Apartment 239

Chapter Three

Abe opened his eyes an hour before his alarm. Actually, he had woken multiple times every hour, all night long, and he felt it. This had been the case ever since he developed his sleep apnea.

Sitting up he removed the cumbersome CPAP machine, jerked his neck left then right, unleashing a torrent of pops and sharp pulls, then stumbled to the bathroom. After flicking on the light, he examined his reflection in the mirror. He sighed heavily. His clothes no longer fit him. His patchy facial hair was greying, his eyes bloodshot and his face sagging. He was thirty-five going on seventy.

According to the doctor he saw between lapses in insurance, the sleep apnea was brought on because of his sudden weight gain. The weight gain was brought on due to Abe's choosing to bury his pain in trans fats. If there was a silver lining, it was that the sleep disorder afforded him a night free from ghosts. His roommates never slept, but the sound of Abe's snoring drove them away.

"Literally the worst sound in the world," Diane had said.

"Like a wolverine raping a musk ox," Animal Planet enthusiast Michael had claimed.

Abe tried treatment; Dr. Barnes ran a clinic downtown, located between a doughnut shop and a Tarot card reader. Abe slept no better and looked like the unfortunate victim of a face hugger from the film Alien when he used the machine.

Abe stared into the mirror. Would he at least bother to shave if he lived in an office? Maybe. What would Rebecca think?

Her memory confronted him, as it would frequently throughout the day and night. Abe saw brief flashes of her face, and of his son. How? Abe would ask himself. How could I not smell a goddamn gas leak? How did I not know?

"You stupid son of a bitch," Abe grumbled to himself. It became his mantra.

Stepping out of his boxers and into the shower, Abe pulled the curtain shut and tensed up as the cold water hit his back. He heard the bathroom door creak open. "Come on guys, we set boundaries, remember?" Abe yelled. "No showers!"

Opening his eyes, Abe saw Diane standing in the shower less than a foot from him. Her arms crossed, mouth pursed shut. Abe throws his palms against the shower wall, struggling not to slip and fall. "Oh my God! Jesus, really Diane?"

"You said you were getting us cable," Diane said, leaning into his face.

"Why do we have to discuss this now?"

"Would you rather talk now or when you struggle through ten pushups before work?"

"Get out of here!" Abe screamed, gripping his loofa in his shaking fist.

"If I have to see one more ad for Everett Community College or Don Waller: Attorney at Law, I will find a way to hurt you."

Abe dropped the loofa and grabbed his head. "I told you, I don't have the money right now."

He heard Kaitlin from the bedroom. "Is he using the money excuse again? Tell him to skip a meal. Everybody wins."

Turning to reach for the shampoo he found himself inches from Kaitlin's face, still in her green Capri pants and white shirt, chewing on her tongue. "Oh my God, what is wrong with you?" He hissed.

"It's a simple request. Cable. Satellite, a streaming service, literally any streaming service, and not just the free month, okay? Literally anything!"

"Anything!" Diane sighed.

"Kaitlin, Diane," Abe said, looking back at Diane, who stood behind him, defiantly. "I have a meeting today, all right. Today. I've been there almost a year. I should get something."

"Animal Planet!" Michael squealed from the bedroom.

Picking up his loofa, Abe turned to grab his body wash, only to find his arm elbow deep through Kaitlin's chest.

"Shit! Why are you still here?" A chill ran down Abe's arm as he pulled the soap through Kaitlin's corporeal body.

Kaitlin pointed to his soap. "Axe? Really?"

"It's a confidence thing."

Kaitlin snorted, giving Abe a half smile.

"Will you go please?"

She backed out through the wall. Abe stood in the running water, peeking behind the curtain before adding soap to his loofa.

Abe asked them once what death was like. Only Kaitlin answered.

"It smells like peaches," she said.

* * *

Finally dressed in his uniform, a pair of grass-stained jeans and a shirt with the city's logo on the front pocket, Abe sat at his kitchen table, chewing languidly on a spoonful of off-brand cereal from a plastic bag with a dancing, pink dinosaur on the front.

Kaitlin appeared in one of the mismatched chairs surrounding the rickety table. No amount of cardboard bits or coasters could level the table. He did have nicer dining furniture, which remained in storage for a hefty fee of $100 a month.

"Avenge me," Kaitlin said. She impatiently rapped her fingers soundlessly onto the table.

"No." Abe shoveled another spoonful of bran into his mouth.

"Please?"

"No."

"Come on," Kaitlin said, rolling her eyes. "You look at Michael's friends' Facebook for him!"

"That's different," Abe sighed. "I'm not killing someone."

"Would you like to know who killed us?" Kaitlin asked, attempting the lean back with confidence.

"No. And when you try to lean back, the chair just sticks out of your chest."

"I hate you," Kaitlin hissed as she vanished. A wispy silhouette remained behind for a few seconds before fading from view.

"I know."

"You just don't want to know," Diane said, fading back into view behind him, "because then you'd have to do something about it."

"Or, because you guys are always fucking with me and I don't believe you." Abe stood up and carried his bowl into the kitchen, dropping it into the sink and feeling genuinely surprised the bowl didn't shatter. He grabbed his lunch from the fridge, a box shaped like a smiling dog's face, the only thing he could find at Hart & Sons' Grocery, and turned on the TV on his way out.

The familiar "I'm Don Waller, the Texas-tough attorney!" followed him into the hall.

"Goddamn it, Abe!" Diane screamed.

He smiled and shut the door.