The Cat & The Bell

I woke to an unfamiliar smell.

It must be early if my alarm is still off. As I blinked away the bleary clouds of sleep from my eyes, the angry red numbers glaring from my nightstand came into focus; 10:22 AM.

Ten?

The confusion was quickly replaced with an icy douse of panic, so jarring that I tumbled out of bed and to the floor, my legs bound by the vice my blankets had become. My alarm…Oh, God…

I was late – again.

Once untangled, I became a whirlwind of frenzied limbs snatching clothes scattered around my messy studio apartment, the mystery scent quickly forgotten. While dressing, I stumbled around in a desperate bid to find my missing key ring.

If I hurry, I can catch the B-train…

Like crunchy leaves scraping across unforgiving asphalt, glimpses of last night reappeared in my mind’s eye; a dimly lit tavern with a sticky bar top; a soulful song lost in a cacophony of voices; a familiar face with a crooked smile hiding behind a cigarette, and wine. Lots of wine.

I definitely drank too much last night – my mouth felt like a box of sand was dumped in it, and my head was throbbing with a dull ache that seemed to grow with every thought that scattered across my head. I only have seven minutes…

 A low howl echoed across the cramped space, more obnoxious than usual.

“Not now, Pickles.” I grumbled in response to my calico cat, no doubt lecturing me about the empty food bowl next to the counter.

She yowled again, louder and more insistent as she weaved around my legs. Pickles would have to wait – I had a semblance of a professional outfit put on, and my keys located in the pocket of the peacoat I shed in front of the fridge. Throwing open the door, I snatched up my purse, dumped unceremoniously next to the dainty shoe rack, and called over my shoulder, “I promise to feed you double when I get back!”

If I don’t get fired and can pay for our food, I thought gloomily to myself as I bolted down the hall, opting to take the emergency stairwell down the ten flights. This was my fourth job placement this month. If I got fired from this one, the temp agency threatened to kick me from their roster.

My lungs were already burning by the time I burst through to the lobby, barely acknowledging our security guard Carl with a quick wave as I barreled out the front door. Carl was distracted by his newspaper today, barely looking up until the brisk November winds pushed into the building with my exit. I leapt down the small set of stairs to the sidewalk and made my way to the B-station entrance, its dark gaping maw growing with every urgent pump of my legs. Five minutes left.

If only I had finished school. Now I’m stuck footing the bill for an unfinished degree.

I was about halfway down the subway stairs before an ominous feeling began tugging at me, like I was forgetting something. Did I lock the apartment? I think I drunkenly threw a frozen pizza in the oven before passing out last night – did I turn it off? It’s bad enough that I struggle with temporary work that paid pennies, but it would be even worse if I burned down my whole building over sad-girl dinner…

A melancholy warning bell sounded. My metro-pass was malfunctioning. Less than two minutes to go…

“Come on” I pleaded silently with the electric turnstile, making futile swipes above the sensor. The unforgiving bell rang in its digital belfry, the light staying red – a stark indicator that I was out of money again. Already panting from my half run, my breath came in spurts as I realized there was no time to refill at the kiosk. Willing myself to take a deep breath, I looked around helplessly…and noticed security was especially sparse today.

I decided to do something stupid and prayed I would be lucky enough to succeed.

Making a run for the exit portal, I launched myself over the turnstiles and sprinted to the platform stairs. The guard stationed by the terminal didn’t even look up from his phone, his glazed eyes glued to whatever held his attention.

I almost laughed aloud as I trotted down the stairs two at a time, feeling a lightness return to myself when considering my luck. Right as I reached the platform, the B-train came roaring into the station, the screeching brakes like nails on chalkboard for my aching skull. Even with that, I started to believe that maybe things wouldn’t be so bad today as I stepped through the exiting crowd and as I took an empty seat on the train.

I caught my dim reflection in the train window and winced; I looked like death. Despite the extra couple of hours of sleep, I still felt exhausted. Dark bags sagged under my eyes and my cheeks were gaunt from many hungry nights – boiled instant ramen can only be so filling. My uncombed hair was oily at the roots and stuck out at odd angles, and the cracks in my lips were deep enough to be trenches. I frowned at the woman I had become, staring back at me.

You were pretty, once.

“Now arriving – Park Avenue, East.” A hollow yet booming voice cut through my darkening thoughts, startling me. Sure, it was the express train, but shouldn’t I be on this route for at least ten more minutes? I was obviously way more out of it than I thought. Pretty sure I have Advil somewhere in my desk…

The dread began to settle in my stomach, making my feet feel like lead despite the effort I put into hurrying off onto the platform, navigating around idle bodies as I made my way up the stairs. A woman appeared of nowhere and shoulder-checked me on her way down.

“Hey…” I began, but she kept walking, pulling her coat closer to her ears as she hurried away. Scowling, I quickly checked my pockets – pickpockets were worst around holiday season. Ensuring everything was in their place, I continued my way up the stairs and joined the flow of thrumming, living concrete jungle of the city.

I had stayed optimistic up to this point, my minor turns of luck being the wind in my sails, but as I neared the looming tower that held the offices of multiple accounting firms, I was beginning to feel the crushing weight of the reality that faced me.

I had been scraping by to make ends meet, but the loss of this job would mean ultimate defeat. I would have no choice but to move back with my parents, to that awful small town with smaller people. Ones I am not ready to face now or ever.

I swallowed hard as the elevator bell dinged passed every floor on its way up to the thirteenth – a swan song to what was my inevitable final hours of employment. I stepped out of the elevator, cautiously surveying the beige surroundings of seemingly endless cubicles. No one turned in my direction, but by the hushed whispers of paper stacks and hurried steps of anxious bodies, I could tell the manager was not in a good mood. 

Keeping my head down I scurried to my cubicle, quickly dropping my bag and coat next to my small desk cluttered with files. I prayed that no one noticed that I was missing the first couple of hours of work, but that hope was quickly snuffed once I heard the familiar, pounding steps headed in my direction.

 I wiped my sweaty palms on my pencil skirt, which I had the misfortune of realizing was stained with salsa from my burrito yesterday. Before I could even begin looking for something to wipe or cover it, Mr. Frank was towering in the entry way staring at me.

Frances Merril III, current Senior Executive, was a mean sonofabitch. He insisted on being called “Mr. Frank” and if you made the mistake of calling him Mr. Merril, you’d get an earful about how he is not his “rotten scumbag” father and send you on your way to HR to collect your final paycheck. I would know; in the three months I worked here, I saw it happen twice.

Mr. Frank had a large, imposing form that made me believe he might have been muscular at one point, before aging at a desk job started to take its toll. Every morning since I started working here, his prickly goatee carried the remains of his breakfast well into the late afternoon hours, when his lunch was offered as an alternate sacrifice. Today was no different, with a morsel of egg speared near the corner of a mouth fouler than his disposition.

It made me think of the crooked smile with dimpled cheeks from last night.

Praying that my blush wasn’t super obvious, I stood with a stiff spine and stared, wide-eyed and waited for his verbal onslaught. He regarded me for a few moments, his blue eyes iced over and face red with rage. The extended silence between us was unnerving as all hell – he should be cussing and screaming by now. I opened my mouth to speak; perhaps I could salvage my position and beg for another chance.

“Mr. Frank…” I began, but he abruptly turned away and stomped off in the opposite direction.

Oh, no…

That brief interaction could only mean that Mr. Frank was furious, and I was back on the unemployment line.

I slowly sat at my desk, numbly shifting paper stacks with trembling hands, unable to concentrate but still trying to look busy. Mr. Frank stomped toward my cube two more times, pausing at the entrance and exhaling loudly, like an angry bull waiting to be unleashed, before thundering off again. A cold sweat blanketed my sore limbs, and my stomach was so heavy from dread I thought it might fall out my butt.

This type of behavior should be considered a war crime.

Everyone knows that Mr. Frank has a short fuse and an explosive temper, but to be this angry over one measly, unimportant temp showing up late? There had to be something else…

I soon got my answer as Mr. Frank roared, “Knox! Get over here, now!”

My heart soared and plummeted all at once. If Frank Merril was a ferocious bear, then Evan Knox was a majestic stag. Lanky and soft-spoken, he had gentle, warm eyes I would willingly drown in. Even though he was my direct supervisor and my crush was highly inappropriate, I couldn’t help but melt whenever he smiled at me; lopsided and boyish, with dimples carving subtle caverns into the valleys of his angular face.

I could see his thick bushel of dark hair floating its way past my cubicle, the ease in his gait dragged with apprehension.

“Mr. Frank?” Evan was cautious yet calm in his response.

“Where the fuck is that new girl?” Mr. Frank demanded, and I paused my inane paper shuffling in confusion.

When did we hire someone else?

“I-I don’t…I’m not….” Evan began to stammer out before Mr. Frank lost his patience.

“Never mind that.” He snapped, “Consider her fired. Where are those quarterly revenue reports? The client is expecting them today.”

I was flooded with a new horror just then. That is what I had forgotten.

 Evan asked me out for drinks last night and I practically leapt at the offer, thinking he finally saw me. It turned out he only wanted to talk about entrusting me with completing the quarterly reports for the first time. I was more than a little bummed that it was work related and not a romantic gesture, if my hangover had anything to say about it, but I was willing to prove myself to him.

Evan trusted me with those documents, and he would lose his job if I didn’t come through.

It was one thing for me to neglect my own job duties and get fired, but Evan…

“W-well, that’s the thing, Mr. Frank…” He replied, “We assigned that to the new girl…and she…”

Wait, what?

“You gotta be fucking kidding me, Knox…” Mr. Frank seethed, his stomping steps approaching yet again, this time accompanied by the light footfalls of his underling.

I had no time to even process my growing confusion as they both appeared in the opening of my office, cramming together into the limited space.

Jumping up, I placed my hands in front of me defensively. I could still talk my way out of this. “I can explain…” I began, my voice shaking yet strong.

“There,” Mr. Frank barked, cutting me off. His thick arm reached through my torso and grabbed a stack of papers from my desk. His body racked with a shiver as he glanced over the numbers.

The world tilted on its axis. A sound of sucking air, and then a high-pitched ringing filled my ears.

No…no, it can’t be…

Mr. Frank yelled some more, tossing the papers to Evan, then shouted something to his poor secretary about the office being like an icebox before stomping away.

“Evan?” My voice was barely a whisper, a question and a plea all at once.

I could only watch in helpless horror as Evan looked sadly around the cubicle, before he shook his head and slowly ambled out, his head hanging low with defeat. Like I was never there.

The ringing persisted, a hall of giant bells in my ears, louder than the angry bear that prowled this cube farm.

I don’t know how, but I made it back down to the first floor and through the streets to the train station. And as I sat on that subway back to my apartment, I began to piece it all together in the retracing of my steps:

The woman in the stairwell, who ignored me and pulled her coat tighter from the chill.

The subway security doing nothing about my gate crashing.

Even the doorman, Carl, usually so pleasant but today preoccupied.

All those people I could find excuses for – I could even rationalize that I had hallucinated my boss reaching through me, and I had been too delirious with stress to realize he just reached past me and then fired me on the spot.

But it was the bell – the one in the lobby that tinkled merrily whenever the door opened. Such an ordinary sound that blended in the fray of everyday life, I had missed its absence this morning. On the long march home, I hoped that it was just broken, or removed altogether, and this whole day was a bad dream.

Entering the lobby, I was greeted by a devastating silence. I looked up slowly, afraid to accept the horrible truth that lurked beneath the thin surface of my denial. A numbness overtook me as I looked back down, marching myself forward. It could be broken…

As if on a cosmic cue, someone opened the door behind me, triggering the tinkling song of my cruel, shiny harbinger. I knew it then.

Even before I entered my apartment, finally seeing the lifeless mound on the mattress that I had missed in my panicked rush, I figured out why the bell didn’t ring for me. Ripping back the sheets, I confirmed what I already knew.

The bell wasn’t broken.

I never left.

Staring down at my body, I could almost fool myself into thinking I was still asleep. But my skin was too waxy and a sickly shade of greyish-blue. An odor wafted through my nose, the same one from this morning, and I realized with growing despair that it was the smell of decay.

I had died, and I was rotting in this tiny apartment.

Pickles perched next to my body, her tail swishing back and forth with irritation. She looked at me with a mix of triumph and annoyance, chirping as if to say, “I tried to warn you.”

I sighed, noting the empty bottles that once contained pills and booze scattered next to me. “Well…” I said aloud, turning to Pickles. “Guess my doctor wasn’t kidding when he said I shouldn’t mix with alcohol.”

Pickles narrowed her chartreuse eyes at me, her tail still swinging like an agitated asp. “Again, I tried to warn you the night before, but you wouldn’t listen.”

I blinked. “Wait…” I murmured, “Did you just…talk?”

Pickles responded by rolling her eyes at me, as if I were a moron for not knowing cats could talk and hopped gracefully from the bed. Though I couldn’t see her mouth move, I could hear her voice – clear as the crisp blue sky outside.

“Didn’t you pay attention to your history classes in school when they talked about ancient Egypt? I am the guardian for your departing soul.”

I could only stare in disbelief as she strutted toward the open door of the apartment and paused to look back at me, mewling indignantly.

“Come, human. There is much to do before you cross over. You have unfinished business, and we have wasted enough time as it is.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes in exasperation. Great, even in the afterlife, I can’t escape the grind.

Looking back at myself, decomposing and alone in the room, a heavy sadness filled my chest. “But…” I began, my voice breaking with grief.

Pickles seemed to understand, angling her head up to me, mewling gently. “We will leave the door open, and they will find you soon enough.”

Without another word, Pickles strode out the door into the darkened hallway. Although her words were a small comfort, I still felt bad for Carl or whoever would be unfortunate enough to find me.

What other choice do I have?

Exhaling a shaky breath, I stepped out of the apartment and followed my cat into the unknown.