“How’s it looking?” I ask.
Norm pulls his hand out for inspection. “It feels . . . okay. I think it’s, um, better.”
I wince at the sight of it. It’s very deep. He must’ve speared his hand hard. “Shit, looks like you’ll need stitches.”
Instantly his face goes taut. “I don’t need to go. I’m not . . . good at that.”
Just a few minutes ago I was speculating that this man may have a body hidden in here. Now he looks so frail I can’t imagine
him overwhelming anyone. He looks like he wants to disappear, like he needs a hug but wouldn’t know what to do with one.
“Norm, I really think you need to get this checked out.” There’s a plea in my voice. The guilt is clawing its way up my throat.
“No.” His tone is firmer this time. His eyes shift to the door. “I can, um, go to the twenty-four-hour clinic . . . when it’s
quieter. I just, not now.”
It’s the shaky airiness in his voice, the stiffness of his stance that does it. Obviously forcing him out into the world, or even the hall, where people are probably lurking to get a view, isn’t going to go well.
“Okay, yeah.” I nod. “Let’s get some gauze over it for now, then. You okay with me going to my place to grab some?”
“I have gauze under my bathroom sink. I’m fine, seriously.” His face is so pale. He presses a new paper towel to his hands
and this time there’s something more in his eyes than pleading. “Please,” he whispers, and I recognize it.
Shame.
My eyes shift to the broken glass and spilled juice. “I can help with the mess.” It’s a meager offering, my final attempt
to make things right.
He shakes his head. “Just leave it, Mona.”
My name in his mouth catches me. Of course he knows it now, since I’ve been messaging, but it still feels oddly familiar.
I remember again my company’s letterhead on his fridge. Has he been paying attention to me longer than I realized? No, that’s
silly—Norm seems too skittish to be a real villain. Maybe he came by the company for a pitch meeting in the past? Unlikely,
given his obvious fear of exiting the unit. Whatever is going on here, it sends prickles of unease down my spine.
I need to leave.
“Okay, well, take care,” I say.
He doesn’t lift his head as I make my way to the front hallway. From this angle my eyes are drawn to the open crack in the
hall closet’s door. Through it I spot two giant orange jerry cans. Why the fuck would anyone need to store that much gasoline in their apartment? Is he planning something messed up?
Instead of sticking around to contemplate this shit, I make my way out the door and close it behind me.
It seems like most of the residents went back into their apartments after the lights turned back on.
But my friend Carmen is leaning against his doorframe.
(Of course he was home!) He’s in a violation of sweats and a tank top—the kindest thing you could say about it is that it was probably white once.
“I heard all the commotion,” he says. “Everything okay?”
“Yep.”
He lowers his voice and leans toward me conspiringly, yet also creepily. “Don’t suppose you noticed any packages in there
with my name on them? This kid is suspect numero primo.”
I cringe back from him. “Nope. Nothing like that at all.”
“Was that joke of an electrician the inspector you’ve been trying to schedule?” he grumbles. “Ruined my movie with his power-outage
stunt.”
In the sliver of view of the apartment behind him, it looks like there are about a thousand pieces of furniture and junk strewn
about. The chef’s kiss is the haze of smoke clouding the air. I swallow my annoyance; I’m pretty sure he’s not a smoker, so
what the hell is he burning in there? “Sorry about that. Speaking of, can you let me know a good time to—”
A moaning sound comes from inside his suite. It sounds like a very . . . enthusiastic woman.
Carmen’s face goes red. “Excuse me. Like I said, I was watching a bit of a film before all of this.” His eyes cut to me accusingly.
“A documentary.”
He turns around and closes his suite door hard.
Suddenly, I wish that electricity wasn’t an actual force in the universe. Something that needed maintenance.
And I’m so exhausted at the idea of it all. It shouldn’t be this hard. Wouldn’t be this hard, if these were normal people.
When I get back to my apartment, I plop onto my couch. Ernest sidles up to me and presses his nose to my palm, so eager to
smell the world of bullshit I was just in.
I pull my phone from my pocket. One new message is displayed on the screen:
Jane Brando, 4:09 p.m.: Shit I completely forgot about the electrician and ended up stuck at work! Obviously, I don’t want some random guy let in
while I’m not there. Have you seen that news report about the man who hid cameras in girls’ rooms? Please let’s reschedule.
I type out a reply: No worries, he will be back Tuesday, June 8.
I mute the Slack app for the night. If today proves anything, I know for certain I can’t live among these people much longer.