Tales of the Storage Space, Part 27

Jennifer couldn’t stand it. Simply couldn’t stand it. She could have screamed at the top of her lungs. She had wasted her time being nice to another person.

She had actually given up the last clean edge of that miserable tablecloth to clean one of this Amelia’s wounds, when it could have been put to much more important use cleaning Jennifer’s shoe.

Only, of course, to keep a ratty old homeless person from correcting a lie that provided an alibi in a murder case. But the smug bitch had already paid herself for supplying that lie, by stealing a phone she knew the beneficiary of that alibi didn’t dare complain about!

People were so unreasonable.

Still… A charge against her credit card for a new phone or a charge against her for first-degree murder. It was one of the hardest things she had ever done, but she managed to twist her lips into a smile. “I’m going to have to leave now, Amelia…but I’ll come back…and help you later…if you still need it.”

Bitch looked even more smug, as if she pitied Jennifer for stuttering through her last speech. But how was she supposed to know what to say when pretending to be nice? Meanwhile Amelia even had the nerve to reach up and touch her lips, as if trying to straighten them out. “Relax, Sweetheart. You need not trouble yourself. I’ll be okay.” And, speaking of smug, there it was again, that beautiful voice. “You need not come back.”

Oh, so that’s it, she thought. Afraid that if I come back I’ll have worked up the nerve to ask you to give me back my phone?

But no helping it. She had no choice but to put her inadequately-cleaned shoe back on, get to her feet, and head back to Martin’s where all her precious stuff was. Including all her boxes from the storage space except the one Martin had sent her back for because he said he’d left it.

Martin… She was so proud of herself for persuading him to take her back. Good thing he’d killed that Frank so she’d had something to work with. Maybe things weren’t so bad: It would be nice to upgrade her phone, and Martin would pay for it.

Phone… She was halfway down the block before she remembered just what she had on her phone. Stuff she absolutely, positively couldn’t let anyone else see. She wheeled, not even caring that she scraped her shoe in the process, and started back to get her phone from Amelia after all.

Another homeless person… Out of thin air… Judging from his head-to-toe layer of garbage, she guessed he’d been dumpster diving out back somewhere. Tall, not at all humble, somehow very menacing… Standing between her and Amelia… Staring straight at Jennifer…

A cold shudder went up her spine. She pretended to check her scraped shoe, not even caring anymore when she discovered it was ruined. But she was trying to look casual, unafraid, while she strained to watch this tall guy in her peripheral vision. Go away, she thought at him. Go away so I can get my phone!

But he didn’t. He just stared at her, starting to approach.

Another shudder went up her spine.

“Excuse me.” It was that beautiful voice again. Amelia.

The tall man spun on a dime, arms positioned funny, like he was trying to be The Karate Kid or something, then squatted at Amelia’s side. “How could I? How could I have failed to notice you and your need?”

Jennifer risked looking straight at them.

The homeless man gently examined Amelia’s injuries with an expertise that suggested medical training, then scooped her up in his arms and started to carry her away. But he paused to look down at her. “Whoever did this to you will be forced to eat several dinners consisting of their own body parts before I allow them to die.”

She could see that even Amelia shuddered at that one. But, again, Jennifer had no choice. She followed them. She just had to get that phone back. At least, she consoled herself for the time-being, it was password protected.

Tales of the Storage Space, Part 26

The Storage Space simply couldn’t tolerate Irwin Le Grand Rat a moment longer. It would have screamed at the top of its lungs, if only a building could…

An intruder!

Out back with the all the trash that appallingly inadequate Irwin hadn’t taken to the dump yet. Including the bags with that Frank’s body parts in them, which Irwin had actually used to conceal some other bags that presumably contained something even more dreadful or incriminating.

No one but Irwin was ever out back; it wasn’t possible for anyone else to gain access. Yet this man wasn’t Le Grand Rat! Perhaps…were it even possible…this intruder was an even grander rat.

Tall, clad quite literally in rags that whirled around him like a thick fog. Tattered hood concealing most of his face. The poor long-suffering Storage Space strongly suspected he smelled even worse than all the garbage combined.

But there was something peculiar about what little was visible of his face. That goatee was rather impeccably groomed for a bum.

He was going through the garbage bags, one by one.

Again it was strange that when he found a veritable smorgasbord of fresh food, he tossed it aside. Any self-respecting bum should have been delighted!

He started opening the bags that contained Frank’s body parts. The Storage Space would have held its breath, if only a building could…

What? The bum tossed what was obviously part of a human leg aside without the slightest reaction. Other body parts got the same treatment until he got to Frank’s head. The bum was about to toss that aside too. But suddenly he caught sight of Frank’s face and did a double take. Completely ignoring the gore and garbage, he sank into a seated position, still holding Frank’s head.

“How could I?” the bum asked aloud, addressing Frank’s head. “How could I have thought that you’d betrayed me?” With a shaking hand he pushed his hood back, revealing the tears in his eyes.

At last he got to his feet, putting everything back the way he’d found it. Checking it over, though, he frowned at the bags with Frank’s body parts shielding some other garbage and started going through those other bags. From deep within one of these he fished out some ripped up paper he carefully pieced back together. His first reaction was dumbfounded shock. His second was a huge, evil grin.

Tales of the Storage Space, Part 25

Atta’ girl!

Frank pulled his misty-green punch, intended for the guy with the misty-green sword that was only a stage prop. Instead he used his now-luminescent fist to highlight the open water bottle that fuckin’ butcher Irwin had left behind. Karen should probably get some fluids in her first after all that blood loss, before she went for the French fries.

The other misty-green guy took advantage. Fuckin’ A! His only-a-stage-prop sword, blunt and inexpertly swung, still hurt like hell. Fugettaboudit…

How could that be? Frank knew he was dead. Nothing could have made that clearer than watching that butcher Irwin carve his body up with a fuckin’ chainsaw. Frank looked down. The only-a-stage-prop sword had cut him in half at the waist.

How was that possible? What the fuck were the physics of being a green mist?

Frank headbutted the other guy, but his head just passed through the other guy’s skull…

A rumpled letter, held in front of him in a gloved hand that wasn’t his own. From Switzerland. Dated 1898. A yearning he heard in his own head, although it was expressed in Shakespearean English. For a woman. The pain cut like the wind when he found himself in a flurry of men in top hats, women in long skirts, and horses whinnying and clamoring over cobblestones. Couldn’t find the woman. Again. Withering, unendurable agony.

Frank’s head came out behind the other guy’s. The other guy seemed to wither and finally slither out of Karen’s storage unit like a green snake struggling with its death throes.


Frank swirled around Irwin’s open water bottle again, doing all he could to attract Karen’s attention to it.

No fan of that fuck Irwin. Had appreciated the other green mist’s sharing his outrage when Irwin cut up Frank’s body. But Irwin had done two things right. He hadn’t noticed Karen wedged in the back of her storage unit, or who the fuck knows what he would have done with her. Good thing he hadn’t bothered to clean up Frank’s blood inside her unit, just the hall. And he’d left his water and lunch almost within her reach.

Karen’s outstretched hand shook and dropped. She couldn’t reach the water.

The physics of being a green mist… Could Frank move it closer? He balled himself up and tried. Nothing happened.

Karen’s eyes closed again. Frank knew what he was looking at. She was going to die.

He had to. He had to move that water bottle.

A huge truck rumbled over a monster pothole outside, reminding Frank of how his crazy partner Alex drove.

Karen’s eyes fluttered open as the water bottle moved an inch closer to her. Had Frank done it or the truck?

Karen reached, shaking fingertips threatening to knock the bottle over when she made contact, then passed out again.

A thought cut through Frank that hurt much worse than that blunt sword: Karen, how could I? He had to move that water bottle.

Something happened Frank didn’t understand at all. For a moment he wasn’t in Brooklyn anymore. He was home in Sausalito, inside her the first time they made love. Thrusting. Then he was back in Brooklyn.

The water bottle, the French fries, and even Irwin’s sandwich were within Karen’s reach. Slowly, very slowly, she managed to eat and drink some. Woozy, she got confused and dipped a French fry not into the ketchup but into a huge glob of Frank’s blood that Irwin hadn’t cleaned off the floor.

Frank wasn’t sure what to think, watching her struggle to get that French fry dripping with clumps of his blood into her mouth. Much-needed protein? What the fuck. Wasn’t doing him any good any more. He swallowed heavily and thought, Eat up, baby. It’s the very least I can do for you.

She wrinkled her nose and licked her lips thoughtfully, before her eyes widened in horror.

Uh oh, thought Frank. She’s fuckin’ figured it out. It’s okay, he thought at her desperately. It’s okay. He had trouble with the next words; they weren’t words he thought often, no matter what he felt. But they burst out of him: “I love you!”

The word he saw burst out of her, however, was the only word capable of destroying a love even death hadn’t killed. It was, “Martin!”

Tales of the Storage Space, Part 24

Karen felt something.

It was a weak fluttering under cool, clammy skin.  Fast.  Was that…her pulse?

Karen wasn’t sure, but her eyes seemed to be open.  Through swirls of green mist, she thought she saw the fingers of one of her hands resting on the inside wrist of her other.

What was that rasping noise?  Her breathing?  Or the hypnotic green mist, which added to her dizziness and nausea.  Still, weakly, her stomach also grumbled with hunger and she smelled something.  French fries.

And ketchup?  And something else, something metallic…

Her hand…  Had the bleeding finally slowed?

Karen tried to flip her hand over to check, only to be met with waves of wooziness.  She held her breath.

Silence.  She was alone in the back of her storage unit with no phone.  She opened her mouth and screamed for help but couldn’t even hear it herself.

Was it already too late?  Even if the hand she was too weak to flip over had finally stopped bleeding?

A summer’s day…

Some green mist swirled around Karen’s face.  Sunlight sparkled through it.  Karen’s eyes closed.  She saw a summer’s day with flowers starting to bloom as a man’s elegant voice spoke of “the darling buds of May.”

Light!  The light became so bright, and Karen longed for it.  She strained to reach it, to reach the sun, her feet seeming to leave the earth behind her.

“No, Karen, no!”

Frank’s voice pulled her back.  Her eyes fluttered open.  Two green mists seemed to be at war with each other.  Karen struggled for breath.

French fries.

Karen’s fingers twitched.  It seemed all she could do.


Her stomach heaved with nausea, but then it grumbled.  One green mist highlit…French fries!  Ever so slowly, Karen slid her arm across the floor toward them.