My roommate makes poor choices. I’ve driven him home from the hospital more than once and it’s usually because alcohol was involved. The story I was told so far by Chris’s friend was that they invited themselves to a party, rewarded each failed hookup with more beer, and Chris finally stumbled (possibly literally) into a woman as sloshed as he was. They both disappeared into someone’s bedroom and passed out. The visit to the hospital was done, not out of kindness, but because of the puddles left on the bedsheets and carpet.
“Good morning, Elliote! We’ll have Christopher and Margaret out in a few minutes.” Heather smiled from inside the nurse’s station.
“Thanks, Heather!” I replied and took a seat.
It doesn’t take too many trips to recognize people. I’m on a first name basis with some of the morning staff. This is what happens when your roommate doesn’t admit that his drinking brings us here far too often.
“Buddy!” Chris said with arms spread for a hug. He looked like hell with red half-closed eyes.
“Hey, Chris.” I regrettably accepted the hug. He smelled like he needed a bath. “Tell me all about last night on the way home.” I started to the door.
“Okay, but don’t forget Maggy.”
“She doesn’t have her own ride?”
I turned around and saw her. She had long, dark hair styled in a rat’s nest that was messier on one side more than the other and smeared makeup on a face that could have graced a magazine cover with sharp features, a defined jawline, and a death stare at the world for the rude awakening. She wore an oversized shirt that was - without a doubt - produced from the lost and found box by a nurse that deemed her actual clothes too ripe with half-digested food.
“Nope. We’re sleeping off the hangover in casa de us.” Chris said.
I didn’t pay much attention to Chris’s recollection of the night. His stories are usually entertaining because of how he exaggerates everything. During the drive home, the overweight goblin-man getting together with America’s next top model was the more interesting mystery. I’ve lived with Chris long enough to know the kind of woman he’s able to bring home. He’s only after one-night stands. His dating pool is small and smaller when you consider his looks. Now, he’s sitting in the front passenger seat while Maggy sits alone in the back with her head resting on the window.
I cracked the apartment curtains open before the fetch quest, so no one was in danger of stubbing toes, and I closed Chris’s bedroom curtains completely before going out. He said that he never got hangovers after being transported to the hospital, but he still appreciated my making the place ready for a long morning nap.
“Enchante, Mags.” Chris opened the door to his bedroom.
“No. I like to sleep alone.” She made his jaw drop. “Is there another free bed?”
“Yeah, you can take mine.” I said. “Just let me grab my charger and I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”
Really, I offered my bed to mess with Chris. He brings home the girl and I bring her to my bedroom. It’s not every day where you can steal the woman away from your “super seducer” roommate. It’s a joy to be the reason that he’s going to bed alone while I’m with the night’s “prize.” He smirked as we walked into my room together.
“My friend will be here in a bit with my stuff,” she said.
“Oh, I didn’t even notice you made a call. Does she know where the apartment is?”
“He and don’t worry. Thanks for the bed.”
“No problem, Maggy.”
“Margaret. Names have power and I like people that say mine correctly.”
I awkwardly retrieved my phone charger from the room while Margaret hopped into bed. I don’t know if it’s just me, but I couldn’t escape being aware of every spot of dust or untidy pile in the room because there’s someone new here. The room has never been as messy as Chris’s room. The worst messes here have been empty mugs or plastic bottles on the desk that I finished just before turning in for the night.
As I left the room, I looked at Margaret. She had her arms across her chest like she was being buried or Wednesday Addams was her childhood idol. I almost thought she died right on my bed given how shallow her breaths were.
I lay on the couch and browsed Reddit to pass the time until Margaret’s friend stopped by. I don’t remember her pulling out her phone at all. Chris must have told her the address because I didn’t say exactly where we lived on the car ride. Maybe she’s broadcasting her location through an app on her phone and she just has to tell someone to grab her GPS coordinates.
There came a scratching at the door. Not knocking. Scratching.
It was strange, but Margaret was getting weirder the longer I’ve known her. Scratching at the door instead of knocking almost sounds normal. I opened the door, and there was a black cat wearing a backpack with a bedroll.
I’m not a cat person, so the reaction wasn’t Aww! Look at the kitty with his wittle backpack! It was like feeling the gears in my brain grind to a halt. The cat meowed and walked past me, trying to process if this was the friend Margaret sent here. I watched it walk up to my bedroom door and sit. It meowed again.
Open the door, human. We both know you’re smart enough to connect the dots.
I twisted the knob, and the cat pushed the door open and squeezed in. I went back to the couch for a nap. Chris sure knows how to pick them. Margaret is absolutely gorgeous, but sleeps like she’s rehearsing her funeral and cats are making deliveries for her. Maybe the bedroll is a clean shirt to replace the lost and found one.
The cat woke me by batting my foot. I once had a dog that discovered he could do the same thing when he wanted to play. The cat wasn’t wearing his backpack anymore, and he looked at me again.
Get up, human. Margaret wants a word.
I sat up and looked at my bedroom. Margaret had the door open just wide enough that I could see half her face. She stared at me unblinking and made a come here gesture. What else could I do? I obliged and went into my room. She wore a fresh shirt that fit much better.
“Do you need som…”
“Do you drink?”
“Not really, why?”
“This is for Cristopher.” She pointed to a cardboard box next to my door. “It’s a craft beer made just for him. Don’t drink it.”
“Okay. Did the cat…”
“Not important. I’m leaving now before Christopher wakes up. Don’t drink the beer and take this.” She grabbed my hand and pressed a rough gemstone into it. “You could use this.”
I tried to see what I was holding in the dimly lit room and didn’t get far. When I turned my focus back to Margaret, she was gone. I couldn’t have been staring at the gemstone for two seconds, and she walked right past me without noticing.
I set the beer in front of Christopher’s door with a note saying Margaret left it for him before leaving. The curtains in my room are open now and I can identify that gemstone. I’m no geologist, but my best guess was rose quartz after some research. Margaret said I “could use it,” and I couldn’t find any practical uses. I did find it funny that witches use it for crystal magic. Witches would explain the black cat.
The loudest burp from Christopher stopped my research. I’ve heard noises from his room before, but this burp rattled the room. I stepped out to check on and congratulate him. You have to give adulations where they’re due, but I wanted to make sure he didn’t hurt himself.
“Yo, Christopher! Was that you?” I noticed the beer was gone. Christopher didn’t respond. “Christopher?”
The apartment developed a strange vinegar-y smell that was coming from Christopher’s room. I approached the door and could hear him burping in there. I tried knocking on the door and calling his name again to no response.
I opened the door slowly and the smell assaulted me. Christopher laid back in his armchair with five empty brown bottles on the floor while he was working on the sixth. His body was extremely bloated and looked like an overfilled water balloon. I watched as a bubble protruded from his belly, traveled up through his neck, and escaped with another burp. He finished the beer and looked at me.
“Elly.” Another burp. “Can you hand me another beer?”
“N.. No… I think you’ve had enough.”
“Nonsense!” Burp. “We need to find Mags…” burp, “and get more of this stuff!”
He tried to reach down and grab another bottle from the case. I watched the liquid that filled him shift forward suddenly. It threw him off balance and he fell forward and popped.
A mix of blood and beer and other viscera flowed across the room and the smell of vinegar fumigated the apartment. I staggered outside the apartment and into the hallway. My neighbors had gathered there already because of the smell. They learned where the smell was coming from real fast.