I slowly reached over for the toilet paper, not wanting to make too much noise in case she thought she was alone.
But the person giggled.
I paused, listening. There it was again. A high, strange, sloppy giggle. She had to be wasted.
The giggles continued until it was full-out laughter, her loud, braying laugh echoing in the room.
I quickly finished my business and was about to get up off the toilet seat when the laughter died down and the girl spoke.
“He said he loved me,” the mystery drunk said in a mild Minnesotan accent. It reminded me of Frances McDormand’s character in Fargo. Who was she talking to? Was she on the phone?
I got up, pulling on my jeans and tried to peer through the crack in the stall door. I couldn’t see anyone. The sink in front of my closed door looked empty.
“He said he loved me. I love you. And the next time he saw me, he told me, ‘I’ll kill you.’” She laughed in surprise. “He said he’d kill me. Can you believe that?”
I waited for someone to respond, straining my ears to hear the crackle of a voice on the other end of a line.
“Can you believe that?” she repeated, this time her voice lower, edgier. Perhaps she was talking on a Bluetooth. I had no idea. It didn’t matter.
I turned, about to flush the toilet.
“Perry, can you believe that?”
My eyes flew to the door. Did she just say my name? I swallowed my breath and kept still, arm frozen in mid-reach. Was she…talking to me?
I didn’t know what to say. Who was this person? What did she want?
I heard the shoes move, closer to me now, and I had a terrible flashback to the time I was in the Seattle airport washroom and Creepy Clown Lady appeared. But this wasn’t her. Not this time.
“Perry…” The voice now buzzed, like it vibrated on the wings of a bee. It filled my head and tickled the insides of my cheeks.
A slow tide of blood appeared at the bottom of the stall door and crept forward toward my feet, a sticky crimson blanket spreading out on top of the black marble.
I gasped, shocked, aghast, unable to process this. Was this actually happening?
It kept coming, a never-ending flow of shiny blood and it wasn’t until I saw several wasps, living, breathing wasps, riding the swells toward me like yellow, wriggling surfers, that I finally moved.
I grabbed the door and tried to unlock it. It was stuck. The latch wouldn’t turn. The blood kept flowing and the door wouldn’t open. I was stuck in the fucking bathroom stall.
Hopelessly, I rattled it back and forth for a few seconds; then, just before the blood kissed the tips of my Docs, I stepped up onto the toilet seat.
I balanced precariously on the porcelain edge, crouched down briefly and leaped up for the side of the stall. My arms caught the metal edge and I hoisted myself up, kicking at the steel sides for support and momentum, the clanging noise banging out across the room. I pulled myself over to the other side, the edge digging into my ribs, dangling like Agent Starling scaling a wall, and then quickly dropped down onto the toilet in the next stall.
One foot caught the seat while the other went straight in the toilet with a cold splash.
I pulled my foot out in one swift motion, and leaped onto the ground. The stall door here was unlocked. I shoved it open and barreled out into the washroom. I didn’t look to see if the Minnesota girl was standing there, didn’t bother to see if the endless river of blood still covered the bathroom floor. I just ran straight to the doors of the bathroom, my wet foot sopping as I moved, and ran out into the hallway.
I continued straight out of the restaurant, not caring about leaving Dex or Jenn at the table, and ran onto the busy sidewalk, where I almost collided with an old man carrying Christmas decorations.
“Sorry!” I squeaked out and twirled around in the opposite direction. I ran up to the end of the block, my mind racing, my heart convulsing, and stopped beside Dex’s Highlander. I leaned across the hood, hugging it, feeling the solidity of the car, the sunshine on my back, the people passing by who were undoubtedly giving me a strange look or two.
I didn’t care how long I stood there, hugging the car. It just felt safe, somehow. Safe and real. Not a bathroom full of blood and gin-soaked words.
“Kiddo?”
I sensed Dex’s presence behind me before he even spoke.
I closed my eyes and tried to figure out what I would say. I had nothing.
He gingerly placed his hand on my shoulder. I straightened up and turned to look at him.
“What…?” he trailed off and bit his lip. He was looking at my left leg, which was soaked up to mid-calf with toilet water.
I shook my head. “I can’t even...”
“What happened?” he crossed his arms and took a commanding stance even though his voice was gentle.
“I’ll tell you later,” I said, eyeing Jenn, who came out of the restaurant and was walking toward us, looking put out, with my purse and coat that I had left at the table in hand.
She stopped at the passenger door and looked at both of us distrustfully. “What’s going on?”
“Perry was just feeling sick,” Dex explained.
She smirked. “I could see that. Trying to skip out on the bill there, honey?”
Honey? Oh no she didn’t. It was their treat. But I bit my tongue from saying anything that would damn me. I was too confused and exhausted to argue anyway.
She handed me my stuff.
“Thanks. I was feeling ill. I’ll get you guys back next time,” I said and jumped in the back seat before my legs gave out from under me. I shut the door on Dex, who still looked puzzled, and stood there for a few good seconds before shaking his head and going around to the driver’s side.
Five minutes later we pulled up across the street from the Harvard Exit Theatre. I had hoped Dex would have driven us straight back to the apartment, but no. He still wanted to show me some stupid haunted theatre.
“We can see this some other time,” Jenn said from the front seat, looking at the small, brick building with disinterest. For once I agreed with her. I was in no mood for paranormal hijinx after what happened in the bathroom.
“Chill out, babe,” he said, leaning forward in his seat and scanning the street. “You don’t have to get out of the car if you don’t want to.”
“Good,” Jenn and I both said at the same time. He jumped at that and turned around in his seat to look at me, confused.
“Well, I’ll obviously need you to come with me. That’s why we’re here.”
I stared back at him, trying to telepathically tell him how scared I was, that I wasn’t in the mood for some field trip. His eyes narrowed slightly, becoming balls of coal in the car’s interior, but he didn’t relent.
“Come on, kiddo. I just want to show you the lobby; it’s actually really-”
“Dex!” Jenn called out suddenly, smacking him on the arm.
“What?”
She pointed out the front of the car, at four people who were crossing the street and heading over to the theatre. One of them had a camera on his shoulder, the other had a boom mic. Leading the way was a tall guy and girl.
“Is that them…the Spook Factory?” she asked, waving her finger.
I leaned forward between the seats to get a better look. The guy was actually wearing a Tap-Out shirt or something and looked just like G.J. Jermaine. The female had a rat’s nest of blonde hair. It was them. And they actually had a crew, too.
Dex and I exchanged a look, both of our brows raised, mouths agape.
Finally he said, “Now will you come with me?”
Jenn and I both nodded in shared determination and got out.