Alicia Goon 034: Directionless

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Descriptions of injuries

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Robert plucked a twenty from a wallet stuffed with them and handed it to the parking attendant. "There's probably less than 30 minutes left in the show, man," warned the attendant wearing a puffy blue coat and a reflective vest. He raised his wand and waved them to the general parking area on the left. "Just letting you know."

"That's alright," said Alicia, pointing right. "We're headed that way," The attendant opened his mouth to protest when the bruised wrestler leaned forward in her seat. "Look at my face. I'm talent." With a face about 90% frozen in shock, the attendant nodded as Robert hung a right towards the talent and staff parking lot and entrance. 

It was about this time that the heated seats and leather interior of the midnight black 2004 Sommelier began to add up in Alicia's mind. "You're rich!" she blurted. With wide, mortified eyes, she backpedaled. "I am so sorry. I didn't- oh my stars, I need to shut up." Alicia wasn't the only one feeling embarrassed. Her housemate's teeth hadn't left his extremely chapped bottom lip since the outburst. Despite the sparse parking lot lighting, Alicia could read the discomfort in Robert's posture as clearly as the redness of his face.

Friendship-ruining silence hung in the fully loaded interior of the luxury vehicle as they pulled into a parking space near the talent entrance. "My parents," said Robert, looking for the words, "You could say they take care of me."

"That is none of my business," apologized Alicia. "I shouldn't have opened my mouth."

With a smile and shake of his head, Robert waved her off. "It's fine. It would've come up. Let's not get distracted. Look, I'm scared you're going to do something crazy and dangerous. I'm not going to try and change your mind, so instead I'll ask how I can help."

With a frown and a shake of her head, Alicia waved him off. "You can't. Like you said, you shouldn't be involved."

"Well, I am," countered Robert. "How can I help?"

It was the most terrified and moved Alicia had ever felt simultaneously–for different reasons, of course. She wrung out her exhausted, addled brain for ideas and found one, "Do you have a cell phone?"

"Of course. It's 2004," Robert said matter-of-factly. "Why? Do you have one? My number is 370-189-8044. If you call me, I'll see your number."

Alicia finished punching the number into the speed dial. One of four bars of battery left. "Later, alright? I'm turning it off to save the battery. You can't wait here because security will kick you out, and even if they didn't, they put these big barricades up. Evidence Locker's what, a six-minute drive? I need you to wait there for me. I'll call you, and when I do, I need you to meet me by where you paid the attendant. I'm just going to warn you, it might be several hours."

Behind a shaggy head of brown hair down to his eyes, Alicia clocked his worry. She could tell he wanted to try talking her out of it anyway. Robert finally nodded and said, "I hope what you're doing is more crazy than dangerous. Good luck. I'll see you six minutes after you call me." With a polite little wave, Alicia stepped out of the car and headed down the ramp and emerged into the corridor feeling ready. It felt like gameday. 

With the main event over, everyone on the roster had gone home, and the production staff had started thinning out. Now, to make herself scarce until the whole place shut down: that's where the homemade "Closed for Repairs" sign came in. She reached into her gym back for the duct tape and sign. With a quick glance over her shoulder, Alicia taped the sign to the door and slipped inside, locking the door and setting her bags down before taking a seat. She turned the cellular phone back on. One bar of battery still. 11:13 PM. 1 text message. That's new, thought Alicia. 

With a bit of fumbling, she figured out how to read it:

Jan 31, 2004

10:44 PM PARTY GIRL (370)167-5770
hey bestiez howz it goin iz my lil presh doin good

11:14 PM MY NEW PHONE (297)117-5084
She's fine at my place. I'm at the Plunj right now, Mr, C is safe at my house but I'm here to take care of B,V,

11:15 PM MY NEW PHONE (297)117-5084
She bit me,

11:17 PM PARTY GIRL (370)167-5770
oooo what r u planin

11:17 PM PARTY GIRL (370)167-5770
lol mr c can be a lil biter

11:18 PM MY NEW PHONE (297)117-5084 
No, i mean B,V, bit me,

11:19 PM PARTY GIRL (370)167-5770
WTF NO NO SHE DIDN'T SAY YOU'RE LYING OMG WHAT DID U DO????? 

11:22 PM MY NEW PHONE (297)117-5084
You're freaking me out,

11:24 PM PARTY GIRL (370)167-5770
Y DID U WAIT SO LONG NOW ITS ONLY GETTIN WORSE 4 U NOW SHES TASTED UR BLUD

11:28 PM MY NEW PHONE (297)117-5084
wHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME,

11:28 PM MY NEW PHONE (297)117-5084
I'm going to fix this,

11:31 PM MY NEW PHONE (297)117-5084
I know this sounds like something someone would say right before the monster got them, but I have a plan, It's going to be okay,

11:34 PM PARTY GIRL (370)167-5770
it sounds xactly like that actually lol

Still one bar of battery left. Alicia turned the mobile phone off. She'd check again in what felt like an hour-and-a-half, whatever that felt like. Eyes open. Don't fall asleep.

* * * * *

Alicia woke up wondering where she was. Oh. Right, thought Alicia. "Oh shucks!" Alicia whispered. She reached for her mobile phone through a visual and mental blur and turned it on. The cute little dog mascot appeared on the colorful display, with a little red collar and a leash making the L in the LorumPhone logo. The heat had largely drained from the arena, and the new chill in the air made her shiver.

2:13 AM. "SHUCKS!" Alicia shout-whispered. 2 text messages. Both from Party Girl. Power off. Alicia needed to conserve the battery, after all. With strain and a grunt, Alicia pressed her back against the wall for support and rose to her feet. She overpacked on purpose. Hockey stick? Essential. That's a carry-on item. She brought along the mason jar full of fishhooks for irony points. Puck carrier - what's an archer without her quiver? A bottle of blue liquid dish detergent: her number-one draft pick.One full bottle of rubbing alcohol and lighter: check and check. Duct tape - an absolute must. She'd leave the pepper bombs just around the blind corner where she first saw the hole in the ceiling–better known as Battle Station One. She wouldn't be carrying the bag of broken ceramic and glass for long.

One phone call, and she was ready to go. She hit number 2 on the speed dial. She barely heard a ring. "OH MY GOD ALICIA ARE YOU OKAY ARE YOU SAFE WHERE ARE YOU" shouted Robert, too worked up for punctuation. 

"Shhhhh!" hushed Alicia, quietly, in a whisper. "I'm just starting now. I need you to-"

"Sorry, it's loud here! Can you speak up a little?! Actually, let me get where it's- okay yeah. It's-"

The soundtrack of the past two weeks of Alicia's life piped over the tinny mobile phone earpiece.

Yeah, that's right I'm the Party Girl

My boyfriend's Keven, I'm the Party Girl

You know you're jealous of Party Girl

Don't get jealous, be like Party Girl

Get like me, get like Party Girl

"Holy- Any other song. I don't care it was an accident! F- I'm unplugging it. Here. Let me give you twenty dollars." said Robert, followed by a muffled, "They can make change at the register," and a full-volume "Alicia, what's up?'

"I'm just about to get started," said Alicia, just above a whisper.

Robert sounded shocked. "Started?"

Alicia searched for an excuse and found one several seconds after it was her turn to speak, "I had to wait until she was asleep. Keep an eye on your phone. I will be loping your way in, I hope, 20 minutes so be-"

Yeah, that's right I'm the Party Girl

My boyfriend's Keven, I'm the Party Girl

You know you're jealous of Party Girl

Don't get jealous, be like Party Girl

Get like me, get like Party Girl

Robert exploded, "That wasn't an accident! Fine, here's twenty bucks. Good luck, Alicia! Don't you dare play it ag-"

At least I'm well rested, thought Alicia with a forced smile as she stood up. The aching wrestler's muscles felt a bit tighter, a bit more sore, but she had the energy now to move them. Equipment bag over one shoulder. She lifted the puck carrier- a cylindrical black nylon top-handle container about the size of a milk jug - in her still-aching right hand. The gym bag traveled in her left. Breathe in, breathe out. She cracked open the door and peered out into the locker room with her eyes and more so her ears. The only light shone from the red exit sign - hardly enough to navigate by - but the coast sounded clear. 

She stepped out into the locker room hallway. Any second, the motion sensors would kick on. Any moment. A few more steps, and for certain, they would turn on. Because they definitely had motion-sensor lights. Of course a modern arena would have the motion-sensor lights. The motion-sensor lights that this haunted house of a locker room didn't seem to have.

Scrub the mission. Abort. Too risky. This had gone too far. And yet.

Alicia hooked the gym bag through her left arm and withdrew her mobile phone from her pocket. She flipped it open. Change of plans: we're not setting up a perimeter. We're going after the nest. She thought. Who is "we?" She withdrew the mobile phone from her pocket and flipped it open. She tiptoed to the door leading out into the hallway and pushed on it, but it was locked. She pulled harder, then harder. It rattled but wouldn't budge. Same with the other one.

Wait. Where did Black Violet come from when we first met? wondered Alicia, retracing her steps into the showers. A quick look over her shou- shadowy, sallow features, dark, pitted eyes. Long and lanky. Clad all in black. Black baggy pants, black hoodie. Oh, stop it, mirrors! It wasn't even funny the first time. Makeshift light towards the ceiling. Nothing particularly stood out. She traced the ceiling back into the main locker room area with the benches. Again, nothing out of the ordinary. Back into the hallway.

The wounded, terrified wrestler turned a trembling light to the ceiling of the dressing room she had been hiding/napping/squatting in. Light up. Her heart dropped. She didn't know what an access panel looked like, specifically, but her best guess was the thing in the ceiling above her: a three-by-three plate of metal that looked like it swung up and into the ceiling. She hadn't been looking at the ceiling when it swung open and she got bitten and didn't think to look. She knew what they looked like now. She reached up with her stick and gave it a hard shove. It budged. She pushed harder. More progress. More. The hatch swung upward into the ceiling and pushed back less as the center of gravity shifted or whatever. Just another inch. She twisted the hockey stick and used the blade for the final push.

CLANG!

"Flibbetygibbet!" angry-whispered Alicia. She'd ditch the equipment bag and puck carrier here. She tucked the bag of broken glass and ceramic into her hoodie's front pocket and shoved the lighter in her right pants pocket. She shoved her stick into the opening in the ceiling and chucked the bottle of 93% alcohol up after it. Alicia spat on her hands because this seemed like the right moment to do it. She wouldn't make that mistake again. She powered her mobile phone back on.

The lifelong athlete took a couple steps lead-up followed by a massive vertical leap. Up onto the catwalk. Into the front hoodie pocket went the alcohol, and she wore the roll of duct tape around her right wrist like a bracelet. Body prone, phone on her belly, cellular flip-phone in her right hand. She scanned the darkness. It was dark. That was unfortunate. The light of the device did little to push back the bubble of light radiating a few feet ahead. The flashlight would announce her from a mile away, though. Phone it was. That remaining bar of battery had turned red.

She hadn't appreciated how much the dim lighting of the corridor afforded her visibility into the crawlspace until now. The panels weren't just panels, either: they also functioned like a drawbridge. Breathe in, breathe out. Light forward. She noticed it felt warmer in the catwalk than at floor-level. With her head down, Alicia could travel on all-fours without too much discomfort other than having been double-powerbombed through a 30-pound piece of office equipment earlier in the evening. In the dim, colorless grays of near-total darkness, she could make out a network of exposed PVC and copper, and wires and cables of all colors and thicknesses. 

Everywhere not occupied by this haphazard mishmash of infrastructure was steel girders and spray insulation foam. About 20 feet in, she had arrived at the first obstacle: left or right. One seemed as good as the other. She took a right. After that, a left. Straight at two four-way intersections, and then took a right. Wait, did she pass something before that last four-way intersection? And there was that dead-end before she- no. She needed to double back, but wasn't it a right turn? Alicia hadn't passed a panel that lead to the floor in several minutes. Alicia's breathing grew faster as she realized none of this looked familiar.

I did something stupid.