Sadie the Sadist: X-tremely Black Humor/Horror (23 page)

The basement hallway is more packed than usual, cookies and candy nearly toppling from the shelves. Across from the Store Manager’s office (his door is closed as usual), pallets of soda block the storage cage. Despite the obstacle course, Terri has managed to gain entrance. Her keys dangle from the padlock. She’s inside the cage rearranging cartons. She glances at me as I walk past.

“Hi Sadie. Ready for tomorrow?”

“Almost.”

Anxious to escape her scrutiny, I hurry toward Produce. When I’m certain she can no longer see me, I thrust my hand into the pocket of my apron to make sure I still have the Trinidad Scorpion pepper spray.

The workroom is crazier than ever—a maze of boxes stacked to the ceiling. A narrow, twisting path leads to my corner, but to reach it I have to risk an avalanche of peaches. At least, back here behind the crates, no one can see me. I’m safe within my fortress of corn, surrounded by a moat of watermelon.

I find an empty spray bottle marked water, dump in the Scorpion pepper spray, and place the bottle on my salad cart. Using my trusty stepstool, I reach a crate of corn and set it on the counter. Then I set the guillotine over the double bagged trash can and set up an RPC to receive cut ears of corn.

Chop, chop, chop.

I feel calm.

Chop, chop, chop.

In control.

Chop, chop, chop.

I imagine tomorrow. I want to make the day memorable for everyone including customers, not just a select few. I plan to go around the store coating samples with the pepper spray. Nothing obvious. Just my little joke. So when customers bite into a chunk of watermelon, a slice of cake, a mini sandwich from the Deli—their mouths will go up in smoke.

Thinking about the reactions, I chop faster.

In high gear, I grab another crate of corn.

My mind goes blank as I keep chopping.

Chop, chop, chop.

Shuck, shuck, shuck.

Wrap, wrap, wrap.

I’m a machine.

In less than an hour, my salad cart is filled with packages of corn.

Maneuvering my loaded cart through the labyrinth of crates isn’t easy. I nearly knock over a stack of peaches. The Hulk, Liam’s replacement, is working at the crisping sink, and I ram him intentionally.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going.”

“Sorry.”

Sorry, I didn’t ram you harder.

He eyes my cart of corn.

“You don’t need all that. We took the outside display down. It’s raining like a son of a bitch.”

“Is it?”

“I’m not done crisping, but I gotta get this stuff on the wet rack.” He nods at a cart loaded with plastic bins of lettuce, broccoli, cilantro. “Want to take that up?”

“Can’t,” I lie. “I’m not finished down here.”

Truthfully, I don’t feel like doing favors for Liam’s replacement.

“Guess I’ll go up then.” He lays his knife on the stainless steel counter, hangs his rubber apron on a hook and rolls his cart out the door.

I stay in the work area, so he can’t see me, listen for the freight elevator to come and go. When the coast is clear, I roll my cart of corn out the door and follow his wet tracks.

I punch the button to summon the elevator.

A crack of thunder penetrates the basement.

The lights flicker, come back on.

The elevator beeps, stuck on the first floor. I punch the button again, but nothing happens. Someone must be up there loading stuff. Or maybe the break in electricity is making it run slow.

Nothing I can do, but wait.

Sneaking my phone from my pocket (the cameras are watching), I check the time. I’m due for a break. I glance at the elevator door. The button is still lit, so it’s got power. I give it another punch. Decide to check my messages.

My father phoned. A text from my sister: Call Dad
NOW
. A text from Krista.

The phone makes a weird noise, and a storm warning alert flashes on the screen. Heavy rain. Flash floods. Power outages.

The elevator beeps again.

The squeak means it’s moving.

I stare at the door, watching for light to appear through the small window. Within the patch of glass, I see a face.

Not the new guy.

My heart creeps into my throat.

I swallow.

My impulse is to run, but my feet refuse to move. They’re rooted to the concrete floor. I stare in disbelief as the elevator’s lips slide open and the grill rises. I peer into the gaping mouth.

“Hello, Sadie.”

I lick my lips, sickness rising from my throat.

“I-I thought you were—”

“Dead?”

Justus grins at me, his eyes anything but friendly. He’s wearing one of those black boots the hospital gives you after surgery. His neck is encircled by a brace, his left arm encased in plaster, an ace bandage wrapped around his right.

My mind whirs, trying to make sense of the impossible. Justus has come back to life. He steps out of the elevator, moves toward me.

I grab the pepper spray from my cart and spritz him in the face.

He lunges at me, hands rushing to his burning eyes.

“I’m gonna kill you, Sadie!”

The bottle drops from my hands and rolls under the pepper cart.

A blast of thunder rocks the building.

The lights flicker and go out.

The basement hallway is so dark that I can barely see Justus.

I back away from the elevator, my hands moving along the wall, searching for the doorway into Produce.

I hear Justus breathing.

Smell his aftershave, mingled with the spicy scent of Trinidad Scorpion.

“Remember that day, Sadie?”

“Wh-what day?”

“I saw you standing on your balcony.”

“So?”

The stink of the trash compactor overpowers his aftershave, so I must be close to Produce.

Justus grabs my wrist.

“I know you threw that rock.”

“What rock?”

He squeezes my wrist, bruising my skin, the pressure of his fingers threatening to snap the bones. His breath comes in gasps, moist and hot.

“I can’t prove you threw the rock, so I can’t have you fired, but I promise to make your life a misery.”

Yanking my arm from his grasp, I stumble through the black void of the hallway until I reach Produce. I push, and the doors swing open. Cold air hits me in the face. I trip over an RPC and slam into a counter, wet and slick from crisping.

Clunk.

Clunk, clunk.

The scrape of Justus’s boot on concrete follows me, heavy and uneven.

I stand still, afraid to move.

The sound of every movement is obvious in the black quiet. No hum of electricity emanates from the dark overhead lights, no whir of refrigeration comes from the walk-in cooler, just my own breath—ragged as it escapes my mouth.

The doors swing open.

An RPC clatters to the floor.

Clunk.

Clunk, clunk.

The boot makes Justus unstable.

“Where are you, Sadie?”

Clunk, clunk.

“Shit!”

Boxes crash onto the concrete, followed by the cloying scent of smashed peaches.

“Sadie, I want to talk to you.”

Fat chance.

My fingers run over the counter seeking the new guy’s knife. It skitters out of my reach, clanks into the sink.

“Sadie?”

I slip under the counter, and hide behind a trash can.

Silence.

Then the scrape of Justus’s boot as he maneuvers through the labyrinth of boxes and crates.

He must think I’m in my workspace.

The stainless steel counter runs along the wall, all the way to my workstation, offering me a path that bypasses the labyrinth. If I crawl, I bet I can reach the sinks in back before Justus.

Scrambling along the concrete on my knees, water soaks my pants. My palm skids on a slimy piece of rotten fruit, but I keep going, circling the bin of watermelons.

“I’m coming for you, Sadie.”

I emerge at my workstation.

Clunk, clunk.

He’s behind the watermelons.

Clunk, clunk, clunk.

I propel myself toward the wall where I keep the knives. A machete in each hand, I turn toward the clunk of his boot.

“You’re dead meat, Sadie.”

“Ditto.”

Machetes raised above my head, I rush toward his voice. I can’t see a damned thing, but his screams tell me I’ve hit the mark. The blades slice easily through flesh. Wet splatters me, but I keep swinging. Justus can howl all he wants, curse me out, call me nasty names—no one hears him down here in the dungeon.

Except maybe Terri.

But she’s welcome to join the party.

He’s afraid now, running as fast as he can with his bad foot.

Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk.

Sliding on soaked concrete, I chase him through the labyrinth. Crates crash around us, spilling cucumbers, peppers, peaches, corn. I kick aside a body part, slip on something slick, probably intestines. Fighting to maintain my balance, I skid into a tower of boxes destined for my nut and raisin cart. The tower collapses, showering me with pistachios.

I land on cold concrete.

Luckily, I didn’t slit my throat with the machete.

Sitting on the floor, I nurse my bruised knee. I may have torn some cartilage.

Uneven footsteps run along the hallway.

Justus has escaped.

Tears run down my face. I need to blow my nose. My father is right, I’m nothing but a slacker, a loafer.

No you’re not.

She’s right.

I’m Sadie the Sadist.

Gathering my pride and the machetes, I stumble to my feet. I make my way through what’s left of the labyrinth, dragging my machetes through the carnage, pistachios crunching under my sneakers. My knee twinges from the fall, but that won’t deter Sadie the Sadist.

A buzz greets me as I exit Produce.

The emergency generator has kicked on, and shadowy light illuminates the hallway. Not enough power for the elevator, barely enough power to see where I’m going.

I head toward the stairway on the far side of the store.

As I limp past the manager’s office, a woman’s voice calls out my name.

Terri.

I glance at the cage.

She’s happy to see me.

And I’m delighted to see her.

“Oh my Gosh, Sadie, were you caught down here in the dark too? Scary, huh? The storm must have knocked out a power line. I’m so glad the lights are back.”

“Me too.”

I’ve been waiting for this moment, and I may have missed it in the dark.

“We should get upstairs. See what we can do to help.”

“That’s where I’m heading.”

“What’s with the machetes?”

“I was cutting watermelon when the lights went out.”

“We sure go through a lot of cut fruit, don’t we, Sadie girl?”

Terri turns her back to me, to relock the cage.

Ignoring my wounded knee, I charge her, the twin blades of my machetes threatening to whack off her hands.

The padlock slips from her grasp.

“Sadie, what—”

Before she knows what’s happening, I shove her back inside the cage and secure the gate. I don’t have time to play with her right now. There’s a bigger fish to fry upstairs.

Clawing at the chain-link, she yells, “What are you doing, Sadie?”

“C U Next Tuesday.”

“I think you have your dates mixed up, Sadie. Today is Friday. Tomorrow’s the Grand Opening and we all need to be here. See you tomorrow, Sadie. Do you hear me?”

Dumb bitch.

She keeps yelling as I walk toward the stairway.

Talk about dumb, I should have cut her tongue out. I knew Terri is a big talker, but I didn’t realize how loud she can scream.

Yanking her tongue out with pliers would be fun.

Later.

Right now, I’m on a mission to find Justus.

The metamorphosis occurs as I ascend the stairway. At first, I barely notice. It’s more an absence than a feeling. My knee no longer hurts. After climbing a few stairs, the transformation becomes obvious. My legs grow stronger with each step, my knee’s cartilage restructuring. Light flashes through my brain, reprogramming synapses, synching me with an intelligence beyond my physical body.

Synching me with Marcus.

Must be a delayed reaction.

I’m not sure how it’s possible, but I know it’s happening. Why else would I be thinking thoughts like this:
A dissertation regarding abnormal psychology follows a standardized format and attempts to support or confirm a hypothesis based on the investigator’s observations and research in the field. In the case of Sadie the Sadist …

Did I tell him about her?

I don’t think so.

Proof that he’s inside my brain.

You are what you eat and I’m becoming Marcus.

He must be fond of carrots. My eyes have become infrared and penetrate the darkness. Objects that were murky silhouettes are now clearly defined. I’m seeing things I’ve never noticed—amoebas float past my pupils, creatures peer from shadows, beings from other dimensions. My eyes see through the building, penetrate the walls, the beams and insulation, the roof. My vision reaches past storm clouds, the earth’s atmosphere, the solar system, far beyond the Milky Way, as my mind taps into cosmic consciousness. Power floods my legs, and I bound up the stairs, my humanoid body supercharged and primed for action.