Plot: Worst Fears
Alex arrived earlier than normal at Freak Nation. One of the bikes needed some repairs and he wanted to have them done before the place opened. He frowned as he approached the door -- something look off but he couldn't figure out what it was. He stuck his key in the lock and ... nothing. It didn't turn. The lock didn't free. His frown deepened as he took the key out and examined it. Right one. He tried again. Nothing. He took a step back and made sure he had the right building, as odd as that felt. Nope. There was the Freak Nation sign, big as life. Alex looked at the lock and his eyes widened.
Different lock.
"What the fuck?" he swore softly. He ran around to the back door only to find the same thing. He pounded on the door but no one responded. He raced back to the front door and pounded again. Nothing. No one.
A police cruiser appeared around the corner and slowed down when it saw Alex yelling and hollering. He tried to explain what was happening, even showed them a business card that proclaimed him proprietor but they didn't seem inclined to believe him. Finally, confused, he gave up and headed to a nearby diner to make phone calls, although he didn't really know who to call about something like this.
Eventually, he reached the bank.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Durance," the loan manager informed him briskly. "But because that property is in arrears, we've repossessed it."
"What? No! I didn't miss any payments!"
"Mr. Durance, according to our records, not only have you missed one payment, you've missed several. And you've never responded to any of our calls or letters trying to get this straightened out. Believe me, this was a last resort."
"But. What? I never got any calls! I never saw any letters!" He was up now, pacing the length of the diner and yelling. He didn't notice the strange looks he was getting from the other patrons. "There's got be some sort of mistake! I'm coming down there right now!"
"That would be helpful, Mr. Durance."
"OK, right, good. Look, if I just wrote a check for whatever amount you think I'm due, would you give the place back to me?"
"Well, it's not that simple, but yes, that would also help."
"Great! Fantastic!" There was no enthusiasm in his voice, just dread. "Just tell me the magic number."
"Give me a moment, please hold."
She disappeared to be replaced by musac and Alex realized now that he was standing in the middle of the aisle. He retook his seat and ran his hand through his hair. How could this have happened? He knew he hadn't missed any payments; he'd been really careful. And these notices? Had they gone to the wrong address? Had someone taken them out of his box? Was that even possible. He sighed as the music continued to jangle across the wire, knee bouncing up and down with nervous energy.
"Mr. Durance?
"Yes. Here."
"I have an appointment open at 10:30, if that works for you. The total amount you owe us $17,422.39."
There was stunned silence.
"Mr. Durance? ... Sir?"
"Yeah, here," he croaked, mouth gone dry and skin pale. "At 10:30, right? I'll be there."
He hung up and stared at nothing.
Different lock.
"What the fuck?" he swore softly. He ran around to the back door only to find the same thing. He pounded on the door but no one responded. He raced back to the front door and pounded again. Nothing. No one.
A police cruiser appeared around the corner and slowed down when it saw Alex yelling and hollering. He tried to explain what was happening, even showed them a business card that proclaimed him proprietor but they didn't seem inclined to believe him. Finally, confused, he gave up and headed to a nearby diner to make phone calls, although he didn't really know who to call about something like this.
Eventually, he reached the bank.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Durance," the loan manager informed him briskly. "But because that property is in arrears, we've repossessed it."
"What? No! I didn't miss any payments!"
"Mr. Durance, according to our records, not only have you missed one payment, you've missed several. And you've never responded to any of our calls or letters trying to get this straightened out. Believe me, this was a last resort."
"But. What? I never got any calls! I never saw any letters!" He was up now, pacing the length of the diner and yelling. He didn't notice the strange looks he was getting from the other patrons. "There's got be some sort of mistake! I'm coming down there right now!"
"That would be helpful, Mr. Durance."
"OK, right, good. Look, if I just wrote a check for whatever amount you think I'm due, would you give the place back to me?"
"Well, it's not that simple, but yes, that would also help."
"Great! Fantastic!" There was no enthusiasm in his voice, just dread. "Just tell me the magic number."
"Give me a moment, please hold."
She disappeared to be replaced by musac and Alex realized now that he was standing in the middle of the aisle. He retook his seat and ran his hand through his hair. How could this have happened? He knew he hadn't missed any payments; he'd been really careful. And these notices? Had they gone to the wrong address? Had someone taken them out of his box? Was that even possible. He sighed as the music continued to jangle across the wire, knee bouncing up and down with nervous energy.
"Mr. Durance?
"Yes. Here."
"I have an appointment open at 10:30, if that works for you. The total amount you owe us $17,422.39."
There was stunned silence.
"Mr. Durance? ... Sir?"
"Yeah, here," he croaked, mouth gone dry and skin pale. "At 10:30, right? I'll be there."
He hung up and stared at nothing.