Free The Messenger (2011 reformat) by Edward Lee Page A

that
disgust that his brain had produced. But...
    The pillow
felt gritty, too.
    The awful
taste in his mouth raged, and when he licked his lips...
    They felt
gritty.
    Gritty as if
with flecks of soil.
     
     
    II
     
     
    What a
flippin' week, huh, Bobby? Bobby asked himself. He had a way of having conversations
with himself, after so many years of first shift.  Who's on the mound for the
Yanks tonight? Hmm, Bobby, I don't really know but I'd guess it's Mussina. Oh,
yeah, I guess you're right. Like that. He was a little screwy. Bobby Weaver
wasn't a carrier or anything. He was the maintenance supervisor for West
Branch, more title than function, though. Pretty funny, huh, Bobby? You ain't
kidding, it's funny. Yeah, like who the flip do we supervise when we're the
only maintenance employee in the flippin' building!
    You got that
right, Bobby.
    Bobby was
typically the first employee in the building. Arrival time? 4:30 a.m. Bobby
didn't mind. He made sure all the lights worked, prepped the sorting machines,
cycled the circuits, that sort of thing. Not a hard job, but essential in its
own way. The first drop-offs usually started coming in around five o'clock, so
he had to get ready for that, too.
    No biggie,
right, Bobby? Naw, it's a walk in the park.
    He whistled,
going down his daily checklist. This building's unfamiliar look comforted him;
until very recently he'd worked at the main branch, and nobody would ever
forget what had happened there. Yeah, can ya believe that shit, Bobby? Flippin'
broad MACHINE-GUNS the main branch! Yeah, but AFTER offing her hubby and kid! No,
neither of them could believe that shit.
    Bobby didn't
know her, really, he'd just seen her coming in each morning to do her pre-sort.
Never saw her when she got off because his shift'd be over by then. Seemed nice
enough, though, huh, Bobby? Sure, and a looker too. Nice little apple-dumpling
cart up front and not a bad bucket in back, either. Cut that shit out, Bobby!
The broad's DEAD and you're rapping about her bod for chrissakes! Yeah,
sorry...
    Proof that it
was a nutty world, though. A sure-fire, whacked-out flippin' world.
    Bobby sighed.
The last item on his checklist was always the kick in the tail. Come on, Bobby.
Let's go reload ALL the flippin' stamp machines out front. Aw, Christ, I HATE
doing that. There's TEN machines out there!
    Tell me about
it, Bobby.
    Three-cent,
thirty-seven-cent, Priority, Air, dollar stamps, ten packs, twenty packs, and
hundred-stamp first-class rolls-all these slots had to be filled, the change
removed, the changers topped off. Pretty tedious.
    But there was
nothing tedious about the rest of the day when Bobby waltzed into the vending
lobby, keys in one hand, sack of packed stamps in the other, whistling Dixie.
    He walked
around the counters, passed the first rank of PO. boxes, then stopped cold.
    Dropped his
keys.
    Dropped the
stamps.
    Then all the
blood drained out of his head from the vision of horror that stared right back
into his face.
    A woman was
standing there in the corner of the vending cove, her arms spread out as if in
wait for Bobby. She was naked and very pale. Hair that was a blend of blond and
brunette straggled to her shoulders. Bobby thought for sure that some nutty
homeless woman must've gotten into the post office, or some drug addict or
something like that. What else could explain this woman being here, and in this
state? Naked, ragged, pale?
    But then Bobby
recognized the woman...
    It was Marlene
Troy, who'd been killed by police a few days ago, and who'd just been buried.
    Bullet holes
full of clotted blood pocked her torso. Dirt clods hung in her hair, while more
grave dirt peppered her skin. The woman was dead but she was standing there on
her own. Her eyes were open, mortician's glue unseated, their whites jaundiced
by embalming fluid. Bobby knew it was impossible but for a split second it
seemed as though she'd blinked.
    And her smile
glimmered like newly honed cutlery.
    These were the
details