Always Come Back: A Collection of Short Stories - Softcover

Brown, Adam David

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1456713930 ISBN 13: 9781456713935

Publisher: Authorhouse, 2011

Synopsis

Daddy's Little Boy Beyond the creaking wooden door, I discovered a whole lot ofmonsters – sinister, hideous. Hiding in storage boxes, behind the tool bench ...

About this title

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Always Come Back

a collection of short storiesBy Adam David Brown

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 Adam David Brown
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4567-1393-5

Chapter One

Trapped

Susan did not have an appointment. It was a regular day and she was on her way to it. Driving in her steel gray Volvo, one hand on the wheel, the other on her stomach, her bulging stomach, her stomach about to burst, her stomach being kicked stepped on played around in. Her family lived out of state her boyfriend in town trying a man for larceny she had called him why the fuck had she called him well he was the father his voicemail so she had called another number but no, his secretary – "He can't come to the phone, may I take -"

No, I'm about to explode, Susan had hung up had called her best girlfriend but her best girlfriend did not answer so she called another girlfriend. This girlfriend lived thirty five minutes away and "I'm right on my way stay there I'm coming." She had waited fifteen and then grabbed her keys and decided to leave, to drive herself.

Now, driving herself driving herself she drove slow kept her eyes focused on the road she didn't know how usual it was – this, her baby, coming prematurely. Three weeks early, nearly, but, coming. Coming, right, now. Ow, she held her stomach took her eyes off the road holding herself tighter as though that would make this pain this pain this pain go away.

A car beeped behind her, and she jerked her head up in between lanes she was in between lanes. A woman behind her gave her the middle finger and she herself returned the gesture. No hands on the wheel now, one hand on the wheel now, one hand on her stomach, Susan turned left onto Locust Street and then a sharp right onto Sunny Drive. Why didn't they name it Hospital Drive for it was indeed the street that led to Geisinger Hospital. Why did that matter now though? Why did she think of such things? Why did such things bother her?

They should've named it Hospital Drive, she thought, one hand on her stomach, the other on the wheel. She wanted to call her mother had to call her mother dug into her mauve purse dug around produced her cell phone scrolled down

Roaming, pressed another button

Roaming, a car beside her beeped horn blaring she dropped the phone glanced up the car slammed on its brakes screeching to avoid hitting her as the cell phone hit the floor mat and she ran a red light.

SHE PULLED RIGHT into the hospital's parking garage. She wasn't sure where the emergency entrance to the hospital was, so she thought this was her best bet. "Miss, are you OK," a tall old man asked. She parked right in the middle of the parking garage, not in any particular spot. Yanking her keys from the ignition, she handed the keys to the tall old man. He grinned. "Well, what," he said, frankly amused at her rush. "You must tell me what ..."

But she didn't hear what he wanted to hear her say. His jaw hung wide open, the keys in his hand, her 4-ways not bothering to flash she dashed toward the sliding glass door that led to the elevator.

Inside of the elevator Okay, she said, or maybe thought Okay okay Okay Charlie, "Okay."

She pressed "1" and the button lit up and for the briefest instant the woman's face also lit up but then there was a kick and a pinch a pull a tugging and struggling inside of her.

The elevator emitted an abrupt mechanical rumbling and then a noise that was slightly smooth, the elevator moving. The elevator behaving because the '2' lit up, the round transparent button, aglow, this signal – she was on the 2nd floor, soon headed to three. And then an abrupt fast urrch of sorts, and the rumbling again, a grinding – deep, heavy, and it stopped, the elevator, stopped moving. `2' still lit up, and then the light gone and none of the buttons lit. Another sound emitted – slow and steady, even, the grinding. And then no grinding, and a silent whine that declined and silence, then, silence. Susan alone inside of this metallic box-shaped motorized device. Susan gripping her stomach and then not gripping her stomach for she could no longer feel him inside of her. He had decided to relax, like the elevator, he had decided, to stop moving, like the elevator, had decided, to, stay, still. Still, Susan did not stay still. Susan pressed a button, the `3', but nothing, no light, no noise, no response, nothing, silence. Susan pressed it again – 3. 3, 3, 3.

3 3 3 3 3.

Nothing.

2. 2. 2. 2 2 2 2 2.

No.

1. 3. 2. 5. 6. 3. 2. 1 1 1 2 2 3 4 2 3 1 1 2 3 5 5 4 1.

No. The buttons not glowing, the buttons sleeping, like round button-shaped fireflies, affixed to a metallic panel, refusing to light up she reached for the metallic round box, below all of the buttons she reached for the box marked 'Emergency'.

Emergency, Emergency Phone inscribed in small thick letters. She pulled the little lever open inside saw the phone but she did not see it, dangling there, from the twisted thick worn cord, she did not see it. She did not see it because it was not there. It had been ripped away, ripped out, leaving only the cord that it should've been attached to.

Fuck.

And then there was the graffiti – "We GOT IT, south kidZ 4EVA," in yellow and red magic marker with two red peace signs on each side of the message, one peace sign that had been drawn aptly and the other – sloppy, discombobulated.

Fuck.

"No," she said. No, no. She put a hand to her forehead and scanned the elevator rapidly, looked behind her beside her behind her again as though there might be somebody there, here, on this elevator with her now, but there was no one so why was she looking so? She didn't know, she only knew that she wanted to get out of here wanted to escape wanted her baby to escape from her body wanted to give birth to him because he wanted to come and he wanted to come out of her now and she wanted to allow him to come out of her now. Now, but not now. Now he stopped moving. Now, he rested so she rested, slowly sinking down her back against the steel wall hand still on her forehead eyes shifting but slow now, slow, settling, thinking that if she could get control of herself thinking that if she could calm down this would go away this would all go away. If she could calm down, she would be on the second floor. If she could calm down, the elevator door would open and she would be out of here.

"Okay," she said. Okay, it's nothing, okay. "It's nothing." Okay, okay. But it was not okay, nothing was okay but if she could feel okay project the image of okay, she would be okay the door would open the door would open yes the door would open.

She glanced at the elevator door looked at the metallic panel, the numbers, so many, numbers, in several close rows but only two rows that were of any significance to her –

1 2 3

4 5 6

She jumped up the oh so fallible calm she had forced herself to experience was gone. She felt like she had been here for so long. She pressed 1 and then 2, 3, pressing each button individually, pressing each button methodically, slowly, as though it was some hard draining task.

4 she pressed 5 pressed 6. She pressed 6, 5, 4 she pressed 3 pressed 3 2 2 pressed 2 2 2 pressed 1.

No.

Nothing.

It's nothing. I'll be out of here soon, somebody will see, surely somebody will see that the elevator has stopped. Somebody will see. Somebody will see and somebody will save me.

Those doctors will save me, but that man, whoever he was, trustworthy? She did not know him, who was he, some man standing at the entrance, a man in plain clothes, a nobody, well, certainly not a doctor a nurse not a physicians' assistant who was he? A volunteer, was he a volunteer? No matter, she couldn't think of that man because he was passing by, he was very well quite possibly walking out the door. He would not be coming for her, but somebody would! Surely somebody would rescue Susan soon. Somebody, anybody, might come to get her, to save her from this large metal box, this device, this technology.

She bent down picked up her purse her Louis Vuitton purse more like a suitcase, containing more than the essentials, containing her whole life. She turned it upside down, dumping the contents out onto the floor

a tortoise shell hair brush lipstick

an Aigner change purse photos in the change purse one that she could see one photo of her boyfriend cell phone? No a half-empty water bottle nail clippers two little mirrors one she thought was a compact and the other, simply, a mirror and she thought the purse was empty she shook the purse shaking it

a lint brush quarters dimes

cell phone? No she shook the purse and

a nickel two quarters a dime

another quarter some lint and

nothing. Empty. Entirely, empty.

cell phone?

Fuck.

She threw the purse onto the floor saw it on the floor mat of the driver's side seat fuck saw her cell phone right where she had dropped it oh fuck saw the red light flash fuck the red light she saw the red light she had run saw the cell phone she had dropped.

Try to think good thoughts happy thoughts, try to think of things that are good, things that are happy, things you might be grateful for goddammit well, try to thank God. Um try to Thank Him that you are alive. You know, you could very well easily be dead. And she thought of her mother. Her mother, her mother telling her

well, Susan, you know you should be grateful. Be grateful that you are even alive! Yes, Susan you came quite unexpectedly, I was 17 and your father 19. And you started inside of me in the back seat of my White Dodge Colt I crashed that white Dodge Colt before you were conceived there was a bee on my windshield, a bee! It was a summer day or, no, maybe it was Spring but I crashed right into a mailbox, driving along, and I see this bee it distracts me, I didn't know what it was initially and I couldn't see in front of me because of this tiny yellow and black insect (or is a bee a bug? But a bug is the same thing as an insect isn't it? Who cares that's not where I'm going) where I'm going is out the windshield, my hand, out the side window, and I swat at this bug or this insect which is really not that tiny, is really rather large but, you know, in comparison to the size of what I'm looking through, what I'm seeing through, a window a sheet a shield of glass, is really quite a small thing. So I get distracted. Stupidly reach out the window, taking my eyes off the road I'm on the shoulder of the road, but the bee's gone and I think I will finally be able to see even though I was able to see in the first place (it's the small things! Always the small things that get to us!) So I hit a great big mailbox, and the car crashes I crash right into it and I'm fine. All I can think is that I am alive the windshield is shattered yes of course the bee is gone and your mother too could've been gone, should've been gone, dead. But I wasn't. And do you know why? That mailbox had a plastic post and that post was stuck in dirt, in grass mostly. If that mailbox had a steel post it would've been stuck in cement or asphalt and then I would've been gone, there's no doubt I would've gone right through the windshield. And then I wouldn't be here talking to you today telling you this story. And you would never have begun inside of me. Oh it was about three months later. Damage to the car was much less severe than I would ever think. The front smashed up a bit they let some of that go I told them to let some of it go. They did put in a new windshield but besides that, nothing really. It was expensive to repair and my dad was mad but it was repaired and soon I could drive again. And I did, I drove to the house of a good close friend of mine. I drove to her house and I didn't drink much and your father didn't drink much, we never really did drink that much and then it was so late, people were leaving her house so we thought we might as well leave too. Well as soon as we got out of the house we started kissing, he started kissing me and I started kissing him too and I. I shouldn't be telling you this. You don't want to hear about this!

No, go on, I'm an adult now you know I am.

Are you?

Yes.

Her mom laughed.

Don't you think I am, Susan asked.

Her mom slightly laughed again. So there's not much else to tell, we got things started in the back seat and that, as they say, is that.

But how could that be that? It couldn't be so simple. Her mother had only been with one man her entire life, had only slept with one man, that is.

I thought you said you waited until marriage to –

Well, I'm coming clean now.

Yeah now that I'm married, now that I waited until marriage.

And it was true that Susan had lived up to the wait-until ideal that her mother had not really set.

What made you decide not to wait, Susan had asked.

It, felt right.

It felt right?

Her mother said she was a week away from graduating and this man her future husband Susan's father had already graduated and had a good job and "yes Susan I don't know what else to tell you it felt right."

And now, trapped in this elevator, nothing felt right. But she could not feel, right now, not much anyway. The adrenaline that coursed through her veins made her forget about this child inside of her. The adrenaline that coursed through her veins made her both remember and forget why she had come. Why had she come?

Oh right – Charles, Charlie. Chuck, I'll call him Chuck, she told her mother.

Chuck, no - why not Charles? Don't you like the formality of Charles?

Yes, but everybody has an attenuated version of their own name.

Do they?

I know I do.

Well that's not everyone is it?

I mean that a lot of people like attenuated versions of their name.

That's not the same.

Well I'm changing what I said a little bit okay.

All right, Chuck, how are you honey? Honey, won't you kick me or something – or no wait, this is better, slide your hand across me, don't punch me slap me don't pinch simply sliiide your hand across me, okay.

"Today," she whispered. "Today."

But Chuck was not moving Chuck was standing sitting or rather Chuck – curled up resting STILL inside of her. She rolled her hand across her stomach, smoothly, slowly, sliding her hand massaging herself for a moment. And she was alone.

WAS HE RESPONSIBLE for her? The tall old man, driving Susan's car, parking her car - he wasn't a nurse wasn't a physicians' assistant nor was he a volunteer. He had forgotten his sweatshirt, one day prior, while his wife had gone into the hospital, for emergency surgery. She had a heart attack, a triple bypass, was still in the hospital. He had visited her, had been on his way out the door when he saw Susan.

As he pulled the Volvo into a spot nearest the Emergency section of the hospital, as he parked, as he scanned the car, seeing if there was anything of value, seeing that no, there really was not. Wanting to leave the keys underneath the floor mat. Wanting to leave all the doors unlocked. Wanting to feel it was adequate to leave, go home, watch the football game. Wanting to believe that with the car so close to the entrance, surely her husband would come surely her husband would see it. Or her mother or whoever was coming for her.

As he yanked the keys out of the ignition, as he moved to unlock all the doors, as he set the keys underneath the driver's side seat underneath the gray floor mat – was he responsible for her?

The keys underneath the mat he sat in the driver's side seat, still, thinking still, not knowing what to do, not really.

As he opened the door, stepped out, started walking away he stopped looked back walked briskly back to the car. As he opened the door, as he grabbed the keys from underneath the seat, as he shut the door, as he walked back toward the hospital – was he responsible for her?

Evidently, yes, at least to some extent.

He reached into the glove compartment. He searched around. He found a black leather packet.

He unzipped it glimpsed inside saw

papers, documents, unarranged unorganized, though there was one neat white sheet of paper tucked into the plastic front of the packet. The document reading: Susan Marie Harpster, the document giving her address her phone number her insurance agency her he stopped looking then zipped it up and, feeling responsible, started toward the hospital.

ALONE, I AM alone, surrounded by, four walls, alone, I, am, alone.

Most people have heard attenuated versions of their own names. A lot of people have attenuated versions of their own names. Some people like attenuated versions of their own names.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Always Come Backby Adam David Brown Copyright © 2010 by Adam David Brown. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Edition details

• Publisher: Authorhouse
• Publication date: 2011
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 1456713930
• ISBN 13: 9781456713935
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 232