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[FICTION] Tales from Port Astor | Whispers 10

 "Hello caller, you're on the air..."


"I'd originally moved to the area for work, and of course you can't beat that 'Port Astor Rent', but after seeing what 'PA Rent' gets you, I only paid for the rent once before breaking the lease, and looking... somewhere else."

"I found a sublet in North Astor, a suburb off of one of the two bridges in-or-out of the city, and it felt fine for a little bit, if not a little bit sterile. It has a lot of new or recent buildings, with a lot of corporate outlets; no mom-and-pop anything. Everyone worked for one of the local business giants, like Magter or Stagg, or the Feds in one way or another. Nimitz Naval Station was right there. The sailors and airmen spent their leave in town, since Port Astor was still angry about the shelling incident way back in like 1930 or something."

"The sublet was okay; a stale-if-clean apartment complete with stainless steel appliances, particle board with stone veneer, and a coat of 'Landlord Beige'. The guy worked for Stagg in their commercial banking division. He seemed awkward but harmless, and that he definitely go outside enough. The place was sparse when it came to decorations and furniture, but what was there was nice; a two-thousand dollar couch and state-of-the-art television, but little else. No dining furniture, and the common bathroom wasn't clean, it was pristine."

"The first thing I noticed was that despite working a corporate office gig, was that he was never awake during the day. 'Business never sleeps!' he'd say like he'd rehearsed it a hundred times. I thought it was just him being a little weird. I honestly thought he did the sublet out of loneliness rather than financial need. But, it was a cheap room, and not moldy."

"My danger sense only fully tripped about four months in, when he came home with blood on his shirt, and looked like his face but he tried to wipe it off? And for the first time, I saw an ounce of genuine emotion, and it was panic. I went out into the living room when I heard him come home, since I had to pay rent, and he usually wanted cash. I can still see how absolutely wild his eyes were."

"'YOU CAN'T BE HERE', he wailed, and with a strength and speed I didn't know he or anyone else had, picked me up and dropped me back into my room, like an angry parent cleaning up after an inattentive child one-too-many times. I stood there in shock at the sudden... everything, I head his frantic movements and shuffling of something, which all came to an instant stop when a knock came to the door."

"I heard the soft and slow walk to the door, and even without seeing, I could feel the anxiety pouring from the next room. I heard the trembling unlock of the front door, and the opening, and finally the wordless closing. The clacking of heels in the kitchen?"

"'I told you that I didn't want you having another episode.', a stern feminine voice said. I had never heard her before. I didn't think he knew anyone, honestly."

"'Ii-m sorry, I thought I had it under con--', he stammered."

"'Thought doesn't cut it, and if you're allowed to continue, some will think the King's mandate can just be ignored, and that's... just bad for everyone, isn't it?' came the cold reply that cut through his nervousness."

"'Is there anyone else... here?' she asked after a short moment while I heard some rummaging noises."

"'N-no.' he said unconvincingly, followed by a stop of the rummaging and silence. I could feel eyes staring in the direction of my room."

"'That's fine, that can be taken care of later.'" eventually came the reply. They got real quiet after that, and I could only hear the vague murmuring rather than any actual conversation. She was there for at least three hours before I heard the front door open and close again. I didn't go out again for the rest of the night. When morning came, and I knew he'd be asleep, I left rent on the counter, and a note saying that I was going to move out. I timed my life to avoid him for the next few weeks. He didn't try to force any communication, which I appreciated, but he looked so sad. The last thing he said to me before I left for the current studio is 'I'm sorry', delivered without his trademark stutter."

"Honestly, I don't think I'm going to stay in this area for too much longer. Between the shithole of a city, and amount of maybe-serial-killers, I was better off in Sacramento, and-- wait, there's a knock on the door. It was so quiet, I could have almost missed it..."

"Thank you, caller..."

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