Page 38 of Muted

Cringing away from him, I pick up my phone and type a response, hoping beyond everything that he’ll read it this time.

‘Chester left me the invoice to be logged. He’s already paid the invoice for the week. I have copies of all the payments made. Your paper is the wrong number.’

I lift my eyes to the ceiling in thanks when he takes my phone to read my message. Anger fills his face before he drops my phone onto the table with a loud clatter. This time, he places an elbow on the table and rests his arm across the back of the booth, caging me in when he leans forward again. I know he’s trying to intimidate me. The strain my muscles in my neck are under sends shooting pains down the sides and spread through my shoulders.

“I know the numbers are different. That’s why I’m bringing you the new one. I’ll let Chester know they gave us the wrong sheet and sent over an updated one. Just make the fucking correction.” When he finishes, the last sentence comes out more exhausted than anything.

Picking up the paper, I look it over once more and unease trickles through me. I could understand a small difference, but this is almost $1,500 off from the first one. That seems so excessive from what I’ve seen in previous weekly entries. I tap out another message and hold it up to him.

‘I think I’d like to run this by Chester first and let him know I’m going to make the change. The price difference is significant compared to other weeks.’

It was thewrongthing to say. The way his face burns scares the fuck out of me, forcing me to press my body up against the wall to create as much distance between our bodies.

“You listen to me, you little bitch. I’m just as much your fucking boss as Chester is. I’m telling you,” he hisses, jabbing his finger into the paper I’m still holding in my hand, “this is the right fucking paper. Do as your fucking told. The last thing you need is for me to run to Chester and let him know that you’re a goddamn liar, right? Don’t test me and don’t push me until I’m out of patience with you. I’m letting you off light for the shit you pulled and tried to slip past us.”

With trembling fingers, I know I can’t argue with him anymore. Idon’twant him to tell Chester, and not just because I’m worried that I’ll get fired and lose my source of income. There’s a sick feeling in my gut for lying to him, even though I didn’t know him when I applied. Maybe if he knew why I did, it would get me off the hook. But if it doesn’t? What then? They could call the cops. They could find out where I reallyamfrom and that alone would alerthimto where I’m currently residing.

No. That can’t fucking happen.

Setting the paper next to my ledger, I open it back up and erase the number I wrote in for the invoice, and then everything I’ve balanced from that point on. Cliff sits and watches me as I adjust the numbers, hovering until I’m finished. The moment I write the new total balance of the accounts, he reaches over my arm and slams the ledger shut, leaning against my body.

“Next time, don’t argue. I’m not your friend, I’m your boss. We’ve fired people for a lot less and I have no issue taking this over again. You’re not a necessity. You’re not imperative to the operation. This job is a fucking gift. Remember that little girl.”

With that warning, he stands up and calmly walks back to the office, leaving me shaking like a goddamn leaf in my seat. I still have more receipts to balance, but I feel nauseous even thinking about opening the ledger his hands touched. I’m afraid to take everything back to the office where I’m sure he’s at, so I choose to sit here and stare at the wall, gulping over and over, wincing at the pain from how dry my throat has gotten.

My eyes find an indent on the wall, and I fixate on it. It’s similar in shape to the one in my bedroom, so I reach out and let my fingers trace the outline, then press the tip into the deepest part of the wall to see how far it goes in.

Then I lay it across the length and observe how my entire finger fills the space. I wonder how it got there. Frowning, I pull my finger away and rest my hand on my lap, gripping the fabric at the bottom of my shirt in balled fists.

The wall is bare now, empty. A void in a space normally filled with bodies and laughter and conversation. It’s a sad reality if you think about it. I’m sure it’s gone completely unnoticed by the hundreds of patrons who’ve sat here night after night. Always hollow.

Isolated.

Nightmare 2

I twist my head away just before I hear the thud of my uncle’s body as he hits the grassy floor below the tree.

I want to puke when a soft puff of air echoes through the silence, knowing that he didn’t survive the fall. Why would he have jumped like that? Why didn’t he fight HIM?

It’s strange the way your brain works, because immediately, my mind answers my questions. ‘He tried to draw HIM off the edge of the limb to fall alongside him. It was a last-ditch effort to end the terror HE’s inflicted on our lives for the past few years.’

Knowing doesn’t ease the ache in my chest for his loss. Or the loss of Aunt Elaine earlier. They were all I had in the world, especially after my mother abandoned me in a dirty trailer with no food and no water. She fucking did this. Not me. Why am I being punished for her sins?

Another roar comes from above me, and I know my time is up. I have to keep going. There’s no going back to check on Uncle Ronnie, no matter how badly I want to make sure he’s alright. ‘He’s not,’ the voice in my head whispers. Only it’s distorted, mixed with the voice of my tormentor.

Screaming, I grip my head, tearing at my hair to get him out.

His laughter taunts me as I tug and pound at my temples before taking a deep breath. As I take a step, the ground sucks at my foot, making it feel like I’m pulling it out of thick, overly dry mud. I groan as I tug it free, only to find my other foot stuck as well.

“Please, please…” I beg no one. Maybe I’m begging the ground to release me. It’s worth the try. “Please,” I whisper, staring at where my feet are slowly sinking below the surface. “Let me be free…”

I don’t see a change in the surface, but I feel the pressure holding my feet captive ease up slightly. When I attempt another step, it still tries to suck my foot back, but lets go a little easier than last time. Working through the muck, I concentrate on each step, whispering pleas and thanks with every forward step I take. Finally, the underside of my foot is tickled by cool grass, and I know I’ve made to the other side of this pit.

My pace rapidly picks up and within moments I’m flying through the woods, briefly noting it’s odd that grass rather than needles and leaves cover the forest floor. The distraction is appreciated because I don’t hear anybody behind me. I wish I could hear my uncle’s out-of-shape wheezing as he does his best to catch up, but he’s silent.

My monster is silent as well.

I won’t let myself believe that he’s not following. Most likely, he’s giving me a reprieve so he can play longer. My feet continue to push me forward until I explode through a thick nest of trees into another clearing. This time, it’s not empty.

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