Episode 2
⏮ “Hey, full moon.”
As I look up, Doug steps away, farther from the Dumpster, farther from the store. He keeps walking, almost as if he’s casually going home for the night. But he hasn’t said goodbye. Hasn’t said what he’s doing or where he’s going, though it’s after hours now and none of my business.
But a nervous impulse propels me forward. I must’ve missed what he said. Maybe he didn’t make a comment about the moon, but rather wants to show me one more thing. Or maybe not.
Uncertainty and anxiety cement me in place, so when a spark of blinding white light flares suddenly, all I can do is cover my eyes.
It’s gone in a blink and so is Doug.
▶️
“Where the hell is Doug?”
“He’s never this late.”
They don’t bother asking me because it’s possible I’m too new to know anything. It’s only my second shift at Vortex Video.
Thankfully, before Doug disappeared, he wrote me into the schedule for the next two weeks. That sounds selfish, I know and I’m sorry, but I’m broke and I need this job. At this point, I’m also not sure what I saw the other night.
Doug could have just walked off without saying goodbye. And the bright light? Probably one of those big shit-kicker F150s with the obnoxious headlights.
When I went back inside, I returned to my chair. The others asked me where was Doug. “Gone.” I was too stunned to explain. So the four of us sat in the dark office and watched the video. It was somebody’s home movie, or their attempt at making a movie in their home. It was like a poorly shot version of The Exorcist. A young boy was tied to the bed, spewing pea soup at his frustrated mother. My teammates are laughing, gripping their aching bellies.
“That’s why I’ll never have kids,” Jai declares.
I look at them like they’re out of their minds. I don’t see why this is funny. That boy could be in danger. His Kubrick parents might be going overboard, abusing and exploiting him for a little scrap of fame. None of this is entertaining. And aren’t they worried why their boss never came back?
The video cuts off at the thirty-minute mark. Damien boos, giving it a thumb’s down. Zero wipes his hands off. “That’s that,” he says, as the TV/VCR combo spits out the tape. “Call that one Still Better Than Exorcist III.”
Jai smacks his shoulder. “You monster. Exorcist III is a cult classic.”
He sniffs. “I’d rather be in a cult than forced to watch your definition of a classic.” She grins at him, shaking her head, and he quickly excuses himself with a curt, “Goodnight.”
I lurch toward Jai. She must know what to do about Doug, or would know where he might’ve slipped away to.
Damien slides in front of me and nods. “‘Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door’.”
I blink several times, but never does his pasty, freckled face become clearer. “What?”
He slides away, not as smoothly as Zero, but in his own weirdo style.
“From ‘The Raven’,” Jai informs me. “Because you’re Raven.”
“I know that,” I say. “But why’s he saying it?”
“I think that’s Damien’s way of saying you can go home now.”
Wringing my hands, I hover around Jai as she retrieves the tape and returns it to the plastic tote under the front counter. She marks it with a red sticker. “…So we know we already watched it.”
“But what about Doug?” I blurt.
She shrugs. “He went home, I guess.”
“But what if something happened? I saw—”
“Were the clowns out there?”
The clowns again. What is the deal with the clowns? “No. But there was this light and—”
“Hey,” she says. Her voice is strong and steady. Her eyes catch my flittering gaze. I feel seen. “Don’t worry about it. Doug can handle himself. He’s one of those guys that goes with the flow or follows wisps in the wind. He’ll be back tomorrow with one helluva story about whatever zany adventure he got into. Or he crashed in his car. Who knows? But you and me? We worked our asses off today, so we get to go home, guilt free. Got it?”
“Yeah,” I say but don’t agree.
Because I know something’s wrong. I don’t have much job experience, but I know bosses don’t just vanish into thin air. My brain, however, tries to smooth out this trying memory. Maybe it was the blinding headlights of some passing vehicle. Maybe I need glasses. Maybe I was too tired from working so late. Maybe the stress of everything has caught up to me. Maybe Doug is just fine.
But the next afternoon, when I start my shift, he’s not there. Damien had to call Jai to open the store—turns out, she’s Doug’s second-in-command, a supervisor with all the responsibilities and power of an assistant manager.
“I don’t need a flashy title for everyone to know I’m great at my shitty retail job,” she explains. “Besides, stocking shelves isn’t brain science.”
But as Damien clocked out and Zero came in, Jai began tugging on the end on her hair. “Where the hell is Doug?”
“Did you try calling him?”
“Well, no…”
“Afraid to make a little phone call?” Zero teased, holding up the landline’s handset and shaking it at her.
She took it from him, dropping it back into its charging cradle. “I don’t like bothering people at home.”
“Oh, that’s right. You never do the late list calls. You leave ’em for the new person.”
They finally turn to me. One brandishes the phone and one holds out a clipboard. I take both. My eyes trail down the clipboard’s printed list of names and phone numbers and the title of the late video.
“It’s easy,” says Jai. “Call the customer and let them know their rental is late and they need to bring it back or else they’ll be a late fee on their account.”
“You still charge late fees?” I ask. It seems inhumane when not even the local library charges for late books.
“I know,” says Zero. “We’re assholes.”
I’m relegated to different corner of the store to make the calls. Another test for my anxiety—talking to strangers on the phone. Worse: Cold calling strangers on the phone at suppertime. A thick lump forms in my throat and I waste minutes trying to gulp it down in the Family Films section.
I keep an eye on Jai and Zero at the counter as they discuss what to do about Doug. “He’s never this late.”
I dial the first number. FRANZEN, HARRY - The Pianist.
“Hello?” answers a gruff voice.
“Um, hello? This is—” I almost use my real name, but based on the tone of Mr. Franzen’s voice, this seems like an opportune time to try out my store name. “This is Raven at Video Vortex. I’m calling to let you know your movie is late.”
“What movie? I rented a movie?”
“Yes, umm… You need to return it or—”
“What movie is it?”
“The Pianist?”
“The what?”
“The Pianist.”
“I didn’t rent anything called that.”
“But it says—”
“I don’t care what it says. You’re wrong.”
“Could someone else have rented it using your account?”
“…Did my kids rent this?”
“I-I-I don’t know…”
“Can you find out?” He starts yelling into the background, screaming for his kids.
“Did one of you rent a movie from Blockbuster? … No, listen to me! You rented a movie called The Penis? Jesus Christ!”
Fire lights my face from the inside. “Oh, no, sir. I’m so sorry. Not— Um, the movie’s called The Pianist.” I’m trying to salvage the situation before he murders his kids. “It’s about the Holocaust and a piano player and—” I give a choppy summary of a film I’d never seen before, hoping against hope Mr. Franzen would hear me and not The Penis.
He stops yelling. “What? Holocaust?”
I rub my head, sinking down in the stacks. I’d never had a phone call filled with a bingo scorecard of words never to say in the workplace.
“And it’s late?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Oh, okay. It’s for school, he says. All right, we’ll get it back to you.” And just as he hangs up, adds, “Back to Blockbuster. Take care.”
I drop my head between my knees. There are ten more pages of this.
*️⃣ *️⃣ *️⃣
When I return to the counter, the sun has set. My haunted reflection in the glass window stares back at me. A thousand-yard stare. I was a different person before the late list calls and I’ll never be the same again.
Suppressing a smirk, Zero takes the clipboard from me. “How’d you do?”
“Good.”
“Liar.”
I put my shoulders back and stare him down. I’m not going to let him belittle me for being new or for what I said to my mom. It’s not forever. I’m here to work and I’m going to do a damn good job.
“What can I do now?”
“I don’t care,” he says, pulling out his phone and scrolling through Twitter. “Check the returns.”
I march over to the particle board box affixed to the window. Opening the saloon-style doors, I crouch down to see what’s been dumped inside. Some crumpled fast food wrappers are littered on top of three video tapes. Under Siege, Batman Returns—and another unlabeled mystery tape. There’s no case, no stickers. Just a black rectangle with the tape inside not fully rewound.
I drop the other two at the counter and, skipping over Zero, I take the blank tape to Jai. She’s taken over Doug’s office. The door is open a crack. She’s on the phone, tapping her fingernails on the desktop. Just yesterday my resume was laid out and coated in crumbs.
Knocking lightly, I wait for her to look up. “Hey, what’s up?” She covers the phone’s speaker. Hold music crackles through.
I offer the tape. “Another blank one came in.”
Instead of a gleeful glint in her eye, Jai runs a hand through her hair and slumps over the desk. “Oh, cool, thanks. Just leave it at the front.”
I inch the door open wider. “Is everything okay?”
She sighs. “Just corporate idiocy. They won’t give me Doug’s emergency contact. Some bullshit rule about twenty-four hours. I don’t know. If I didn’t show up for a single shift, I’d have some asshole jumping down my throat about it.”
“Doug?” I ask.
“Oddly enough, no. Not Doug. He’s one of the good ones. Which is why we gotta get him back.”
“You think he’s gone gone?”
She chews her lip. “I don’t know what to think. But I know that if our boss left for a walkabout or some shit and didn’t assign a replacement, then we’re about to be saddled with an acting manager. Been there, done that, done with it.”
“So who are you calling?”
“Corporate,” she says. “I gotta head ’em off at the pass.”
Jai’s brilliant idea was to track down Doug, make sure he was okay and still employed. As she explains it, it wasn’t unusual for corporate to shut down one of its branches by eliminating the manager and then locking the doors so the staff couldn’t get in. But Jai has a key and corporate was unaware of her supervisor position.
“They’d’ve gotten rid of me too, I bet,” she says, gripping the phone.
“And Doug didn’t leave his phone number with anyone in the store?” I ask. Not even Jai?
“Doug didn’t want people calling him at home. But it’s not like he was home much—his life was this store.”
“What happens if he was fired?”
Jai doesn’t answer because the hold music cuts off and a voice answers. Jai spouts off the store number, her name and employee ID, and then sits on her question as the customer service rep asks how she can help.
I back out, holding the tape. It’s only my second day and I’m just about out of a job. Will I get paid for a day and a half of work? See, I don’t even know my rights.
I look down at the tape. The overhead lights flash over something scrawled in Sharpie along the edge. I turn it this way and that until I can read it.
My breath catches and before I know what I’m doing, my feet stumble back toward the office. I throw the door open, tripping over myself as I shove the video tape under Jai’s nose. Her brows pinch together. I’ve disturbed her. I expect shit for this. But she reads the near-invisible writing, taking the tape from my hands.
It says DOUG.
*️⃣ *️⃣ *️⃣
The phone is back in its cradle and Jai is crouched behind the TV/VCR in Doug’s office. It’s like special screening night all over again—but without all the mirth and good-natured teasing. My nerves are vibrating. I hold onto the edge of the desk.
Jai’s fingers push the tape into the VCR slot. “DOUG” disappears. She steps back. We wait.
The screen is black. Nothing happens. It’s the end of the tape.
She pushes rewind. Grayscale images race past in a fuzzy blur until we’re back to black. The tape clicks. Jai presses play.
“It’s the alley,” she says. “Behind the store.”
We watch what appears to be security camera footage from the back of the store. The view is from the roof down, capturing a shot of the Dumpster and the back of several neighboring stores. Nothing happens for a while. The minutes speed past on a time lapse. Then everything slows down as Doug and I walk into frame. We deposit our trash into the Dumpster. The on-screen version of me looks over her shoulder.
“What is this?” Jai asks.
Then I’m looking up, just out of the frame. I can only see the top of my shiny head. As shiny as the full moon that Doug pointed out.
“Watch,” I say.
But it’s too late. Doug steps away and just like before, there’s a flash of light that wipes him off the face of the earth. No trace is left.
The video cuts off.
“What the hell?” Jai presses buttons, rewinding it back. “What was that?”
“I don’t know. It happened so fast.”
“What happened?” she snarls over her shoulder.
Hands up in surrender, I back up. “I don’t know!”
“You were with him, right? That’s what I saw. Why didn’t you say something?”
“I did! I said there was a light and then he was just gone!”
Hysteria’s electricity crackles in the room. Our voices are getting louder. I can’t express how much I don’t fricking know what happened.
Zero sticks his head in. “Hey. What’s all the yelling about?”
“New girl was with Doug when he disappeared.”
“What do you mean disappeared? I thought he was just a no-show.”
“He vanished into thin fucking air. Here, watch.”
“I didn’t know,” I say, wishing I could disappear along with Doug.
They rewatch the video as I stare at my shoes. I think about Doug’s flip-flops. If he were to explode in a ball of strange light, maybe his flip-flops were still out there.
Jai and Zero begin arguing about what they saw on the tape. “There’s no security camera out there,” says Zero.
“There has to be,” says Jai.
I’m heading out, turning left for the storage room, then cutting out the back door. I let it slam behind me. The sun’s down and it’s almost too dark for the streetlight to chase away shadows.
It’s quiet out here. Almost peaceful. I should be relieved to get away from my coworkers’ bickering and questions. But a tingle runs down my spine. I rub my arms, the tiny hairs standing in fright. I head toward the Dumpster, retracing our steps and wondering how I might appear on the security video.
I pretend I’m Doug. I notice the moon. Tonight it’s no longer full, like someone shaved off the side. I keep walking. Where am I going? What do I want? What happened to me? Standing in the exact spot where Doug vanished, I hold my breath. I wait for the flash. Say cheese.
My head drops down. I search for any trace of flip-flop or red shirt. Nothing.
The door creaks open. I spin around. Thankfully, it’s dark so they can’t see the blush creeping up my neck and cheeks.
Zero lights a cigarette and takes three steps away from the building. Then he points to the roof, two fingers pinched around a smoking stem. “Told ya,” he says. “No camera.”
So who shot the video?
*️⃣ *️⃣ *️⃣
Jai declared an emergency team meeting, leaving it to me to call Damien and Lydia. Lydia never answered, but Damien simply said, “Say no more.” He showed up in under thirty minutes, blaming the bus schedule for holding him up.
We gather inside the circle. Jai commandeers the store’s four TVs, each one mounted in a different corner of the store and connected to a single DVD/VCR unit. She plays the DOUG tape. Damien watches intently, helping himself to a bag of sour cream and onion chips from the snack rack. He wanders toward the TV near the back of the store.
Jai and Zero let him go. They’re too distracted by picking apart details in the video. They ask me to walk them through every frame it like it’s the Zapruder film.
“… And then he was just gone,” I say.
“You didn’t think that was weird?” Zero asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “It was my first day.”
Zero’s jaw drops and Jai cracks a smile. She comes to my side and puts an arm around me. “You’re right,” she agrees. “We’re asking a lot of you. If you saw something, you would’ve said so.”
I nod, blinking away the pressure behind my eyes.
“Well, we gotta do something,” says Zero. He points at the TV screen, the one Damien is glued to in the back corner. We watch the flash—each time, it sends a flare a pain through my eyes—and then Doug disappears. The tape goes blank. “That’s fucking weird.”
“It could be a prank,” says Jai.
“Yeah, right—Doug? The man can’t even file his admin work on time. You really think he’s going to orchestrate his own disappearance for some cheap laughs?”
“So what do you suppose it is?” she replies. “That he was abducted by aliens or spontaneously combusted?”
He shakes his head. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“I’m not going to stand here and debate conspiracy theories. Besides, it’s not our job to find missing people. I get paid minimum wage. My job is to put away movies and try to keep customers out of our bathroom. That’s enough.”
“We can’t just shrug our shoulders and carry on,” says Jai. “Something happened on that tape.”
Zero reaches for the store’s cordless phone, the one I’d just been using to get screamed at by Mr. Franzen. “We call the police then. They can figure out if the tape is legit.”
“No!” Jai dashes forward, grabbing the phone from him. Not even his dark lenses can block the cold stare he gives her. “We can’t.”
“Yes, we can. Maybe you have some weird hangup about asking for help, but Idon’t. Give me the phone.”
She hugs the phone to her body like it’s her precious baby. “We can’t call the police.”
“This is serious, Jai. I think we all agree that something happened to Doug. And we can also all agree that it happened on the other side of that wall.” He stares at the back of the store. I follow his line of sight. Damien’s wandering back, crumpling up an empty chip bag and wipe his fingers inside his pockets. “For those reasons, we need to call the police.”
Jai sighs, squeezing the phone. “I know,” she says, “and I will, but can we just give Doug a little more time? Maybe he’ll call in with some zany explanation.”
“Maybe he will, maybe he won’t.”
Zero’s hand is extended, fingers shaped to cradle the phone.
“We wait until tomorrow,” she decides.
“One more day. Really, it’s just a couple of hours.”
“By closing time,” Zero counters. “And you give me the phone.”
“Tomorrow morning, first thing. I promise. I’ll make the call myself.”
Zero grumbles. He drops his hand, slapping his thigh, and turns away. Jai and I look away when he marches off, drawing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his hoody’s pocket.
Once he’s gone, Jai puts the phone on the counter. We stare at it, willing it to ring and hoping it’s Doug.
“What’s his problem?” Damien asks.
*️⃣ *️⃣ *️⃣
I stop by the next day before the store opens. I’m tired and running on an empty stomach and two cups of coffee. My book bag is bursting with reading assignments for the week. And as the others gather at the front door, freshly awake and showered, I’ve already lived a whole other lifetime at my early morning class.
Damien sits on the curb, feet propped up on the bumper block. His hands are stuffed in his pockets as he precariously balances a cup of coffee between his knees that he’s simultaneously trying to sip from.
I slow my approach, glad I parked far enough away that he could see me coming. I don’t want to startle him.
He smiles up at me and nods before returning to his task.
Zero leans against the door, resting his head on the glass. “You’re not on the schedule,” he says.
My tongue starts wagging because I need to explain myself at all costs, no matter the situation. Of course, I’d love to be heading home to sleep or work on my next paper but today Jai promised to call the police and I want to be ready for their questions.
But he doesn’t care. “Whatever. Jai isn’t here anyway. I knew she’d bail.”
As he says this, a shadow appears in the window behind him. It splits apart, raising a fist, and bashes against the glass behind his head. Zero springs aside, stumbling over Damien, who cries out when his coffee spills. All three of us startle. It’s too early for monsters.
Thankfully, it’s only Jai. She stands on the other side, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, and unlocks the door.
“Gotcha,” she says.
Zero straightens out his jacket and helps up Damien. “I’ll get the next one,” he says. He tosses away the empty cup, a small act of contrition. Then, as we file inside and gather around the counter, he’s on Jai like a hound. “So, what’s the plan? Did you call the police yet?”
“I did,” she replies. She sets the phone down on the countertop. Zero snatches it, checking the call history. “Last night.”
“Last night?” Even his dark glasses can’t hide the raised eyebrow. “Why? I mean, you said—”
“I know what I said.” She crosses her arms. “But I also heard what you said. We need help. Whatever happened on that tape is bigger than us.”
Zero recovers, nodding. “Right, exactly. Thank you.”
“The police aren’t too worried, but they’re sending someone over this morning to, like, take our statement or something. But here’s the bad news.”
Jai pauses, holding her breath, considering her words. We lean in. My hip presses against the edge of the counter, threatening to bruise.
“The company policy states that in any event where the police are called to the store…”
Lights flash across the front window, and for a moment, I’m taken back to Doug’s disappearance. I look outside. The truth is out there, I’m sure.
“…we’re required to let Corporate know.”
Jai keeps talking, explaining herself. I’m only half listening because my attention is drawn to those lights—they belong to a car. A white fleet vehicle. The engine shuts off and the headlights blink out. The door opens, slams shut.
“Oh, no,” says Zero, watching the man—the vehicle’s driver—approach the store.
“Hey,” says Jai. “Remember: you wanted to call the cops.”
“I wanted to call the cops, not this bloodsucker.”
“What’s going on?” I ask. I step back, taking cover behind Jai.
She looks me dead in the eye. Her bottom lip pulls down, jaw tensing. She wants to tell me something, but thinks better of it. Run, I think. Get the hell out of here before it’s too late.
The door opens. All the air drains out of the room as the man enters. He’s tall but not too tall. Slim but not too slim. He’s perfectly average in every way, from his pleated khaki pants to his pale, almost neutral, blue dress shirt, buttoned up to the collar.
A laptop bag slings off his shoulder; several seemingly important files sprout up from the side pocket. He sets it on the counter as he sizes each of us up.
Everything about him is inoffensive and precise in every way, as if by design.
He rubs his chin, where a sandy goatee has been freshly trimmed down, and wipes his mouth. He smiles, revealing a pair of pointy incisors. Whether it’s the sharp fangs or the cold glint in his pale blue eyes, he’s not actually smiling but doing an uncanny impression of making one.
Before he speaks, I glance down at the business card he’s slipped out of his breast pocket. He slides it across the counter, the only thing separating him from us.
CHRIS DAWSON
DISTRICT MANAGER
VORTEX VIDEO
“Corporate vampire,” Jai whispers to me. ⏹
