Stained

A tough shift at work, too hot a day to enjoy, and not enough money in the bank. A normal day. But what wasn’t normal was this aching feeling in Danny’s belly. As he steps out of the grocery store’s front entrance, change of clothes in his bag, something gnaws at the lining of his stomach. He figures it’s just the heat getting to him, radiating off the asphalt and metal of the city’s bones and veins.

As he stands on the sidewalk of the busy street, people pass by. They brush up against each other like the wind in a wheat field. He waits to be pulled towards his typical destination: the subway station three blocks up. But Danny doesn’t want to go that way. That feeling in his stomach feels something like hunger. He looks down the avenue. It looks more appetizing, somehow cooler in the heat.

The noises from the cars running up and down the street to his side get louder as he walks. One crosswalk down. Danny can see a little buffet stop, perfect for an early dinner. The noise of the traffic gets louder as he waits for the walk signal. Although the cars aren’t stopping or slowing down even, the noise grows. He doesn’t notice.

The walk sign lights up, and the honking of cars ring in his ears. It hits his eardrums like a whine: metal getting pushed up against metal. It should hurt, but Danny only feels the gnawing. The feeling gets more and more calm as he reaches the door of the store. As he touches the handle, the car sounds stop.

*

The store is almost empty, wrong time for there to be a rush. Danny browses the choices, some pre-made sushi, pasta dishes, and a salad section. Nothing catches his eye. That gnawing is gone, and Danny doesn’t know why he’s in this store anymore. The air is thick to push through as he walks, similar to humidity.

Danny decides to head towards the back, where the drinks are. Work was hard. He was sweating. When he reaches the wall of beverage refrigerators, there is someone further down the aisle. They study drinks with a small black notebook in hand, taking meticulous notes.

She whispers to herself. Her voice is hushed, not like she’s hiding but just preoccupied.

Danny strolls past the windows of drinks, debating and deliberating. Nothing pops out at him until he reaches the window in front of the woman. He had meant to try one of those new teas. One of the customers he helped checkout spoke highly of it. Hot day, cold tea. Maybe it would soothe his stomach if it acted up again.

“Excuse me.” He pulls on the handle of the glass door and moves past the woman to grab a small glass bottle. Cold air hitting his face.

She stops speaking as he does so. She stands completely still as he starts to move away.

“Put it back.”

Danny turns around, now a few feet from her.

“Sorry?”

It feels like she is calculating in her head, or maybe translating.

“Put the bottle back.”

Danny, still in his service mindset, obliges. He walks back to the fridge and puts the bottle back, savoring the cold air that escapes. With the bottle now back in the rack, Danny stands waiting.

“Taking inventory?”

She doesn’t respond and leaves a silence.

Is he being rude? Is she being rude? Danny finally notices her clothes. They’re expensive, but not fancy. They are old fashion but with new tailoring. His observations are interrupted as she sneaks a peek at him staring.

“Why are you here?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why didn’t you go home?”

He plays that again in his head.

“What did you say?”

She said something she shouldn’t have. Danny’s face is no longer scrunched; it is wide with confusion. The woman starts to move towards the front of the door. He reaches for her arm-

“Hey,” but his arm doesn’t connect with anything. He misses the woman, but his hand does touch her book. Danny’s miss knocks the black book to the ground.

The woman stops and half-turns around. Danny feels bad. He kneels down and picks it up, holding it out to her. He wants to fix what he did while still getting answers.

“Do I know you?”

She doesn’t say anything. Her face grows stern as she looks at the book in Danny’s hand like she’s seen something dangerous. That book is a wild animal, and she just lost her grip on the leash.

Her eyes dart to his. Now it isn’t sternness or anger, but panic at what will come next. She turns away and moves towards the door, a new urgency pulling her outside. Danny follows her out.

*

The heat smacks him in the face as he exits onto the sidewalk.

Outside, the street life still rages on. Bodies are all over the sidewalk. You can’t see three people in front of you there, especially not the woman Danny just saw leave. He’s lost in a boiling sea with no lighthouse in sight. Danny makes it to the corner in his search. One thought creeps into his head.

Look in the book.

Maybe she has her name, return address, or just a phone number. He takes the book in both hands. Black leather cover with a patina of smooth skin, creased and discolored in different places. Its skin appeals to his eyes and hand. The leather is cold in the hot air.

Danny’s fingers move under the cover, readying to open it, but it feels heavy on his fingertips. It doesn’t want to be opened, or maybe resents the fact that it was closed at all. He pries at the flat edges of the cover, with no success. There is no lock he can see but struggles anyway.

He digs his thumb under the bottom corner of the book, and the lip bends back just a little. Danny’s face plants the seeds of a smile. It’s possible. A feeling runs up his spine. Why am I opening this? Why doesn’t it want to open? None of these thoughts can stop the train of his will. He needs to open it now. There is no other choice.

Both hands work to peel off the bottom and top corners of the front leather flap. Danny can feel the edges of his nails start to bend back; it hurts but not enough to stop. The book fights until-

The book is finally open. Danny has won. His prize: nothing. All the pages are blank.

She was writing something. He knows it. With one mystery solved in a dull surprise, Danny just wants to give the book back. He’ll get to go home and get out of the heat. But in that moment, he realizes that it isn’t as hot as it just was.

It’s not hot at all anymore for Danny. People around still sweat and fan their sweat with limp hands in a foolish effort. But he no longer sweats. He is now clammy and cold.

Danny starts rushing through the pages of the black book. Nothing on the pages anywhere. Nothing to get it back to her. In his search, he lands on a page in the middle of the book. The interior seem of the spine is visible now. A black substance latches onto the white pages like a fungus, growing from the spine.

Danny hesitates before pushing his fingers into the fungal-looking glue. The tips of his finger are stained black. He folds his fingers into his palm, trying to rub it off. It spreads. He tries again, rubbing harder now. With a blink of his eyes, all the ink is gone. No evidence it was ever there.

Studying his fingers and hand, he can’t find where the ink went. It was all over his hand?

Looking back to the book, Danny sees the pages now scrawled with notes from edge to edge. He drops the book to the ground in shock. Did he not see the writing before? How could he have missed it? He didn’t miss all that.

Danny looks around at the people passing by. Nobody notices some kid and his book. Nobody sees his fear of the pages now on the floor. Something in him tells him that if he starts to read, there is no going back. Some part of his reptilian brain knows better.

He tries not to look but keeps faltering. Danny peaks at the pages below him and the ink staining the paper like lipstick on a letter. What does he have to lose?

Danny kneels and picks up the book, Holding it close to his chest like a paycheck or a secret note in middle-school. Something for him alone.

He looks onto the pages and sees nothing making sense. Numbers and characters, none of it in any language he recognizes. He flips towards the back, nothing comprehendible there either. No way it’s about drinks in a fridge. Is she a bookie? But it doesn’t feel like it. He remembers how scared she was.

Danny flips to the first page. There are addresses. Finally, something he can read. He realizes they’re addresses for this city. He looks up at the street signs above him. There is an address on this street. He sets off, heading down the avenue yet again.

Moving down the sidewalk, desperately finding the numbers for each building, he checks to see if they match the book’s address. None of them do. Danny is panicked now, desperately moving from one plaque to the next. He can’t find a match. It isn’t here. He’s running now, past an alley. There are more stores with more numbers-

Danny stops in his tracks.

He moves back to the alleyway on the cusp of a eureka moment. The book in his hand gets colder, like the drink from the store. The leather stiffens as he moves into the alleyway.

*

This alley is old. No cargo doors for the stores on either side, no space for trucks. Just the bricks that hold up the skyline. Danny moves further and further into the alley, gripping the book with both hands now. It’s freezing cold, almost searing his hand until-

All the cold goes away in an instant.

A monstrous green dumpster sits in front of Danny. The number printed on its face matches the “address” in the book. He moves quickly, surveying the edges of the metal container until he sees it: a black duffle bag.

He kneels to grab the bag, placing the book on the ground. Opening the zipper with a loud whiz of metal, he finds wads and wads of bundled dollars inside: all hundred notes.

“What are you looking for?”

Danny swings around to see the woman from the store standing across from him. He looks at her and then at the book. A new thought works its way into his head.

Take the money and run.

Another thought speaks up.

Give it back. Ask her.

Danny stands up from his kneeling position and outstretches the book to her. He leaves the bag of money on the ground.

She’s shocked as she takes the book, never having seen someone give it back that easy. Danny thinks he’s earned a question.

“What is that?” He points to the duffle bag with a semi-open hand.

She checks her book. Nothing wrong, no damage done. She answers. “20,000 dollars.”

Danny’s face dies. His eyes pulled to the bag. She watches his awe. But her eyes are drawn to his hand. She spots something on his fingers and hand. Her face changes.

“You touched it?”

“You can see it?” He checks his hand for any visible residue.

“It didn’t hurt?”

“What is it?” He rubs at his palm.

Her face grows resolute. “It’s exactly what you’re looking for.”