Alissa's Playlist

When Shawn opens his eyes, he sees nothing. He blinks several times before he can make out dark shapes all around him. He's lying on a dirty wooden floor and as he sits up his head brushes against soft fabrics. He looks up to see outlines of dress shirts hanging like legless men from gallows. They sway slightly as he continues to get upright, and he hears the metal bar above squeak in protest at the sliding wire hangers. His left side feels wet and painful. A warm, sticky ooze congeals in the fibers of his lucky Chicago Bulls t-shirt.

Shawn tries to remember why he's in the closet. Or how he got there. But his mind feels foggy, and his head pounds. He brings his left hand up to adjust his glasses and finds them missing. His face feels swollen under his fingers. He reaches out in front of him for the doorknob and turns the handle. It squeals as it turns but the door refuses to open up. Something is holding it shut. He inches closer to the door and peers out the keyhole. Shawn wishes he had his glasses. He can’t see what’s barricading him in. He only sees the back of an old recliner in the center of a dimly lit small living room.

He pounds on the closet door with both fists and yells. Transferred blood smears across peeling apple-green paint. He yells for several minutes while pounding against the door. When he finally stops he catches himself holding his breath as he strains to hear anyone coming to his rescue.

Shawn looks around in the small space and recognizes a cardboard box to his far left on the floor. His own handwriting labels the cube as “comics” in bold black Sharpie marker. He knows a thirty-something shouldn't still be collecting and reading comic books, but he loves the heroic stories and exaggerated characters. He'd imagined what it would be like to save the day and get the girl since grade school. He’s somewhat comforted to know he’s in his own closet but struggles to remember how he got there.

When Shawn's thoughts are interrupted by music, he realizes his back is against the wall he shares with his neighbor, Alissa. He presses his ear to the wall. That awful Seattle grunge that died in the mid-nineties is barely muffled through the thin apartment wall. He and Alissa had gone out a couple of times soon after he'd moved in next door to her, but it didn't last. She’d claimed to have just gotten out of a long-term relationship with a psycho ex and didn't want to dive right back into the dating pool. That was two years ago, and he's never noticed her dating anyone since.

Shawn pounds on the wall and yells out Alissa's name. He pictures her dancing around her kitchen munching on one of her beloved Hot Pockets. He pauses and listens for acknowledgment of some kind, but the only thing he hears is Alice in Chains moaning about snuffing a rooster. Stale closet air surrounds him, and he feels like his lungs are being smothered by pressed shirts and dusty boxes. He coughs and then winces at the pain in his side. He slumps against the wall feeling defeated as his mind wanders. He remembers Alissa’s apartment walls peppered with band posters and heavy jasmine incense hanging in the air. He spoke to her in the hall a couple of days ago and could smell it on her. He wished he had the nerve to ask her out again.

His thoughts of her flirtatious smile are interrupted by a deep angry voice coming from inside the apartment on the other side of the wall. He hears Alissa scream, and he begins pounding on the wall again and yelling. His fists crack the thin plaster and flakes of old paint litter his torso and the floor where he sits. He stops only after the shrieking halts on the other side of the wall a few minutes later. Shawn hears the next song on Alissa's playlist start. Eddie Vedder croons over the now silent neighboring apartment.

“Alissa?” He almost whispers her name no more than an inch away from the cracked shared wall. He sits perfectly still. Pearl Jam’s “Jeremy” continues to serenade him. As the melody fades, he starts to panic.

His head continues to pound as he searches around for any sort of clue on how or why he’s stuck in this damn closet. He spots the box of comics again. Memories of reading his favorites by flashlight in bed under the covers flood his disheveled mind. He even remembers taking them along on their family camping trips.

Memories of camping flood Shawn's mind. He'd loved the hiking, and fishing, and campfire cooking. He recalls stuffing his belly full of hot dogs and s'mores every night and then reading his comic books under his covers by flashlight.

Shawn blinks back to the present remembering his camping gear stowed away on the top shelf above him. He stands up, shoving clothes to one side or the other, and reaches for a bright red metal box. He opens it and scans his choice of gadgets. The weight of the mini sledge feels good in his hand. The beginning of a grin is delayed though when he hears his neighbor’s apartment come alive with the same Alice in Chains’ song as before. Then the same deep angry voice rises over the music. Shawn knocks on the closet’s back wall.

“Alissa? Are you there?”

The girl's scream cuts through the air and Shawn swings the mini sledge at the wall. A large indentation prompts him to strike again. The weapon’s repeated thumping never stops Alissa's screams or the enraged man's shouts. A fist-sized hole soon appears in the wall. Shawn sees a tall, well-dressed man throw a bouquet of bright pink flowers at Alissa’s face. She steps closer to him and begins slapping and punching his chest. The man's back partially obscures Shawn's line of sight but he can see Alissa squirm and grow quiet as the monster wraps his gold-ringed fingers around her throat. Shawn yells out.

The man's head whips around. He nods at Shawn. Spittle flies from his mouth as he snarls, “You should have stayed unconscious.”

Shawn jerks back from his peephole. His shoulder finds the closet door as his head bangs against its doorknob. He stands up and swings his weapon repeatedly against the back of the door's hinges. The hollow-core door splinters under the blows. Shawn pushes hard enough to finally cause the barricading kitchen chair to fall away. He exits the closet and moves toward the recliner, his hand holding his tender side. Once at the side of the chair, he’s startled to find someone sleeping in it. Someone who looks just like him.

He blinks rapidly and stares at the man slouched in his recliner, wearing his clothes, his glasses, and his face. The only difference between them is the imposter’s t-shirt. It has the same large bull but without a single drop of blood on it. That, and he doesn’t appear to be banged up like Shawn feels.

Shawn moves to his apartment’s front door, glancing back at the recliner a few times. Imitation-Shawn never moves. Real-Shawn opens the door and walks out into the hallway. He looks toward Alissa’s apartment. Her door is ajar, and he steps closer to see inside. He hears Eddie Vedder singing about wicked King Jeremy.

Shawn slides into his neighbor’s apartment and peers around her kitchen cabinets. Broken furniture clutters the living room. Books, clothes, knickknacks, and pink roses are strewn across the floor. Blood spatter creates a disturbing top layer to the whole mess. While pacing, the tall man turns, and Shawn notices bloody smears on his gold-glinted knuckles. A deep red spot punctuates his perfectly polished left shoe. Curly blonde hair appears trapped in the zipper of the man’s dark jacket. What Shawn sees and smells threatens to paint his already bloodied shirt with vomit. He crumples to the floor and props himself up against Alissa’s stove.

Shawn clenches his jaw and sucks in as much air as possible suddenly feeling out of breath. His legs are too weak to stand again. He crawls back to the hallway linking their apartments. He’s half dragging himself by the time he reaches his own living room. He shuts the door behind him and pulls at the door’s hardware attempting to stand upright. His wobbly legs don’t stop him from sliding the deadbolt into place. He exhales loudly, then looks toward his recliner. His twin still sleeps there.

Shawn totters over to confront his unnatural and uninvited guest. He tries to force some sort of interaction by yelling obscenities at the slumbering imposter but only receives snores in response. Shawn spits insults at his infuriating opponent, leans forward, and pokes him in the chest. Shawn’s entire body flushes with an overwhelming heat. He collapses smacking against his living room’s hard floor. Cold sweat slides across his face while his arms and legs tingle strangely. Everything around him fades into a dense black smoke as his eyelids pinch close.

When Shawn opens his eyes again, it’s slow as if from a deep sleep. He finds himself still in his own living room but no longer melting into unconsciousness on the floor. He stays seated in his recliner as he looks around the room for the imposter that once occupied the same spot. He doesn’t see anyone else. He inspects his torso but finds his shirt’s angry-looking bull unblemished. He checks his face and finds his glasses perched askew on his nose. He’s glad he can see clearly again. Jumping from his recliner he moves toward the closet. He flicks on the light switch next to the door’s frame, then turns the knob slowly. He forces down the lump in his throat and swings the door wide open. Half-expecting to find some strange version of himself inside, he feels relieved when no imposters lurch at him. He slides his dress shirts apart and sees his box of comics. Nothing out of place and nothing missing - and no extra Shawns hiding inside.

He shuts his closet door slowly and then turns to the living room area again. He scours his dimly lit apartment finding nothing unusual. His dream-like confusion is interrupted when he hears his neighbor singing in the hall while she unlocks her front door. Shawn smiles and shakes his head. A moment later music blares from the direction of Alissa’s apartment next door - Alice in Chains again.

Shawn’s heart drops into his stomach. Is it again?

Shawn’s in the hallway knocking on Alissa’s door in a second. She answers with an annoyed look on her face that quickly turns into a smile. His panic subsides and he stands there feeling dumb. As he struggles to find some clever words to explain his visit, his eyes wander to the hallway’s only window. On the street below a well-dressed tall man exits a dark sedan. He’s holding the largest bouquet of pink roses Shawn has ever seen. The afternoon sun glints off the gaudy gold rings that adorn both his hands.

Shawn grabs Alissa by the wrist.

“We need to leave. Now!”

Alissa’s smile dissolves and she whispers, “Has he found me?”