Chosen Ch. 01

I'm not crazy, and I'm not making it up. I don't expect anyone to believe me. But I have to type this, even though I know I'm not supposed to; maybe it's happened to someone before. I can't be the only one.

My name is Adrienne, and I'm twenty four years old. I live alone in California and I used to do data entry for a large firm. The art major didn't work out. I make extra money on the side doing photo shoots and little bits of modelling, for local advertisers. Some of it's... risqué. Not quite porn but.... I mean data entry jobs are getting harder to find. I don't like the modelling work but there are a couple of guys who can always work me into their projects if I ask nicely. But each time they come through, the job is a little more... I don't want to do porn.

I have a small apartment in a poorer part of town. It's not that bad. The people in the neighborhood are pretty decent and they watch out for me. I invested in an extra lock on my door and the windows are barred; it's an old building, but built when the town was better off, so it's nicer than it might have been.

My boyfriend took a job in Texas. I already know it's not going to work out. Maybe it was never going to, but already he's not calling as often. I have friends, mostly people from school; and I see them on weekends. My family is out East.

I'm kind of a neat freak. My apartment is super-organized; my friends laugh at it. The apartment is full of nooks and little places to store things, shelves and bookcases from the days when people built all that into their rooms, and I have art projects from school on display and things from my boyfriend's archeological projects; arrowheads, some pottery and carved onyx from Mexico. I mean I had to do something with the bookshelves; I don't have that many actual books.

So it jumped out at me when I saw a book on a shelf that I hadn't put there.

It was Wednesday, April sixteenth. I remember because it was the morning after the lunar eclipse, which I hadn't known about beforehand; it kind of creeped me out when I looked out the window that night. Things were dark and red; I decided I didn't like it and went to bed a little early.

The next morning I dragged myself into the living room and made coffee, and saw the book and inkwell.

I stared at them. No one had been over last night and they definitely weren't mine. I walked over. The inkwell had ink in it, a strange rusty-brown liquid. I sniffed at it. It had a faint, sharp smell.

They were old – the inkwell was pottery and looked right at home with some of my boyfriend's finds from Europe. The book was nothing like I'd ever seen before – a thick leather cover, worn in many places, and the back cover was stiff and looked like it had been burned. It had rough cut pages that were dusky yellow with age. There was a title that had once been done in gilt, but it was worn off and just a few flecks remained. I turned it over in my hands; it was heavy and dusty, but well stitched, not falling apart.

Had my boyfriend been by? That wasn't possible. He was on a future oil site in Texas, digging around for Indian stuff. And he didn't have a key anymore.

I opened the book at random. The page was blank. I frowned, and flipped backwards. All blank.

Until the first page. There were a few words, in dark reddish-brown, formal, ornate, handwritten lettering, at the top of the page:

You have been chosen.

I stared at it. What the hell?

Some kind of prank, right? One of my friends thought the art and antiques were weird, probably, and had snuck this in here. Somehow. Except I'd dusted these shelves two days ago and this hadn't been there and no one had been over since...

Seriously, what was going on? Kristen, maybe. She had a weird sense of humor. But how?

Well, if it was Kristen, I'd play her weird little game. There wasn't a pen with the inkwell, but I grabbed a regular pen from my purse and scribbled below the words:

Yay! Did I win a cruise?

My writing looked clumsy and uneven compared to the ornate print above it. People don't write like that anymore. I mean people don't write anymore at all, they type.

I shook my head, and pulled out my phone and texted Kristen.Did you leave a book here?

She responded almost instantly.Book? Like paper? No. I have a Kindle. Why would I bring a book over there?

I just... frowned, and put the book back on the shelf. Weirdest prank ever. But I had to get to work.

+++

At work I got selected for a trial project – they were trying out new software. It became apparent very quickly that the new software existed to automate my job, and once they had it working, a bunch of us were going to be unemployed. I wasn't exactly shocked; I'd seen this before. I mean, I'm not stupid. Naïve, maybe, but not stupid. I knew career change was inevitable. I just didn't like the most likely option for my next career. Maybe I could learn to write software; they seem to be the guys that get to take everyone else's jobs away.

Lunch was depressing. I made sure all my coworkers knew about the trial project and what it meant.

By three o'clock the software and I – by which I mean the software – had done three days of work. The guy in charge was very pleased, and told me I could have the rest of the day off while they made some final adjustments.

Yeah. I walked out in a funk. I've learned something: when your job gets easy, it's never a good thing. The timing couldn't have been worse; my finances were in a decline. Bob, my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend, had been helping out on food and car maintenance more than I realized.

I hiked down the walkway and over the bridge towards the parking lot, which was across the highway. The parking lot had always struck me as a noir art project, a concrete example of negative space – it was cracked, faded asphalt, surrounded by decaying chain link fence and razor wire, but the exit to the access road no longer had a gate, so the razor wire didn't accomplish anything positive. There were weeds and broken glass and oil stains, and a faded aluminum sign that said "Parking for Employees for Metracorp ONLY", which wasn't the name of the current company. If you were trying to convey the sense that the people who parked there weren't important, it would have been hard to do better. The crowning touch was the small arrangement of flowerpots along one edge of the lot; someone had tried to bring color here once, but the plants were long dead and two of the flower pots were broken; another had rusted out. Flower pots that can rust – what a clever design.

I turned left and walked along the edge of the lot, listening to cars fly by on the highway just a few feet away. People going places, doing important things. I spotted my car and turned towards it, sighing.

I don't know exactly what happened, since I was walking away, but there was a bang, a screech, and the sudden blowing of truck horns, terrifyingly loud and sudden – and a horrific crashing, tearing noise, followed by a series of smashes and horns blowing. I looked behind me, saw a jack-knifing truck crashing through the fence towards me, I screamed, stumbled, crashed to the ground-

Broken glass, everywhere, and hot metal scraping over my leg. More crashes and the scream of tortured metal, but that was back on the highway. It look me a long time – I guess, I was confused and stunned – to sort out what had happened.

I'd run between two cars, tripped, and the truck had rolled over me. The two cars I'd been between had been smashed almost flat but between them they'd kept the truck from crushing me as well. There was glass everywhere and my leg was going to bruise but except for a cut on the back of my hand I seemed to be... fine?

I smelled gas, and looked down. A spreading puddle. Fuck, gas – bad, that'sbad –

I got up and ran. A few seconds behind me, there was a quiet foosh, and the space I'd been in caught fire. It didn't burn as fast or furiously as it did in the movies.

On the highway there was a pileup of damage. I couldn't be here, I had to leave, people were dying here. I bolted for my car, staggered into it, left... the access road dumped me on to the highway, downstream of the accident.

Looking behind me, I'd clearly been on the edge of a horrific pileup. Holy shit – the truck driver. The cab had been smashed and I hadn't seen anyone get out, and then a fire... Go back? I'd have to loop around and there'd be that traffic jam. No, call the police! But even as I reached for my phone, I could see the flashing lights in the mirror, off in the distance.

I put the phone down, and shook. I shouldn't even be alive. If the metal had twisted differently I wouldn't be. If I hadn't tripped and fallen flat I wouldn't be. If I hadn't noticed the gas I wouldn't be. Holyshit.

I was still shaking when I got to my apartment. If anything, worse. I sat on the sofa, took off my shoes – I have to do this when I get to my apartment, I don't know why – and tried not to think too much.

That didn't work. I need to talk to someone. Calling Bob didn't even occur to me. I needed Kristen.

As I reached for the phone, it rang. I jolted like a wire had just shocked me, and with a shaking hand I picked it up. "Yes?"

"Adrienne Smith? This is Will Canu, from work."

"Uh... yes, Mr. Canu. It's ok, I'm fine."

"Ah... what?"

"Aren't you calling about the accident?"

"Oh the highway? No. Why, were you involved in it?"

"I was in the parking lot when it happened."

"Were you hurt at all?"

"Nothing serious. I'm fine." I'd be bruised when the smashed car door had banged my leg, and there was the small cut on my hand, but given what could have happened...

"Oh. Good! I'm glad to hear it."

"Thanks. Um, why are you calling then?"

Wait. Canu. He was in HR. Oh no...

"Um, bad news, Miss Smith. You're being laid off. I'm sure you understand about the pressures the company is under as regards profitability. Steps had to be taken. I need to ask you to stop by at ten tomorrow for the exit interview. You'll get two additional weeks of pay, as the law requires, of course. You can have any questions answered then. Sorry to tell you over the phone, but the announcement had to be made today and we couldn't reach you in the office."

"It's ok, Mr Canu. It's not exactly unexpected."

"I'm glad you're ok, Miss Smith. You'll speak to a Miss Vultari tomorrow. Good night."

I thumbed Hang Up, and stared at the phone, blankly. Two more weeks of income. I wasn't going to be able to make rent. I went numb, and now I didn't even want to call Kristen. Somehow the two shocks were just... too much. I sat there. I didn't even cry.

After a time I got up. I was unemployed now. Lots of free time, might as well find something to do. Maybe I'd dust the apartment.

That was when I started crying.

+++

When I was done, I made dinner, and ate. I was in so, so much trouble now. I had no idea what to do.

Moodily, my eye fell on the mysterious book. And the even more mysterious inkwell with the extremely mysterious ink.

How had it even gotten here?

I walked over to it, and picked it up. Heavy. Old. I sat down and opened to the first page again.

You have been chosen.

༓

Raise the third floorboard from the east wall in your bedroom.

Wait... what? I'd written in this book this morning. My writing was gone, and this was added. Who had been in my apartment when I was away?

I put the book down. Suddenly I was afraid of it. No one could have been in here and no one could have erased what I'd written so neatly. This wasn't even possible.

The accident. I'd survived. That wasn't possible either. I stared at the book. None of this was possible.

A floorboard? Like, a plank in the floor? My bedroom had a carpet. Well, no, it was a wall to wall rug, more like. It had come with the apartment and I'd lifted it and looked underneath and the wooden floor had not been in great shape and I'd left the rug alone after that.

I was shaking again.

East wall. How did I know which way east was? I mean I live in a city, the streets are twisty, I wasn't ever a girl scout or anything... wait. Sun rises in the east. Doesn't it? It shone in my bedroom window in the morning. So that was east, right?

I found myself walking up the old, narrow stairs to my bedroom. Shaking. Confused.

I went to the window, looked out. Late afternoon sun behind me, casting shadows over the city, with the spires of the financial district the only bright points. I looked down, and rolled back the rug. Old wooden planks, badly sanded, stained. Pry up the third one? What did that mean? Third from the east. Um... one, two, three. Ok. It's a long narrow plank. How would I- oh. It's a little warped. Raised just a little and with a small gap. I have a screwdriver somewhere, I could pry at it...

I froze. How could anyone know about this? It had to be Bob, right? What the fuck, not many people had been in this bedroom but he had, he's the only one that could know...

I called him.

"Addy! What's up, girl."

In the background I heard pounding noises.

"Where are you?"

"What? Sweetheart, you know where I am. On site a bunch of miles from Lubbock. Don't mind the banging, they're putting up temporary housing for the drilling crew. You calling because you miss my voice?"

"I... "

What was I going to say? I got a book and it's creeping me out?

"Yeah. I just had a bad day is all. Traffic accident. I'm fine, it was just a really close call."

"Oh, baby. You need to be careful. But you're ok?"

"Yeah."

In the background, I heard a female voice. The phone instantly muted. I stared at it. After a moment he spoke again. "Sorry babe. I need to get back to this. One of the surveys has gotten messed up-"

In the background, a faint giggle.

"Yeah, ok. I have to go too. Bye."

Yeah. I hit Hang Up. No tears this time; everything was happening the way I knew it would. Except the book.

Numbly, I got a screwdriver, realized it was the plus kind and not good for prying, and got a kitchen knife instead. It wasn't good for prying either, but the board had shrunk a little over the years and it wasn't too difficult to pry up.

There was space underneath. A couple feet away, there was something in the space, a small brown package wrapped up in coarse twine. Covered with dust.

I picked it up. The twine disintegrated. The wrapping was leather, old but not too stiff. It was bigger than my hand, but not much. In a dream, I unfolded the wrapping.

A pearl necklace spilled into my hand.

I'd never seen one like it; the pearls were big, and it was at least eighteen inches long. The clasp looked like gold. There was a note with it, folded, yellowed.

I opened it, expecting rust-brown ink, but it was a blue-black, very feminine somehow, and faded.

My dear love,
I cannot accept this. You know that very well. It is extravagant beyond words and even if it was appropriate, when could I ever wear it? He already suspects, and he would ruin me in a moment if he learned of you. He is here this week, so I will write this note now and mail it back to you as soon as he is gone. Oh Brian, you cannot, cannot do this. He is not a gentle man and even though he does not care about me, he would not forbear to beat me, and I cannot bear to think of what cruel and furious revenge he'd have against you

I stopped reading because I was shaking so badly I couldn't make out the words. There had been a murder in the building, a very long time ago. A woman, strangled and stabbed. That was all anyone knew and the landlord had joked that it might have even happened in the space where my apartment was.

I looked at the date on the letter. July, 1899. No envelope. No wax. It hadn't been mailed. Of course it hadn't. Because he'd found out about her infidelity, and he'd killed her, without ever knowing about the loose floorboard.

But the book knew about the floorboard.

I looked at the pearls.

It knew I needed money.

Shaking, I curled up on the floor and let myself slide into a shocked stupor.

+++

I had an exit interview to get through.

I'd never met Miss Vultari before and I guessed she'd been flown in for the exit interviews. She covered my severance quickly and efficiently and in fifteen minutes I had a small stack of paperwork. She also tried to dock me for the two hours off yesterday, but I objected and told her I'd been given that that time off by my supervisor. She called to check, and dropped it. Then she finished up with a surprise.

"I understand that you were in the parking lot when the traffic accident on the highway happened."

"Yes, I was. I was lucky to get away with a bruise and a cut, to be honest. It was horrific."

"The company wishes me to inform you that the parking lot fence conforms to local construction codes."

"In other words the company's not at fault for the fact that a truck rolled through an unmaintained fence and crushed several cars flat, and very nearly me. Is it also not responsible for the broken glass and slippery oil spills that were already in the parking lot?" I'm not stupid and she shouldn't have tried to gyp me out of two hours of pay.

She nodded to herself. "I see... I've been authorized to offer you ten thousand dollars in exchange for a written promise that you will not pursue any legal action against the company now or in future, and will not discuss what happened with anyone not authorized by the company. I have the form right here."

I looked it over. I could describe what happened to the police, period. Family members were explicitly excluded. That just made me madder.

I handed it back. "Fifteen thousand. I have to get my car repainted." Maybe she knew that was bullshit and maybe she didn't.

"I can't authorize that. Will you accept twelve thousand? Repainting cars doesn't cost that much."

"Did you happen to notice the rusting flower pots along the walkway? Good thing no one ever got tetanus."

"Those are gone now."

"I have an art background. I photographed the lot as part of an art project a year or so ago. I think I still have the photo..."

"So you plan to sue the company?"

"I didn't say that. I said I wanted fifteen thousand dollars."

"That's above my cutoff. You'd have to go to court to get it." She looked around, and lowered her voice. "I'm authorized to pay out up to thirteen thousand. You shouldn't know that but I'll sign the check for you here and now if you take it. It's the best you can do. Court outcomes can be random, and it's not like you can start a suit for free."

"Fifteen. I'm the only one that got hurt. I'm the one the company is worried about. The other claims are just for damage to cars, right? And the cars in that lot aren't worth thirteen thousand. C'mon, I'm not stupid, Miss Vultari. You've been given a budget to spend to make this go away. The people with the damaged cars aren't going to get much more than their cars were worth. You can go a little higher with me."

"You weren't actually hurt."

"See this cut on my hand? I have a side job doing modelling. I won't be working this week because it's easier to hire someone else than to worry about five extra minutes in photoshop to make this go away."

"You certainly seem to know your way around corporate insurance claims," she said, a little bitterly.

"Oh, does your bonus get smaller if you have to pay out more?"

She reddened. "My remuneration isn't up for discussion. But with the prospect of an additional claim for lost work time, I will make it fifteen thousand. But the payout won't be for six weeks, because I have to get it cleared and believe me it will be a fight. Can you afford to wait that long? It's only a two thousand dollar difference."

"Onlytwo thousand dollars. Those are nice earrings, by the way. Diamonds, right?"