The record player diligently keeping the desk on which it rests from floating away quietly waits for a record to be placed on its platter. The dust accumulating on the cover belies its status as a treasure. Diego sifts through the boxes of vintage and newly pressed records in the closet next to the home theater set up in the living room. He settles on an early release of a piano version of several of the songs composed by the Harmonicats. He makes his way over to the record player only to see its sad current state. After a deep breathe drawn in he ‘Big Bad Wolf’ exhales the dust off the cover and into a billowing puff of cloudy apartment dirt.
Ew. I should have just wiped it.
The crackle from the placement of the needle ushers in a most beautiful sound. The hard working 6-inch speakers propel the songs of the harmonica trio throughout the two-bedroom apartment. Everything seemed alive as the waves of sound bathed the furniture in the room and made their way along the walls filling every room. Cranking the volume to 10 did little to heighten the atmosphere as the old speakers struggled. He is suddenly reminded of the splicing Jamish did and flips a makeshift switch attached to the speaker wires behind it and the hum of the larger speakers under the TV introduce a robust sound of clever melody and a tickling of runs throughout the pieces being played. After a few moments of admiring the band, Diego finishes preparing the apartment and heads to the kitchen to get started on his part of the preparations necessary for dinner.
Jamish finishes his work and submits it for a bug report. Satisfied with the work he did today, he proudly organizes the notes on his desk. Everything has a place, and he is quick to return anything that is out of place, back home. He grabs his jacket, flings it over his arms and heads out.
The steam from the shower fogs the mirror. With a single swipe, Penelope clears a diminishing area from the bottom left of the mirror to the top right. Looking into the mirror she sees a towel holding up her hair in a twirl. Examining further she sees sun kissed cheeks, a myriad of freckles and bright green eyes peering back at her. Her dimple forms as she smirks to herself, admiring the image standing before her. Suddenly, the lock on the front door clicks and in walks Qisha.
“Hey girl.”
“Hey Penny. I was going to get you a small bottle, but the coupon I had was bogo of the same kind, not equal or lesser value. I mean, I'm not complaining, but you would think they'd let you get a cheaper, smaller version for free.”
“That's fine. Where are we going? I'll be ready in 20 minutes or so. I just need to dry my hair. I don't think I'm going to curl it tonight.”
“All right. I'm going to take a quick shower, so you can dry your hair out here. I like to shower with the door closed.”
“Sounds good to me. But where are we going?”
“Oh, I don't know. We could get a slice and come back here. Or we could polish these off here and head out. Let's talk about it when I get out, I can't hear anything over this water.”
Content with the cleanliness of the apartment and with all of the components of tonight's dinner set out on the counter and ready for Jamish to get started, Diego heads over to the couch and plops down in between the two large couch cushions allowing it to swallow him in. The record player still happily spinning away and churning out beautiful sounds, he turns on the Xbox, but not the sound bar, deciding to play in silence. It boots up and he scrolls through the library of games when a feeling comes over him. Confused by it he shrugs it off. He selects a platformer from among the many games on the screen. The game begins but he just watches his character. The hero idly stands as the sprites change to simulate an at rest movement of his chest up and down as though it were breathing. Unable to shake off the sensation he puts the controller on the floor, closes his eyes and tries to explore the feeling building up to a roar in his mind. All he can really make out is there will be more than just him and Jamish tonight. But who else? I don't remember inviting anyone else. Did Jamish? Huh.
6:00 Hey, did you invite anyone for dinner?
6:00 what. no.
6:00 When do you think you'll be home? 7:00 ish, like usual?
6:00 yeppers
6:01 Sweet. I'm hungry, see you when you get here. And, you wanna play some games? Like a board game or something?
6:07 sure. I'll pick one out when I get home.
The raps on the door startle Diego. Knock, knock, knock. Then a million more knocks. Or at least that is what it sounds like as the repetitious knocks sequentially drown out the previous knocks. The pounding is metered, and the escalation is in speed and not loudness. Who is it?
“It's me, Jamish. Open up. My key is in my bag and my hands are full.”
Full? Why?
“Open the door! And then I will show you.”
Diego jumps to his feet and makes his way for the door. The eerie sensation tingles his body once more. He quickly scans the room for anything out of the ordinary as he slides the deadbolt into the twelve o'clock position and pulls the front door open. There stands Jamish. A single bottle of Scotch whiskey in each hand. The caramel color is darker in the dimly lit hallway than he remembered at the bar in New York. His brown messenger bag thrown over his shoulder rests on his back behind him.
For real? You couldn't be bothered to put down just one of those bottles to get the key?
“Nope. Thanks for opening up though. Now, out of my way, I'm going to go murder some mashed potatoes. Want to hang out in the kitchen as I cook?”
Obviously! I'm so excited. We haven't cooked -
There is a ringing in both of their ears. A sinking feeling rises within them. Both of men wretch as though something were tearing at their stomachs. They double over. Ugh, not again.
“Again? You too, huh? I've been feeling this weird thing happening for the last few minutes.”
“Where the fuck are we!!??” A voice calls out from the kitchen. Jamish hands a bottle over to Diego and they then grab the neck and lift them above their heads in anticipation of a scuffle in their modestly sized apartment. The voice is shaky and nervous. Another responds, “I have no idea, Qisha. Do you feel that? My stomach's in knots. Did you drug me?”
“Me? No. Never! I can't believe you'd even ask me. I don't feel anything, but where are we? I don't recognize this place.”
To be continued…