Nicole Opener
Nicole took a deep breath and opened the door.
The fourth floor of her parents’ mansion was not the highest floor on Bloom Tower, but it sure felt like it sometimes. The sensation of vertigo was uncanny, even though she wasn't even that high up. Nicole's heart pounded in her chest as she took one step, then another, then another. Her footsteps thudded over the floor as she waddled to the staircase, her sweaty palm tightening around the railing. She was deathly afraid of tripping and falling.
She didn’t know how long it took for her to reach her parents, but an argument was already in full swing by the time she arrived on the landing. Her father’s voice was audible, of course, but for the first time in a while, she could hear her mother giving as good as she got, matching his anger with her own.
“Let’s not point fingers –”
“For fuck’s sake, Evelyn, don’t try to dodge blame here –”
“Shouldn’t your first priority be your daughter instead of – whatever this is?”
“She is my first priority! That’s why I’m going to fix this!”
Nicole arrived on the landing. Her parents froze and turned to look at her. Her father was still dressed in his tuxedo, and her mother hadn’t changed out of her gown. The pearls of her necklace sparkled as she raised one bejewelled hand to her neck, and Nicole was reminded of a cherished childhood memory, when she’d snuck into her mother’s room to try on her jewellery. She wasn’t sure if any of her mother’s necklaces would even fit around her neck anymore, though.
“Nicole,” her father said quietly. “Sit.”
Nicole trundled to the couch and sat. It groaned under her weight; her mother’s fragile smile wavered, and her father glanced away, as if unwilling to even look at her. The silence stretched.
“This,” her father said heavily, “has gone on long enough.”
Nicole didn’t say anything. She just looked at him, soaking in the tight, controlled expression on his face. His hair was greying at the temples. When had he gotten so old?
“If you can’t even control yourself, we’re going to have to take drastic measures.” Her father counted his grievances off on his fingers. “You haven’t left the house in two years. All you do is sit in your room and eat. You graduated high school six years ago, and you haven’t even bothered applying to university yet. I can’t even throw a party in my own home without you fucking everything up.”
“Albert…”
“WHAT?” her father roared. Nicole and her mother flinched at the same time. “Am I wrong? AM I WRONG?” He turned on Nicole. “Your mother told me to leave you some space, to go easier on you. But it’s been SIX YEARS! Six years, and you’ve done nothing in that time. Do you think we’re going to be here forever?”
“Albert, you don’t have to –”
Her father broke off, pivoting on his heel and stalking to the window. At this time of night, there was very little to see; the Darkness covered all else. Yet he remained there for a while, shoulders rising and falling. As Nicole stared at his back, her mother sat down beside her, the smell of her perfume filling her nose. “Don’t take his words too harshly,” she said softly, one feather-light hand on her shoulder. “He just wants the best for you. And so do I.”
“What’s going to happen?” Nicole whispered.
She heard rather than saw her mother shrug. “You’ll be going on a short sabbatical. New York, maybe. Vermont. Somewhere rural. Somewhere you can recover.”
“Like rehab?” Nicole knew what rehab was. When she wasn’t eating, she was watching TV or surfing the Internet. She’d lost count of how many different MTV shows she’d seen rise and fall over the years.
“Rehab?” Her mother laughed, her mirth light and breathy, the very picture of a high-society hostess. “My goodness, certainly not. You’d never be a druggie, would you, Coley?”
“No.”
Her mother’s hand disappeared from her shoulder. Nicole felt it almost as a physical absence. “That’s good,” she said softly, rising to join her husband at the window. “That’s good.”
The door opened.
Her father’s head snapped up from where he was standing at the window. “What the –”
There was the sound of thunder, and his torso disappeared in a swirl of gore. Nicole didn’t realize what she was looking at for a few long moments. Her heart pounded in her ears. Her face felt warm and strangely feverish. Her soft hands curled and uncurled on her lap as she stared dumbly at the pile of meat that had once been her father. Her mother’s dress was splattered with blood.
“Albert?” her mother whispered, like a child. She was turning towards the door, uncomprehending, and Nicole turned towards the door as well, ears ringing, the omnipresent, yawning pit in her stomach bubbling with bile. The air was filled with the smell of iron.
The next shot caught the back of her head. Her blonde ringlets disappeared, wiped out of existence, and Nicole’s mother slumped to the floor, face-down, her hand still reaching out for her husband’s. Nicole stared at them, eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open, and then looked up at the door, where two men in balaclavas were standing. One of them chambered a round into his shotgun and raised it in one casual swing. Nicole found herself staring down its barrel.
And
something
broke.
“How did you find a chair for her?”
Rick shrugged. “Very carefully.”
Ernie turned to look through the one-way glass. The bench had almost disappeared beneath Nicole Bloom’s bulk, but from what little he could see of it, held up remarkably well under her weight. He turned back to Rick. “Are you sure –”
“Yes, Ernie. No one else is free.”
Ernie ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. “Fuck’s sake, man. This is hazing.”
“Hazing would imply that this happens regularly.” Rick jerked his chin at Bloom. “How many people of that size do you think live in Dunwich?”
Ernie cursed under his breath and, instead of replying, snatched up his tape recorder and his files. He ignored Rick’s parting words as he entered the room. Bloom looked up as he entered. From the neck up, she looked like a woman half her size, and her hair was well-styled. She’d appeared outside the station in a massive T-shirt and sweat-stained trackpants, and she was still wearing them. Still, Ernie had smelled worse. He sat down, placed the recorder on the table between them, and tried to meet Bloom’s eyes. She avoided his gaze.
“Good morning, Ms Bloom. I’m Officer Ernest Bowers. Do I have your consent to record your statement?”
Bloom mumbled something. Ernie braced himself for a tedious interview. “Excuse me?”
“Yes.” She sounded surprisingly young – surprising, since her age was difficult to determine. But they did have records.
Clicking his ballpoint pen, Ernie opened the file before him and sifted through it. “Name?”
“Nicole Evelyn Bloom.”
“Age?”
“Twenty-four.” She kept hemming and hawing. It was like she’d never been asked a straight question in her life. Goddamn rich people, Ernie thought.
“Occupation?”
Another mumble. Ernie looked up. “… I don’t work.” There was a short pause before she soldiered on. “Are my parents okay?”
“We ask the questions, Ms Bloom.”
Quickly, Bloom looked down again. Ernie heard something that could have been a sniffle and stifled the throb of irritation that flared in his chest. “Now, I’d like for you to go through the series of events that led to you showing up at this station at, ah, around 00:15 hours.” And that was another confusing factoid further complicating an already confusing case. How had she managed to survive the Darkness, especially at that hour?
It took Ernie almost an hour to alternatively coax and threaten the story out of her in its entirety, and the train of events that emerged seemed like something out of a B-grade horror movie, which is to say, it didn’t make sense at all. To cut a long story short, Bloom had been called out of her room by her parents, who had been talking to her about something. This was when a bunch of armed men had supposedly barged into their house and killed her parents.
“How did you escape?”
Bloom looked up at him with her large, watery eyes. “I don’t know. I… I blinked, and I was here.” She was a very bad liar, but Ernie wasn’t in the mood to press her on the truth. They could keep her here for as long as they wanted, provided they had the proper paperwork. He made a note in his file and opened his mouth, but was cut off by a knock on the door.
“Yes, Captain?”
Captain Fawcett mopped at his brow. “We’re closing the case.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” Something had spooked Fawcett. “Comes from on high. We’re closing the case.”
“But –”
“No ifs or buts, Bowers. As far as the Dunwich Police Department is concerned, no external perpetrators were involved.” Fawcett glanced over his shoulder at Bloom dismissively. “You’ve met the girl. She’s hysterical. She saw her parents arguing, couldn’t take it, and ran.”
“This station is almost a mile from the Bloom estate.”
Fawcett took a deep breath and placed one large paw on Ernie’s shoulder. When he spoke again, the threat in his voice was unmistakable. “This is the last time I’m going to say this, Bowers. Let. It. Go.” He squeezed his shoulder once, then released his grip and patted it more gently. “Finish your interview and let her go.”
Ernie clenched his jaw but complied. Bloom looked up as he re-entered the room. “Are… are my parents okay?”
He didn’t bother to switch on his tape recorder again. “You’re free to go.”
“Are my parents okay?”
“You just told me that you saw two armed men shoot your parents point-blank. How okay do you think they are?”
Bloom’s throat worked. Her large, watery eyes spilled over. Ernie pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezed his eyes shut, and took several deep, calming breaths. “I’m sorry, Ms Bloom,” he said, trying for soothing and failing. “I shouldn’t have said that. However, we have confirmed that both of your parents are deceased. I’m sorry. I’ll give you some time to process it.”