Hello, Ma’am. Can I Help You?

Wheezing heavily, Cormac O’ Connor stumbles around the corner of Epping Street, clinging to a wall while he desperately tries to fill his lungs with air.

Coughing uncontrollably, he takes several wobbly steps, trying not to slip on the black ooze covering the sidewalk.

A bulky police officer wearing a mask comes to his aid.

“You shouldn’t be out in this soup if you’ve got breathing problems,” he says. “Hold on. I think I’ve got a spare mask.”

Reaching into his pocket, he hands it to Cormac.

Cormac coughs as he reads the name etched into the policeman’s uniform.

“Thank you, Officer Van Orden.”

Looking up at the black, impenetrable sky, Officer Wade Van Orden says, “This fog really snuck up on us. The weatherman says it could last a week or longer. Can you make it home?”

“…Yes. I think I’ll be all right now… Is this the end of the world?”

“No. Remember, it’s always darkest before the dawn.”

“It’d better be one helluva dawn.”

***

Cormac’s daughter, Caleigh, greets him with teary-eyed concern.

“It’s bad enough that you work in that blasted hat factory all day. I was worried your asthma would kick in.”

Cormac plops down in a nearby worn armchair.

Their hearts jump when a bird crashes into the living room window.

“Fog’s so thick that you can’t even see your feet move,” Cormac wheezes. “Everything is black. Even Mrs. Price’s prized roses look filthy.”

“A reporter on the TV said a dozen cows out on Miller’s Farm choked to death. The Mayor is advising non-essential personnel to stay indoors. From now on, Pop, that’s you.

***

Eight-year-old Buddy Boyle opens the back door of his parents’ house, staring at the black carpet of fog.

“Maverick! C’mon, boy! The Mayor says it’s dangerous to be outside. You hear me, Maverick?”

Buddy wanders out into the opaque abyss.

***

Elbert Slevin runs his handkerchief across his bulldog features. The stocky fifty-three-year-old Chief of Police for New Hope, Pennsylvania, has seen his seaside hometown engulfed in a thick fog twice before, but never one like this, and is concerned that the crime rate will soar.

Looking out of his office window, Elbert squints at the inky sky.

“Everything is cloaked in black soot. You’d never know there’s a three-story office building across the street.”

“I had hopes that when I woke up this morning, this fog would be gone, but here we are, day three,” Wade replies. “It’s hard to believe that it’s noon and the sun is out there somewhere behind that black sky.”

Forty-two-year-old Wade Van Orden is Elbert’s most trusted and senior officer. Despite his Oliver Hardy jolly fat man build, Wade is strong and nimble, having once single-handedly disarmed three bank robbers with just his wits and fists.

“It’s as bad as the weatherman says. Worse. Fresh air isn’t supposed to smell like rotten eggs,” Elbert says.

“You’re right, sir. I checked with the weather bureau. We’re breathing poison. People are burning more coal because of this cold snap, which created this deadly fog. The smoke from the factories, combined with smoke pouring from people’s chimneys, has created an anticyclone hanging over the region. It pushes air downwards, warming it as it descends and creates an inversion, where air near the ground is cooler than air higher above it. So, when the warm smoke comes out of the chimney, it’s trapped.”

“Christ. I didn’t duck kamikazes at Okinawa to wind up choking to death. It’s 1954, not the Middle Ages.”

“Public transportation has been shut down,” Wade continues. “Dozens of accidents have been reported. The roads are clogged with abandoned cars because commuters ditched them and walked home. There’s been a spike in hospitalizations relating to pneumonia and bronchitis. Movie theaters, diners, and businesses are closing. Boat traffic on the river has come to a standstill. Burglaries and purse snatchings are rising.”

Mindy Moore, the precinct’s bubbly secretary, breezes into the squad room.

“Got a desperate call from the Boyles at 24 Juniper Junction. Their dog, Maverick, is missing…”

“We don’t have time to look for some mutt,” Elbert grouses.

“Their boy, Buddy, does, and that’s why he’s missing.”

***

Officer Lyme Foddo rubs his left eye as he enters the squad room.

Elbert immediately notices his black eye.

Balding with glasses, a lean build, and sleepy brown eyes, thirty-six-year-old Lyme is considered quiet, even-tempered, and dreary, so his battered appearance raises Elbert’s concern.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“No, sir.”

“This is not the time for marital discord, Foddo. If you were involved in something that could damage the reputation of this squad, I need to know about it.”

“I’m ashamed to admit it, Chief, but I strayed. A girl I met in France during the war happened to move into the neighborhood. We renewed our acquaintance. I found out she was married the hard way.”

“Christ. I need you in the streets, Foddo, not in the hospital. I trust you’ve cut ties with your old flame?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your wife deserves better. You should bring Eunice some flowers when your shift is over.”

“She doesn’t know about the affair, sir.”

“Then do it to ease your own conscience, Foddo.”

“And because you love her,” Wade adds.

“Hit the bricks, Foddo,” Elbert says. Shaking his head as Lyme walks away, he says to Wade, “It’s always the quiet ones.”

***

Danica Drake looks around the Toasted Tortoise’s barren barroom.

“Gonna close up early, Danica,” Maury, the bartender and owner, says.

“How’s a girl supposed to make a living in this soup?”

Maury pours Danica a free drink, hoping she’ll down it and leave. A former Miss New Hope and part-time telephone operator, Danica’s trim, enticing looks evaporated as her waistline expanded.

“Why don’t you put your motor in park for a few days and recharge your batteries?” Maury asks.

“If I’m going to be lying down, I’m going to get paid for it. Are you going to pay my rent?”

Danica clicks her tongue, noting that the two remaining customers are senior citizen rummies without a dime between them.

“Go home, Danica.”

“Aw, go fly a kite, Maury. Don’t pretend you’re looking out for me. You’re just like all the other men; out for yourself. You’ll be sorry someday when I’m not around to liven things up.”

Danica throws open the door. The thick, black fog swirls into the room. Letting out a dissatisfied harumph, Danica disappears into it.

Her heels tap rhythmically as she walks down the street.

She slows her gait, her heart pounding when she makes out the figure of a man standing underneath a streetlight.

She sighs in relief.

The man says, “Hello, ma’am. Can I help you?”

***

Danica is disappointed by the man's messy living conditions. The furniture is worn, with newspapers and cartons of takeout food strewn about.

At least he has a stash of high-quality booze.

The man pulls his belt out of his pants.

“Easy, hon. We can talk business later,” Danica says. “Let’s get tight first.”

The man pours her a generous glass of imported vodka. Danica licks her lips.

She sips her drink, unaware that the man has moved behind her.

The last thing she feels is the belt tightening around her throat.

***

Cormac lets out a series of long, ragged coughs.

“You feeling any better, Pop?” Caleigh asks.

“…A bit…”

“It’s been five days,” Caleigh notes. “Fog’s so thick now that it’s seeped into the building. I have to keep cleaning coal dust off the windowsills.”

Caleigh turns to check on her father. Cormac is slumped in his chair, his mouth hanging open.

Caleigh panics. She calls the police, but all the lines are busy. Running outside, she screams for help.

A tall man with the studious, harmless look of an accountant wafts through the dense fog.

“Hello, ma’am. Can I help you?”

“It’s my Pop. I think he’s had a heart attack. He could be dead. I’m at my wits end. I suffer from anxiety attacks. I feel a big one coming on now.”

“You should wait at my place while I investigate. It’s only around the corner.”

“I shouldn’t leave him. But I feel so shaky, so nervous.”

“He’d want you to be safe and not have to suffer the agony of seeing him being taken away. Besides, I’ve got something that’ll calm you down.”

***

Wade pulls down his mask, sniffing the air.

“…The complainant is right. It smells like an open sewer in here...”

Wade is surprised to see Lyme Foddo exit from the apartment upstairs.

“What are you doing here, Lyme?”

“I live here.”

“Here?”

“Okay, it’s not the Ritz.”

“If I’d known, I’d have let you handle the call. With all that we’ve got going on because of this fog, we put this call on the back burner. But a group of kids tried to knock off a deli around the corner, so I thought I’d investigate.”

“What’s the problem?” Lyme asks.

“Your downstairs neighbor called in a complaint. She said it stinks in here, and she’s right.”

“She should complain. She’s the one stinking up the building with her cooking. She comes from the deep south, where they cook anything. Pig’s feet, chitlins, turnips, stray dogs. I’m surprised she didn’t throw you in the pot.”

“Are you starting your shift?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, you can read her the riot act. I’m going to do some real police work,” Wade says, covering his mouth with his mask.

***

Blossom Bouchet rushes around the corner of Epping Street, fading into the darkness.

She hears the padding of footsteps, reaching into her knapsack as a man comes around the corner.

“Stay away! Stay away!”

He holds up both palms in surrender. “Hello, ma’am. Can I help you? You’re not going to hold anybody off with a ChapStick. Besides, I’m not going to hurt you. I followed you because I was worried about you.”

The man reminds her of a mild-mannered librarian or a social studies teacher. Although he’s wearing a mask, she can tell he’s smiling at her peacefully.

The short-haired brunette with the smudged cheeks looks young, about the age of a college student.

He surveys her disheveled, dirty clothes. She’s underdressed for such a bone-chilling December evening.

“Do you have a place to stay?”

Blossom coughs. “No. I’ve had a run of bad luck. I was living with my roommate in Easton…”

“That’s seventy-five miles away. You walked all the way from there to here?” the man asks in a soft, sympathetic voice.

“Yeah. My roommate dropped out of school to get married. I came home one day and found my place had been ransacked, including the thousand bucks I’d stashed away. That was it, I quit school too. I couldn’t pay the rent, so out I went. I’ve spent what little money I had left on trains, buses, and food, trying to get home. I’ve still got a hundred miles to go. I wandered into this fog a few hours ago. I’ll be on my way once it lifts a bit and I can see where I’m going.”

“I’m sorry to inform you, but it may be days before the fog lifts. You can’t rough it on a park bench, not in this kind of weather. Even one night in this poisonous atmosphere could kill you. Besides, all manner of thieves, muggers, and rapists are out. You’re bait to them.”

“What can I do to protect myself? Get a gun?”

“You don’t want to do that. especially if you’re not used to firing one. You could accidentally shoot someone who has no place to go, like you, or some poor soul who’s lost in the fog. I tell you what… You can come with me. You can sleep on my couch.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“These are hard times…”

“Maybe the end of times!” Blossom exclaims.

***

Eight days after the fog descended on New Hope and two days after Wade’s visit to Lyme’s apartment building, another tenant calls the police to complain about the smell.

“Sorry, Wade. I’m sending you out to Epping Street again,” Elbert says.

“Why can’t Lyme do it? He lives there.”

“His sister in Harrisburg died, so I gave him a couple of days leave,” Elbert replies. “He paid some brave waterman to pilot his boat through the fog. I told him he was crazy, but it’s family, you know?”

“Probably a lot of people on that boat with him, looking to escape the fog. Hope he made it. So, there’s no robberies, no muggings, no shootings to handle in the midst of the worst fog in a hundred years?”

“The crime rate’s been going down in the past few days. Everybody’s abiding by the Mayor’s emergency decree to stay home, so, no victims, no crimes. Get out to Foddo’s building and get back as soon as you can.”

***

Egon Erickson, the bug-eyed landlord for the building, fiddles with his key ring.

“Never thought I’d have to wear a mask indoors.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty rank in here. The last time I was here, Lyme blamed it on the downstairs tenant. He said she cooks a lot of smelly southern food.”

“Mrs. Rabinowitz? She eats boiled chicken and Matzo Ball soup. Nah, Foddo’s lying. The smell is coming from his apartment.

Erickson opens the door. The foul scent that hits Wade turns his stomach.

Wade enters the apartment.

Egon’s eyes bulge as he surveys the mess. “No wonder he never lets me in. He’s a pig.”

“You’d never know it by the way he acts at work. He’s as prim and proper as a school marm. And the way he talks about his wife, she wouldn’t allow this mess either.”

“Eunice? She’s a real wallflower. Haven’t seen her in a long time. I think he beats on her.”

“That doesn’t sound like Lyme.”

Wade looks at the volumes of books stacked on a shelf, reading some of the titles: “…Hmm… Covenant With Death… Cruel Crime and Painful Punishment…Vicious Villains…Blood in the Sand At D-Day… Looks like the man I had pegged as a wallflower has an obsession with death.”

“Foddo’s not the man you think he is. He’s good at putting on the mask of a quiet, reserved regular guy. Did you know he takes bribes? Yeah. There’s a gambling joint masking as a social club a few blocks from here. They give him an envelope every week to keep the place from getting raided. He bragged about it to me. He shakes down the thugs around here, too. Takes a piece of every robbery they commit. Lord knows what else he’s got his hands in.”

Wade notices that the far wall in the living room has recently been plastered and painted over.

“I told him no home repairs,” Egon says.

Taking a deep breath and nearly gagging, Wade moves closer to the wall.

Wade notices a lump in the middle of the wall.

He drives his fist into the wall, punching a hole in it.

Eunice’s decomposing face stares blankly back at him.

“Looks like Eunice really is a wallflower.”

***

Elbert winces. “I’ve got an A.P.B. out on Foddo.”

“I thought you said he went to his sister’s place in Harrisburg?” Wade asks.

“Turns out he doesn’t have a sister. And it looks like he’s been lying to us about his past.”

“We didn’t talk much, but I do remember him saying his father was very strict, and his little brother liked to make fun of him because he was such a straight arrow,” Wade says. “He said he took care of his mother when she fell down the stairs. Said he felt guilty because it happened while they were arguing…”

Elbert’s expression sours. “How much do you want to bet he pushed her?”

“He said his mother used to ring a bell, morning, noon, and night, like she enjoyed torturing him with it, and that he had to help change her clothes, feed her, bathe her… She demanded that he enter her room like a servant, saying, ‘Hello, ma’am. Can I help you?’”

“And that was the saying that was written on the inside wall next to Eunice’s corpse,” Elbert notes. “He was a dirty cop. But what set him off on this killing spree?”

“His landlord, Mr. Erickson, told me that Lyme fought at D-Day, and that he witnessed half his platoon, his friends, get slaughtered when they hit the beach. Lyme took a bullet in the head that had passed through his commanding officer and had killed him. The Army discharged him on a Section Eight, a mental disability, and he was sent home…”

“Of course, he never mentioned he was insane when he applied for the job, and we were so hard up for officers that no one checked his background,” Elbert says. “Eunice’s body was in the wall for a month or more. The investigation team found the decomposing remains of Danica Drake, Caleigh O’Connor, and Blossom Bouchet. Drake and Bouchet were strangled, and O’Connor was poisoned, then strangled. The team also found the body of a little boy. We’re waiting on the Boyle family to confirm it’s their son…The good news is the fog has finally blown out to sea…”

“The bad news is it took Lyme Foddo with it.”