The Devil's In The Details: Psychological Thriller and Horror Collection Read online

"Can you see me?" he asked again.

  "Yes."

  "Do you feel any pain?" Reese asked.

  "My head," Proudfoot answered.

  "Not surprised to hear. Let's see if I can help you with that."

  Reese opened one of the upper shelves that hung from the ceiling behind him. He began rummaging through the various cylinder-shaped pill containers until he found one that he was satisfied with.

  "I think these will do the trick," he said. He grabbed a crinkled water bottle with only a small bit of water at the bottom and unscrewed the lid. "Open wide," he said and held it just above Proudfoot's lips.

  Proudfoot lifted his head a little and sipped all the water he could. It was just enough to wash down the two capsules that Reese dropped in his mouth. His throat was so dry that they scraped him all the way down.

  "It will take a few minutes," Reese said. He turned and put the little capsule back in the cabinet. "Tell me, captain, are you having any problems breathing?"

  "No."

  "Is that so? That means your body is still remarkably strong, you know that? Your suit was almost completely out of oxygen when we found you out there. A few minutes longer and you would have suffered irreversible brain damage."

  Proudfoot looked perplexed back at Reese. He remembered seeing the way he looked at him in the Mess Hall. How Reese looked back at him like he was something meant to be feared. Why was he now spending his time and the ships remaining resources nursing him back to health?

  "Any more water?"

  "I can certainly get you some."

  "Do you know how much we have left?"

  "I find it's best not to check. Although, I don't think it’s water we need to worry about. The food will run out first.

  "Do you know long we're projected to survive?"

  "Perhaps this isn't the most appropriate topic of conversation given your current state. You nearly perished out there, after all."

  "Humour me a little, doc. Given that your primary concern, as well as everyone else's, is survival, why did you even bother to come looking for me? There isn't any need for a deranged captain on this godforsaken planet."

  Reese grinned and wiped some water residue from Proudfoot's lips.

  "Why wouldn't we?"

  "One less hungry mouth to feed."

  "What good would that do to me or any of the rest of us? Play the game of slow and steady starvation a little longer? There is no winning out here, captain. We may as well ride it out together, just the same as we arrived."

  "Do you think they will ever send that second ship? Even if it's after we're dead?"

  "No, captain. I don't."

  Proudfoot tried to get up again and this time the doctor didn't stop him. When on his feet, Proudfoot realized that he was considerably weaker than he was before. That could serve to his advantage.

  Proudfoot left the medical center and headed right for the Observation Room. He noticed the eyes of the crew watching him carefully as he made his way. He didn't try to interpret them.

  He had no plans for human interaction from that point on. It wasn't worth the energy.

  Proudfoot had abandoned any concept of time. It helped ease the pain as he descended into insanity.

  There were very few instances where he felt the need to get up and leave the floor of the Observation Room. In actuality, the time after his suicide attempt wasn't all that different than it was before. The only thing, as he would come to notice, was that his madness protected him from worrying anymore.

  Everything was fine so long as he could dream.

  Aside from the rare occasions where he would get up to eat, wash himself, and when he really wanted to cheat, check on the mainframe for Earth's transmission he knew would never come, he spent his days lying on the floor and staring up into the sky.

  The sky had become his kaleidoscope. The colours would change, as would the many shapes he would see up there. The mass of stars, forming constellations you couldn’t see from Earth, were morphing all the time. During the day, he would watch the weather patterns and little bits of debris that would get blown up on the glass.

  As time passed, he started to see differently. Things that weren’t mean to be there. People’s faces and little messages written all over would flash and then quickly disappear.

  Proudfoot knew the illusions he saw weren’t really there. That’s what made him aware that his perception of reality was dissipating all the time.

  People would enter the Observation Room while he lay there. He figured the ones he recognized were real and were perhaps caring for and nourishing him while he wasted away. Sometimes, there were people that he’d never seen before. That was either his memory betraying him or the hallucinations getting so strong that they were starting to appear inside the room along with him.

  His favourite thing to watch were the shooting stars. Real or not, when they strung across the night sky, to him they resembled the elusive ship from Earth finally arriving to save them. It was a fantasy that was so grotesque and unbelievable that when one of those shooting stars did, in fact, turn out to be a ship, he didn’t believe it was actually happening.

  Even when the glass above him shook and little pieces of the wall rattled, he still didn’t think it was real. Even when he saw the fire and smoke of the engine thrust while the ship slowed and began its descent, he still thought it was just a dream.

  Then he heard something he hadn't heard in a long time. Something Proudfoot was so sure he was never going to hear again. The other crew members were shouting in excitement and profound euphoria.

  He watched the ship descend. It never disappeared like all his hallucinations eventually would. It got so close he could hear the engine roar.

  It was actually happening. Earth hadn’t abandoned them after all.

  Scurrying sounded in the halls from somewhere else inside the compound. It took all of Proudfoot's will and strength to get up and go to the surface airlock.

  Proudfoot gingerly tried to put his suit on. He was no longer capable of doing it on his own. Reese and other crew members he could hardly recognize anymore held him up as they slowly locked everything into place.

  The ship had landed in nearly the same spot theirs did all those years ago.

  This new one was heavily weathered and critically damaged by its journey. But that didn't matter. All that mattered was that they made it. All that mattered was the promise of whatever news or resources they would bring.

  Maybe they even had enough fuel to bring them back to Earth. That would be the ideal scenario. That would be Proudfoot’s second chance at life.

  The crew waited impatiently for the airlock to finish decompressing. They all went outside as a unit. They watched together as the shuttle doors and the gentle-sloped ramp touched down on the surface.

  They stood there in silent anticipation for a long time, watching and waiting for salvation.

  Nothing was worse than the moment it actually happened.

  What must have been hundreds of starving people walked, crawled, and fought their way out of the ship’s loading door. Many of them didn't have suits and started gasping for air and collapsing down to Mars’ surface holding their throats.

  One runner managed to escape from the pack. He was in a suit that looked old and barely kept together. His voice came in over the helmet’s intercom, broken and desperate.

  "Please, give us your food. Earth has been destroyed. We need you!"

  Proudfoot looked up to the sky and noticed that the shining blue circle he used to watch wasn't there. He wondered how long he'd been hallucinating and dreaming of a return to a planet that no longer existed.

  2

  Good Morning, Beautiful

  The bristles stopped short of my naked eye. The brush quivered in her hand as she held it there.

  "Charlotte, you know I can't finish until you stop crying, right?" Em said.

  "I know, I know," I answered while I fanned myself with both hands. "Just give me a second. I need to call him."

  She looked away, setting the brush on my desk.

  "Alright then. But make it quick. Don't have that much time ‘til we need to leave. I'll go and check out some of the new pieces in your studio."

  "Thanks. It'll just be a second."

  Em smiled and closed the door behind her on the way out. I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was still wet and my makeup half-done. I felt and looked like a wreck.

  The argument I had gotten into with Kurt on the phone earlier was still lingering. I needed the pressure to go away.

  This was supposed to be my night. I spent years dreaming of when I would be sitting in this spot. And because of that stupid fight I had gotten into with Kurt, I couldn't even get my makeup done.

  I had to work it out. It was the only way I was going to be able to get on with the evening.

  Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

  I knew I wouldn't get an answer. He was still livid with a point to prove. He lost it on me before hanging up when we last spoke.

  The tears tried to force their way out again. I worked so desperately to hold them back when I reached his answering machine.

  "Kurt, please call me back. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean any of it. You aren't an asshole. You're right, I've been stressing about the show for too long. Please, please come tonight. It would mean the world to me to see you there."

  I hung up and threw the phone on my cluttered desk. It fell into the mess of art supplies, sketches, and assorted beauty products.

  My message was more apologetic than how I really felt. How could any girl be okay with her boyfriend not coming to her art expo? And it wasn't just any routine show. It was one of LA's biggest of the year. This kind of opportunity may never come again. I had been working at it for the entirety of our rela
tionship.

  It didn't matter if the big wigs around the executive table needed him to stay late. He needed to make an excuse and get out of there. This was the most important night of my life.

  I had spent the better part of a month locked up in my parents' cottage in Oregon, getting all the pieces ready. Demolishing pot after pot of coffee, I worked like a mad woman late into every evening. I painted endlessly, completing hundreds of pieces. It was all a matter of producing the select few that would suffice.

  I talked to Kurt maybe three or four times over that month. They were only quick conversations on the phone. Each time felt like more of a distraction and a chore than something I really wanted to do.

  And that was the reason. That's why he didn't feel guilty about staying late at the office. If I was going to put my work ahead of him, why shouldn't he put his ahead of me?

  It was our gift and our curse. We both cared too much about what we do. All too often that meant our relationship was put on the back-burner.

  But I had never heard him so mad before. It was like he transformed into another person. I was stuck with it now. I had no choice but to let it go.

  "Em," I called into the hallway. "I'm ready."

  I straightened my back and stared hard into the mirror as her footsteps approached from the hall. I wasn't going to release any more tears. Nothing was going to ruin this evening for me. I sacrificed too much for that to happen.

  Em returned to her spot behind me. Her eyes met mine in the reflection.

  "Your style certainly has changed a lot since I've last seen it," she said.

  "And, do you like it?"

  "Yes, I do. I really do. It's just so much more human than it used to be."

  I double blinked. It was hardly the reaction I expected from my best friend.

  "And how would you describe it?" I asked.

  "Dark, but beautiful," she said as she placed a hand on my shoulder. "I think it's perfect. Just like you."

  Butterflies fluttered all over my stomach on the drive over. They paled in comparison to the sheer panic that enveloped me when we pulled into the Randolph Art Center parking lot.

  It was the cars that did me in. Nearly every spot was already occupied. All of them filled with vehicles worth at least fifty thousand. We must have looked like we were on welfare pulling up in Em's '09 Civic.

  She chuckled as she pulled into a spot near the back of the lot. I saw her get up out of the corner of my eye while I turned and fixed my gaze out the back window onto the giant glass building. I didn't move until she finally opened my door for me.

  "C'mon now Charlotte, it's time."

  She yanked me by my crimson shoulder straps. There was no use in trying to hide how nervous I was. Rather than explain myself, I started my march towards the building. My heels clapped hard against the asphalt.

  I reached the granite steps. They spiralled up to the main entrance on the second level. Even the fucking stairs were amazing. It was intimidating, just like every other piece of incredible architectural design on the building I was about to enter.

  I relied on the support of the railing on the way up. It wasn't my first time being there. I had visited countless times before. It was only the context that was different. For the first time, I was not merely a spectator for the works of other artists. This time it was my work on display for everyone to see. It was my turn to enjoy the spoils of the onlooking eyes.

  If things went just as I had them pictured in my mind, it would be the first exhibit of many. Perhaps, if things went really well, it would mean the end of my nine-to-five office job.

  That would be anyone's dream come true.

  Em managed to catch up by the time I reached the top. She caught me staring wide-eyed at the crowd of early-birds through the glass doors of the front lobby. I tried to distract myself from the obvious distress by looking down at my phone. There was one unread message from Kurt. Only one sentence long:

  We'll see how things play out.

  Before the inevitable emotional response engaged, Em snatched the phone from my hand. She tossed it into her purse and zipped it closed.

  "It doesn't matter what he does," she said. "It's only important what you do tonight."

  She was right, we both knew it.

  I flipped my straightened hair behind my shoulders and adjusted the waist of my dress. As I looked onward at the sea of cultured art aficionados, Em took hold of my hand.

  She didn't let go until we were inside.

  I recognized a few of the faces in the lobby and avoided eye contact with every one of them. I didn’t feel the urge to stop and talk. It wasn't time for the pleasantries yet.

  We went straight to the main pavilion. The place was enormous. The ceiling towered over our heads with Metal racks with giant white lights hanging way above us. The building was equipped to display more than just art. They could have car shows there if they wanted.

  I had to slip a little extra to the right person to get my spot. Two-thousand more than anyone else paid, to be exact. It was right at the back, lined up against the far wall. From my previous visits to the gallery, I knew that people always gravitated there.

  Not only was it centrally located, but it was right next to the main stage. Your eyes couldn't help but be drawn to that spot as you walked down the main aisle. It's where the bright lights shined and all the real players hung out.

  It would also be a short walk for me when they revealed the award-winning piece for the night. My award-winning piece. I entered it as a formality more than anything else. I never really considered winning a real possibility. It was created in the midst of the painting frenzy at my parents' cottage. It was the proudest I had ever been of one my works.

  As Em and I made our way to the three concrete walls that opened up to make up my little rectangular exhibit, my eyes stayed glued to the paintings. Sixteen of my works were there, each of them covered by white cloth and hanging at different heights from the ground.

  "It's so surreal," Em said, setting her purse down on the desk in my exhibit's center. She twirled, looking at all my covered pieces. "The fluorescent lights make everything look so extravagant."

  I agreed with her. My exhibit looked like something out of a magazine. It looked even better than the pictures the event coordinator had sent me a few days earlier. The extra money was worth it.

  "I can't believe we're finally here," I said.

  "We? You mean, you. You've earned the right to be here, Char."

  I laughed as I locked our purses in one of the desk drawers.

  "Should we start uncovering the paintings?" she asked.

  "No, the staff will do that when they start to let people in."

  "Don't think I can wait that long. Can you show me at least one?"

  Her impatience made me laugh again. I nudged her as I walked past.

  "Only for you, Em."

  I chose the painting nearest to the desk. It was, in my opinion, the most moderate. Starting with it would leave me nowhere to go but up. Her inevitable barrage of compliments would ensue.

  Moon Over Sea, that was its name. It was nothing special. Just a few shades of faded blue making up the water, and a dull yellow circle resembling the moon above.

  I pulled the cover off and saw Em's head reel back.

  "It's beautiful," she said, aware I noticed her reaction.

  "Is there something wrong?"

  "No, it's just that style again. Like the ones in your studio."

  I looked closer at the painting, as if I needed reassurance of exactly what it was that I created. It was the same as I remembered, save for one detail. Right next to the moon, I saw the outline.

  A face. A man's face.

  Perhaps it was a coincidence. The result of different strokes of the brush at the right point. And somehow, in my exhaustion and frail mental state in the midst of all the painting, I didn't notice I had left it there.

  It's possible I would have never noticed had Em not reacted the way she did. But now that she had, I couldn't take my eyes off it.

  I heard the front doors open and the voices of the many eager people starting to enter.

  "It's great," Em said as I turned towards the crowd. "So much different than anything I've ever seen from you before."

  The show staff started to walk through the varied exhibits. A lump was in my throat as they began to unveil all my other pieces.