Aspect Ratio: Shift Happens, #2

Shift Happens: Two

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Second edition

Copyright © 2017 Frances Pauli

ISBN- 978-1974090358

Aspect Ratio

Frances Pauli

Chapter One

HOW MANY? STEVIE PRIED loose the mesh lid and then glanced across the cage at her customer.

Three dozen. The woman blinked thick, mascara’d lashes at her and pursed her lips. Small.

The rotting smell from the tank hovered in the air. Crickets caked the surface inside the box, constantly moving, encrusting every square inch of the egg carton scraps. Stevie grabbed a corner of moist, paper carton and lifted a hundred or so of the nasty bugs into the air.

She positioned the plastic bag beneath the mob and shook a rain of insect bodies into it. She counted, decided she was shy at least a dozen and shook again.

Hey, Stevie! Myra slid up, flashed a smile at the customer and then bent in near Stevie’s ear. Mark’s here again.

Stevie snapped to attention. She looked to the store’s entrance, past the self-service pet food bar and the register rows, and tried to see the front doors. She stepped back and popped onto her tiptoes.

Help! Her customer’s cry of alarm set her mind back to the task at hand despite the flutter in her stomach. Her hand still clung to the scrap of egg carton, but now it dangled over thin air. A cascade of crickets fell to the store tiles.

Sh—oot. Stevie dropped to the floor and started scooping. The bugs scattered, and she focused on the dozen romping across her customer’s shiny, red pumps. She tried to brush off the shoes while the woman did an oh-dear-god-there-are-crickets-crawling-on-me dance. I think I can get them, if you’d just hold still.

I’ll help, Myra offered. She joined Stevie on her knees, chuckling under her breath and shaking her head. Together, they rounded up the majority of the herd and left the stragglers to take their chances with the store’s posse of escaped geckos.

Myra tapped an extra dozen into the customer’s bag and whisked her away to the registers. She flashed another smart-ass grin over her shoulder at Stevie and nodded toward the tropical fish department.

Mark Weldon. Stevie flicked a cricket off her apron and slid a metal compact out of the pocket. She ducked behind a rack of full-spectrum lighting and checked her reflection in the tiny mirror. She should have worn her hair down. She should have touched up her makeup on her lunch break. The mirror shut with a click. She definitely shouldn’t have spilled crickets on a customer’s expensive shoes.

She sighed and reached up to stroke the boa constrictor wrapped around her pony tail. Baby flexed at the touch and moved her head nearer to Stevie’s bangs. Her scales slid soft and warm under Stevie’s fingers. If she wore her hair down, where would Baby hang out?

With a final tickle for the snake and a shrug for the crickets, she stuffed the compact back in her apron and headed for the fish tanks.

The fluorescent lighting cast the tropical section into a neon-blue haze. The steady bubbling of the aerators and the background hum of hidden filters separated the section from the rest of the pet store even more than the half-wall barrier or the display pond. The department made up its own little world.

Stevie rounded the pond and stepped past the salt water tanks. The white sand set the colors of the exotic species into even higher contrast. She winked at the snow flake moray peeking out of his coral shelter and turned left toward the tropical bays.

Mark stood in front of the far wall. He wore his ever-present business suit, as if he were on the way to or from a meeting at all times. It fit somehow. He looked as natural in the suit as the moray did poking out of its underwater shelter. But the moray didn’t send Stevie’s pulse into high gear. Mark Weldon most definitely did.

Today he examined a tank of Plecostomous. His long-fingered hands folded in front of his chest and his thin lips rested on the tips of his fingers. Stevie knew that pose. He wasn’t just looking today. The time had come to add a new fish to the Weldon home aquarium.

Hi, Stevie shackled her hormones and slipped on her customer service mask. How are you doing today?

Hi. Good. He nodded and his neatly cropped blond hair bobbed with the motion. She loved his hair. Despite his upright, down to business, polished demeanor, somehow his hair refused to be restrained. It argued with his attempts to restrict it to a sophisticated style, constantly bursting forth and fluffing when the opportunity presented itself. I think I’m ready to add to the tank. He smiled a civilized smile, but his hair waved like an anemone above, ruining the image.

That’s great, Stevie watched his fingers tap together. What did you have in mind?

Thinking about a Pleco. Are these new?

The Royal Plecos came in last Friday. She pointed to the black fish dotted with brilliant white polka dots. They’re really gorgeous.

They’re beautiful. Will they work in my tank?

You have a seventy-five gallon, right? Stevie could have listed every fish, decoration and chemical contained in his tank, as well as the measurements, if necessary.

He nodded and leaned closer to examine the flat, sucker-mouthed fish.

They should do fine. Not aggressive, but they need a sinking food.

Great, he said. Set me up.

She went for the net and bag thinking, and that’s the nature of our relationship. Once she’d wrangled the Pleco into its temporary transport, pointed out the algae wafers and handed both off, he’d head for the registers and disappear for another week or two. She sighed and wished again that she’d fixed her makeup. The lights in the fish area made her skin look pallid.

While she captured the fish, Mark wandered past the other banks, eyeing potential candidates for future tank mates. She snapped herself twice trying to twist the rubber band over the plastic and watch him at the same time. What did he do for a living? She’d spent too many hours wondering, guessing at his life outside their sporadic, fishy encounters. She snapped herself again and cursed under her breath. One of these days she should probably talk to him about something besides fish.

Here you go, she said. He took the inflated plastic from her and examined the occupant. Did you find the algae cakes?

No. Can you show me where they are?

Stevie led him out of the tanks and back into the world of dry goods and peg board. The food lined up in perfectly faced rows beside the cheesy tank ornaments, treasure chests, skulls, and plastic crystals. She plucked a packet of algae wafers from the row and offered it to him. In the regular lighting, his hair looked darker, blond that bordered on golden. She had no idea what color his eyes were, but instead of taking the opportunity to look, she dropped her gaze to his hands, placed the fish food carefully in his grip, and frowned.

Thanks, he said. I appreciate all your help.

No problem. She stared at his fingers. Have a nice day.

As he walked away, she pulled forward the next packet to fill in the empty shelf space. She turned the labels on the bloodworms more squarely to the front. She straightened the lines of skulls until all eyes faced forward.

Hey. Myra sidled up to her, manifesting out of whatever aisle she’d been spying from. How’d it go?

He bought a Royal Plecostomus, Stevie said.

And?

He’s married. She closed the lid on each of the resin treasure chests.

Ah, shit, Myra said.

I’m taking my break now.

Go for it. I’ll cover.

Thanks. She looked across the shelving toward the register counters, caught a glimpse of the back of a business suit and shook her head. I’ll be back in ten.

Myra followed her gaze and clapped her gently on the back. Take fifteen. 



Is she here yet? Ian pressed closer to Chloe’s front window and pried the blind slats further apart. I think I see her. He’d manifested for the evening, and wore a pair of Levis and an oversized ski sweater. His shaggy hair bounced out of control, but for someone who spent most days completely invisible, he’d managed to pull off a fairly appropriate appearance for the event.

She’s not due for another fifteen minutes. Chloe smiled and tugged on his arm until he abandoned his post. Anyway, if she gets here before Drew does, I’m screwed. Come and have some coffee.

No. His expression twisted. It’s nasty.

Pop? She led him around into the kitchen. He’d been watching for Doreen for nearly an hour and it was starting to make her twitchy as well. Cola or Root Beer?

Cola, He climbed onto one of her stools and peered at her over the bar. Where’s Mr. Paige?

Chloe shook her head and shrugged. Drew said he’d be there by six. She checked the clock and sighed. Twenty minutes late, with Doreen due any second. She slammed the glass of Coke down on the bar and stared at the phone on the wall. It was purely reflex. Drew couldn’t contact her over the land line, not from where he worked tonight.

If Doreen’s here when he ‘pops’ in, Chloe said. He can do the explaining.

I thought we had fifteen minutes? Ian emptied his glass. He grinned and held it out for a refill.

We do. Chloe took the tumbler and turned back to the fridge. I’m sure we do. As she twisted the top off the cola bottle, her doorbell rang.

She’s here! Ian jumped off the stool and bolted for the living room. Chloe stood holding the two liter plastic bottle and glaring at the clock. She frowned when the sound of her door opening reached her. Doreen’s voice followed, and her hopes sank. She replaced the cap and put the soda away. What the hell was she going to do now?

Her boyfriend should be arriving any second by means of an inter-dimensional portal that landed him smack in the middle of her living room. She was pretty sure her alien-fanatic neighbor would spot him manifesting out of thin air. Chloe couldn’t imagine what Doreen would do with that, but she knew for a fact that she didn’t want to find out.

Chloe! Doreen swirled into the kitchen in a cloud of broomstick skirt and long beads. Hi! She scurried over and wrapped Chloe in a quick hug.

Hi, Doreen. Chloe extracted herself and turned back to the fridge. Can I get you something to drink?  She caught Ian’s eye over Doreen’s shoulder.

Wine? Doreen asked.

Sure.

Ian shrugged happily and reclaimed his stool. He plopped both elbows onto the bar, settled his chin into his hands and watched Doreen fetch a wine glass from the cupboard by the sink. Chloe handed her an open bottle of Merlot and looked at the clock again.

For a moment, she just stood, watching the clock and letting the scent of garlic and pot roast distract her from what promised to be a disastrous dinner party. The sound of a car crunching up the driveway broke her trance. Could it get any worse?

She sighed and headed for the living room. As she rounded the corner, she plowed into her boyfriend. Drew. She pushed him backward away from the kitchen. You were supposed to be here by six.

It is six. He grinned and wrapped an arm around her waist.

It’s almost seven.

Not where I was. He leaned down and kissed her in a way that made her forget about dinner parties and dimensional time discrepancies. She leaned into him and closed her eyes.

Chloe, oh. Ian traipsed into the room, freezing at the sight of them.  Chloe opened her eyes a crack, saw Doreen’s shocked expression over Ian’s shoulder and pressed them shut again. She didn’t want to look. Hey Drew, Ian said. She could hear the uneasy quaver in his voice. Sure. Now he was worried.

Hi, Ian. Drew said without loosening his grip on Chloe. She caved and looked up at him. His eyes blazed blue, sparkling in a shade that matched his shirt perfectly.

Mr. Paige, Doreen’s voice carried over the awkward moment. I didn’t hear you come in.

He was in the other room, Chloe said.

I just got here, Drew said.

That’s a great skirt, Ian said.

Doreen looked at Drew with narrowed eyes. She frowned, nodded, and turned to Ian. Thank you, she said.

Somebody knocked on the front door.  Chloe detached herself from Drew’s embrace and stepped around him. Margaret, she thought. Just in the nick of time.  Before Chloe’s life took a turn toward inter-dimensional weirdness, Margaret had been her co-worker at the River’s Edge hotel.  Since the introduction of her unique complications, Chloe felt like she’d neglected the friendship on more than one occasion. 

Tonight, she looked forward to amending that lapse. The pot-bellied stove glowed orange, and the temperature in the living room added to the uncomfortable mood. Chloe opened her front door and a gust of frigid air swept through  in a rush.

Margaret, she said. Come on in.

Chloe let Margaret squeeze past her and stood in the doorway while the woman stomped residual snow off of her boots and peeled off her quilted jacket. Little puddles formed in the entry way where the snow instantly gave way to the heat of the house. Chloe inhaled a deep breath of winter weather and closed the door.

Hi, Andrew. Margaret dropped her boots on the linoleum and made a bee-line for the stove. I didn’t see your car.

I got a lift. Drew smiled and looked at Chloe.

Taxi, Ian said.

Doreen squinted at Drew and nodded again. Chloe’s secret life quavered and threatened to tear open on her. In front of the stove, Margaret rubbed her hands together and shrugged.

Did they just plow? I didn’t see any tracks. 

No, Doreen said. I didn’t either.

Chloe looked at Drew. His playful mood disintegrated into a look she liked to label, professional Drew. He stood up taller, set his shoulders and tightened his jaw. Good. He could handle this mess. He still outranked her both in position and experience. He’d showed up late, he’d put her in this pickle, and he could sort it out.

From the kitchen, the oven timer sent out a sharp, rapid series of beeps. Chloe watched Drew relax. He twisted a sideways grin at her and winked. She was either going to kill him, or drag him off to the bedroom at the first opportunity. She gave him a look that said as much, clapped her hands together and announced, Dinner’s ready.

Chapter Two

STEVIE RUMMAGED IN her purse and cursed. The wretched thing only had enough room in it for her wallet, keys, and a bloody pack of smokes. Still she’d managed to lose at least three lighters in the depths of its only pocket. She stopped digging and leaned forward, resting her head on the top of the locker bay. Married. She was such an idiot.

Her fingers brushed against the lighter and she latched onto it, grabbed the pack of Benson and Hedges and closed the metal door. She should quit. The habit wasn’t just dangerous anymore, it was grossly out of fashion. She crossed the narrow aisle that served as their break room, back office, and overstock storage and pushed open the heavy back door. Not today. Her fist tightened around the cigarettes. She wouldn’t be quitting today.

The loading dock behind the store stood like a cement cliff face. Stevie sat on the edge of it and dangled her legs over. She banged the side of the pack against her wrist and worked a cigarette out of the wrapper. Before she could light it, the door to the Bagel shop that shared the dock opened. One of the cashiers joined Stevie with a nod and an over dramatic shiver.

It’s freezing, the girl said. She reached into her apron pocket, flipped out a cell phone and held it up to her ear.

Stevie nodded and jumped off the dock, landing in a puddle of melting ice. The strip mall housed four businesses, had two square loading docks out back, and a narrow alley separating it from the next string of restaurants, retail outlets, and empty spaces waiting for businesses to rent them. Since she didn’t care to listen to the bagel girl’s phone call, and was even less in the mood for conversation should the call prove miraculously short, Stevie headed for the corner of the store and the privacy of the nearest alley.

She tucked in next to the dumpster and lit up. Of course he was married. She exhaled and closed her eyes. Good job, good looks, nice smile—she should have known. Somehow in months of netting the guy’s fish, she’d never thought to check for a ring? It had to be the lights. The bloody fluorescent tank lights. She took another drag and leaned against the wall.

Voices from the front of the store dragged her away from her self-pity. Stevie puffed away and tried to ignore them, but the murmur rose in pitch until whatever argument the men engaged in poured into the alley. She leaned around the dumpster, turned to face the parking lot at the front of the mall, and caught sight of two figures outlined against the gray sky.

They faced off at the mouth of the alley in stances that screamed aggression. Crap. Myra was manager on duty today, and Stevie knew better than to confront two grown men in the middle of a fight. She dropped her smoke and crushed it with the toe of her Ked. She’d cut the break short and take an extra five at lunch.

If it got ugly out here, Myra could call the cops. Stevie nodded, she could tell the bagel girl to get their manager outside as well. She started to head back toward the dock, but as she stepped from behind the dumpster, she caught a clearer view of the confrontation. Her feet planted on the spot. One of her combatants boasted an unruly head of golden blond hair. Mark Weldon. She couldn’t get away from this guy.

She’d almost decided to stick with the back entrance/phone the authorities plan when the other guy growled and planted both hands in the center of her favorite customer’s chest. He shoved, and Mark stumbled backwards into the alley. He dropped something to the pavement and put his hands up to block the attacker’s advance.

Hey! Stevie shouted. Both men’s heads snapped in her direction. Unfortunately for Mark, this put him at the disadvantage. She saw the other guy’s grin as he rushed forward and hit Mark from behind with the full force of his shoulder. Watch out!

She started for them, fully aware of the stupidity involved. As soon as Mark hit the pavement, his attacker spun around and bolted. Stevie threw caution aside and broke into a trot. He hadn’t so much as twitched since he’d gone down. Mark, she called. Shit. Mr. Weldon! 

Her ankle twisted. Pain snaked up through her calf and nearly tripped her. She glanced down at the bump in the asphalt and cringed. She hopped on her good foot and eyed Mark’s prone form. Was he breathing? She hobbled a step closer. Mr. Weldon?

He groaned. A wave of relief swept