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 wearing a reflective vest over a puffy blue coat. 

"There's probably less than 30 minutes left in the show, man," the attendant warned as 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 to the right with her thumb. "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. 

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 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 redness in Robert's face as clearly as the discomfort in his posture. Friendship-ruining silence hung in the luxury vehicle's fully loaded interior 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."

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

Robert shrugged and gave her a sheepish look. "It's fine. It would've come up eventually. 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 I'll just ask how I can help."

Alicia waved him off. "You can't. Like you said, you shouldn't be involved."

"Well, I am," Robert countered. "So 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 before checking himself. "Um, I mean, 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. She wished she had put it on the charger last night. Or the night before.

"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," she said, tucking the mobile phone into her pocket. "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 Robert's worry. Even though he said he wouldn't, Alicia 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, grabbed her gym and equipment bags from the backseat and headed down the ramp and through the talent entrance, avoiding eye contact with the security guard. It felt like gameday. She pushed her way through the locker room door and walked back to one of the two private changing rooms. 

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 bag for the duct tape and, with a quick glance over her shoulder, stuck the sign to the changing room door and slipped inside, locking the door behind her. Alicia set her bags down on the floor and took a seat between them, then turned her cellular phone back on. One bar of battery still. 11:13 PM. 1 text message. That's new. 

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 preshpresh doin good

And with just a bit more fumbling, Alicia replied:

11:14 PM MY NEW LORUMPHONE (297)117-5084
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 LORUMPHONE (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 LORUMPHONE (297)117-5084 
No, i mean B,V, bit me,

11:20 PM PARTY GIRL (370)167-5770
WTF NO NO SHE DIDNT UR LIEING SAY UR LIEING OMG WHAT DID U DO

11:22 PM MY NEW LORUMPHONE (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 LORUMPHONE (297)117-5084
wHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME,

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

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

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, Alicia thought. "Oh shucks!" Alicia said. 

What time was it? 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. "OH SHOOT!" Alicia shout-whispered. 2 text messages. Both from Party Girl. Power off. Alicia needed to conserve the battery, after all. Time to take inventory. Alicia opened the gym duffel and her hockey equipment bag. 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. One phone call, and she was ready to go. She hit 2 on the speed dial and 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 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. Sorry! Okay? Sorry. I'm sorry. No, look, don't- here. Here's twenty bucks." 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," she said, just above a whisper.

"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, forcing a smile. Her muscles felt a bit tighter, a bit more sore, but at least 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. Time to set up Battle Stations One and Two and then lay the traps. Breathe in, breathe out. 

She cracked open the dressing room 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. A modern arena such as this one would have motion-sensor lights. The motion-sensor lights that this haunted house of a locker room didn’t seem to have. Alicia shivered as she stepped deeper into the darkness, tiptoed to the door leading out into the hallway, and pushed on it. She pushed harder, then harder. She tried pulling. It rattled but wouldn’t budge. Same with the other door.

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

Change of plans: we’re not setting up a perimeter. We’re going after the nest. Alicia hooked her left arm through the gym bag and withdrew her mobile phone from her pocket and flipped it open. Wait. Where did Black Violet come from when we first met? wondered Alicia, stepping 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. 

She shone the pale light of her mobile phone screen onto the ceiling of the dressing room she had been hiding/napping/squatting in. Nothing. She tiptoed into the shower room. 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 the sinks: a three-by-three plate of metal that looked like it swung up and into the ceiling. She hadn't been looking when it swung open before she got bitten, but she knew what they looked like now. 

Alicia reached up with her stick and gave it a hard shove. It budged. She pushed harder. More progress. More. The hatch creaked open further. 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 bottle of 93% alcohol into her hoodie's front pocket and shoved the lighter in her right pants pocket. She tossed her stick up through the gap and heard it clatter onto the metal catwalk. Alicia spat on her hands because it seemed like the right time to do that.

She took a moment to wash her hands.

The lifelong athlete took a one-step lead-up followed by a massive vertical leap and pulled herself up through the opening. It felt warmer up here than at floor-level, if only slightly. She slipped the roll of duct tape around her right wrist like a bracelet. Body prone, cellular flip-phone in her right hand. The light of the device did little to push back the darkness. As much as Alicia wanted to bring along Robert's flashlight, it would have announced her from a mile away. Phone it was. The remaining bar of battery had turned red.

Alicia gently swung the panel shut and pointed the cell phone light ahead. With her head down, she could travel on all fours without too much discomfort other than the lingering ache of having been double-Powerbombed through a 30-pound piece of office equipment earlier in the evening. In the dim grays of near-total darkness, Alicia was surrounded on all sides by a tangled network of exposed PVC and copper, and wires and cables of all colors and thicknesses. Everywhere not occupied by the haphazard mishmash of infrastructure was steel girders and spray insulation foam. 

About 20 feet in, she arrived at the first major decision: left or right? One seemed as good as the other. She took a right. After that, a left. Straight past two four-way intersections, and then another right. Dead end. Wait, did she pass something before that last four-way intersection? And there was that other dead-end she saw before- no. She needed to double back, but wasn't it a right turn? Alicia realized she hadn't passed a panel leading down to the floor in several minutes. She breathed faster. None of this looked familiar.

I did something stupid.