Eight: Door-Handled Knob
Door Handled Knob
Scotty leaned forward and pulled the front door open, ushering Verd inside. She hadn’t looked up from her feet and watched the sidewalk concrete change to the standard gray of office carpet as she crossed the threshold. Stuffing her rage down while focusing, as Faustus advised. Chairs lined the wall to her left. She allowed Scotty to steer her to sit in one. A receptionist’s window slid open in front of them, and a woman from the shoulders up appeared. Scotty stepped up and spoke with her in a hushed tone.
Verd scanned the waiting room from her seat. A closed door that presumably led to the office behind the window was just to the right of it. Two more closed doors faced each other on either side of the waiting room. As she sat there pondering what she might use to draw blood with, her stomach cramped, and she winced.
The pain increased rapidly, and she bit her lip to keep from audibly whining. Staring at her folded hands in her lap, she focused on breathing through the oncoming muscle spasm that ripped through her. Sweat beaded her hairline from the effort it took to keep quiet. Closing her eyes, she rested the crown of her head against the wall behind her, “Faustus, I ain’t feelin’ great. I ain’t sure I can outrun Scotty from any of the door’s that’re in here, and I don’t see nothin’ sharp, ” she thought.
“You’re right. None of these are the doors to use,” Faustus replied. He heard her inner struggle with the pain she was in. He had a macabre hunch she wasn’t going to need anything sharp. “Are you feeling nauseous?” he asked.
There wasn’t time to answer as the door to the right of the waiting room opened. A fellow dressed neatly in business attire stepped out. Addressing Birdie, he extended his hand in greeting, “Hello Mrs. Robbins, I am Mr. Harlow. I believe we’ve spoken on the phone.”
Verd hadn’t felt nauseous until she rose from her seat. Mr. Harlow swam in her vision. She did her best to project a beaming smile onto her face to mask the pain emanating from below her belly button. A brief moment of panic clinched at her when Scotty’s hip brushed against her rump. She’d paused too long. Firmly squeezing Mr. Harlow’s warm grasp in return, she chose her words carefully, “Yes sir, thank you for seeing me.”
Mr. Harlow stepped out of Verd’s way to allow her to cross into his office. The gray office carpet became tile as she stepped through the doorway. She didn’t look back as the sound of her heels tapping across the floor filled the office. Mr. Harlow turned to follow, pausing to ensure the door was shut.
Scotty had stepped forward to follow but was cut off by the closing door. Mr. Harlow looked up in puzzlement when he saw that the toe of Scotty’s boot impeded the door’s progress. “Excuse me, sir, this is a private meeting. You’ll have to wait for Mrs. Robbins out there,” gesturing with his chin in the direction of the chairs in the waiting room. Scotty glowered as he removed his foot from the gap, and the door closed in his face.
Verd sank into a chair off to the right side of a vintage roll-top desk. A short back stool on wheels stood in front of a workspace littered with papers. A golden letter opener lay nearest her with a sharp tip that glinted in the sun shining from behind her.
At first, she thought it was her imagination when she turned to look for the sunshine’s source. A tiny black and white vertical aluminum sign spelled out the word “push” along the edge of the metal door frame. Verd leaned forward to examine the exterior door, gritting her teeth through a crescendo of pain. The door’s handle was a long metal rod running the length across it. The sidewalk she’d walked up was visible right outside. A single deadbolt with a twist lever was locked on the side next to her.
A particularly sharp pain shot through her abdomen. She crossed her arms, hugging her sides to steady herself. Mr. Harlow perched on his stool, turned to her, and opened his mouth to speak when Verd loosened her tongue enough to say, “May I trouble you for a bottle of water?”
Mr. Harlow stood immediately, “Absolutely Mrs. Robbins, I will be right back, so sorry.” He quickened his steps as he reached the door. Upon opening, he revealed an empty waiting room before he closed the door behind him.
Using the door handle on her right and the ledge of the desk, she struggled to stand. Parting her thighs slightly to balance, something warm and moist slid down the inside of her thighs. Falling to the floor between her feet with a wet slap. A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead to the tip of her nose, dripping onto the floor as she looked down. Blood now ran in rivulets down the insides of her legs. Creating a puddle around a mass of bloody gelatinous tissue on the tile between her heels.
Faustus shouted through her foggy brain, “Verd, you’re having a miscarriage, and blood loss will cause you to pass out soon. Draw the rune home with your blood! Hurry, little bird, trace it on the door before it's too late!”
Verd gathered her will, stepped out of the heels, and then slipped on the slick floor. She clutched at the desk to steady herself as she bent to pick up one of the heels. Trying to steady her shaking hands to avoid spilling, she grabbed onto the exterior door handle. Leaning on the locked door, she dipped her fingers into the pooled blood in the toe. Raising scarlet fingertips to the surface, she made the first stroke before recognizing Scotty’s Bronco parked three spots down. His head turned in her direction, and their eyes met. The driver’s side door opened, and Verd’s heart began to race.
“Finish the rune, little bird. That is the last time you will see Scotty’s face. I promise,” Faustus crooned.
Verd dipped her fingers and drew the last stroke, letting the heel drop at her feet. The edges of the rune brightened until the drawn strokes illuminated with a neon pink glow, and the latch clicked open. The door swung willingly outward, and she stumbled across a dark threshold. Her bare feet met the scratchy fibers of a doormat, and a light came on from above. Before her, a grand mahogany door carved with an intricate tree design stood with a bright gold handle trimmed in a forest green frame. Her bloody fingers closed around the handle, depressing the latch at the top.
The door opened onto a dimly lit carpeted pathway. Verd managed to step over the threshold and swing the door shut. Lights blinked on above her as a wave of cold exhaustion washed over her. Bringing her to her knees, she fell forward onto the carpet and rolled to her side, gasping as a spasm gripped her lower abdomen. The skin of her backside felt wet and warm as her body went limp and her vision whited out. Unconscious in a home she didn’t know.