Free Mask of Flies by Eric Leitten Page A

slept, she went
into the bathroom and wrapped her belt around her neck. I woke up and
the bathroom door was heavy, so heavy—I found her dangling there.”

Chapter 9: Rick
    The Camry’s
dashboard clock read 4:37 a.m. when Rick drove onto the Rainbow
Bridge, en route to Canada. The only reason for anybody to cross the
Canadian border this early is to get an early start at the Casino on
Clifton Hill. If customs pried further, Rick planned to give them a
sob story about how he broke off his engagement with his fiancé and
wanted a vacation to cheer himself up.
    After the
conversation with the Jane at Oak Leaf, Rick cleaned up. A foul
smelling man, wearing bloodstained blue jeans and a smallish bed robe
would raise unwanted suspicions at the border, so he made use of the
24 hour gym keycard he kept in his center consol. Luckily, inside
there was only an elder man walking briskly on a treadmill, fixated
on the latest broadcast of Sports
Center . Rick snuck in unnoticed, snatched track pants and
a sweat shirt from the lost and found bin, and made way for the
locker room. He tore off his filthy clothes and quickly rinsed off in
the shower, utilizing the soap dispenser on the wall to lather up his
arms and chest. Filth spiraled down the drain. In a matter of minutes
he cleansed, dressed, and got on the road again, almost a new man.
    Rick pulled up to the
customs booth and handed the officer his passport.
    “Citizenship?”
asked the red eyed man behind the booth window.
    “US”, Rick said.
    “Where are you coming
from?” Red eyes looked up from Rick’s passport to verify the
picture.
    “My apartment in
Williamsville.” Rick feigned a smile and polite tone. He glanced in
his rearview mirror and saw another customs officer typing in into a
handheld computer. He was looking directly at his license plate.
Then, the blood pulsated in his head. Did
they find the girl in the motel room ? The Jane said the woman lives, but what if she’s wrong?
    “What business do you
have in Canada?” asked the officer.
    “I-I’m gonna get an
early start at the Casino.” He could now hear his blood thump.
    “Ahh, the early bird
gets the worm.” The officer smiled. “Are you bringing over
anything?”
    “Just cash.”
    The officer in the
booth put his finger on his earpiece and glanced towards the man with
the tablet. “Good luck.” From the booth’s window, he handed
Rick back his passport.
    “Excuse me?”
    “At the Casino.”
    “Yes of course, thank
you.” Rick pulled forward into Canada and headed towards the falls.
He had been over to the Canada more times than he could count, but he
had never seen the streets so desolate. The shops and attractions
surrounding the Canadian falls superseded the subjugated American
side. Rick blamed this on New York City liberals, which to him,
sucked the life blood and dollars out of all initiatives outside NYC
to feed all the worms in the Big Apple.
    But Rick wasn’t
visiting Canada to sightsee; he was there to stop a woman from
committing suicide. The Jane said the woman from the motel would be
on foot, walking in the direction of the fall’s crest, where the
Niagara River drops into oblivion. This location grew quite notorious
for the untold suicides attempted there each year. The locals
sardonically dubbed the point, “The Trapdoor”.
    The Trapdoor also had
its fair share of accidents. Most recently, Rick recalled an Indian
exchange student fell over the guardrail while posing for a picture.
Apparently, she was straddling the rail and lost her balance. The
authorities seldom recovered remains of the fallen—the Indian girl
was no exception.
    The hope that Rick hadn’t killed
another person trumped his apprehension and disbelief of the entire
predicament. He had to see the woman himself to know for certain. And
there was this Russell creature that was said to be inside, using the
woman. The being’s existence was maddening in itself. To dwell on
it was self-defeating.
    Rick left the