Delivery

The smell of pizza hit Chris the moment he opened the door.  Someone in the back heard the bell tinkle and stepped up to the cash register to take his order.  Chris took off his rain-soaked baseball cap and heard the water it hadn't absorbed hit the tiled floor. 

"I'm Chris," he told the cashier.  "Anton said to ask for him."

"Ah, the new guy!" his new coworker smiled. "Looks like you'll be getting a 'trial by rain,' instead of a trial by fire. I'm Richie. Come on back."

He led Chris past the oven, prep stations, and door to the walk-in refrigerator.  There was a small space at the back of the store for employee lockers, right next to the open door to the office.  Chris's new boss, Anton, clicked away on his keyboard for a moment before greeting Chris with grin.

Between the two of them, Anton and Richie sped Chris through his orientation.  There was a fair amount of paperwork to sign.  Chris barely skimmed the stack of forms before waiving his right to lunch breaks, assuring the company he had the proper insurance on his car, and so on.

Richie left on a delivery and Anton showed Chris how to fill an order.

"There's, uh, one more thing," Anton said slyly.  He looked over his shoulders the way Chris's mom did before gossiping to her church friends.  "I just want to let you know a little something that isn't, you know, part of the standard training."

Chris wondered if he had already broken a rule and risked his job. 

"See," Anton continued. "I want to be the kind of manager I needed when I was first starting out. I understand that opportunity can knock. And when opportunity knocks at your door. son, you have got to be free to answer."

Chris tried to look nonchalant.  He smiled and shrugged.  "I don't have any job interviews lined up, or anything like that.  I think I'm off to a good start here."

Anton laughed.  "Yes, definitely a good start!  I'm not talking about job opportunities.  I'm just letting you know that when you're out on delivery, and it turns out the customer is a neglected housewife all alone, or a young widow, or a bored college girl? Sometimes, opportunity knocks. Just shoot me a text to let me know you'll be late coming back to the store. I've got you covered."

Chris's face burned, but mostly he had to fight the urge to laugh.  He'd seen plenty of videos online that included the scenario Anton hinted at. He knew better than to think such things actually happened, though.

Surely, most people would just want pizza.

Chris's first few deliveries resulted in poor tips, a permanent pepperoni smell in his car, and an unpleasantly damp feeling from rainwater soaking his sneakers. Then, a little after 6pm, Anton announced an order that struck Chris as unusual: "Medium jalapeño-pineapple with a bottle of Diet Cola. Dam Road."

Richie's finger flew to the tip of his nose.  "Not it!"

"Bad tipper?" Chris asked.

Richie gave a little dismissive laugh.  "If the Beemer's in the driveway, then the husband pays. That's a bumpy drive on a remote private road for a sixty cent tip."

"And if the Beemer isn't there," Anton added. clapping Chris on the shoulder with a little too much familiarity: "Just remember to text me, okay?"

The phone rang and thankfully took Anton's attention.

Chris asked Richie, "He's joking, right?"

Richie shrugged.  "I think he thinks it can really happen."

"Maybe it did," Chris said.

"Or maybe he just hopes," Richie replied.

Chris boxed the jalapeño pineapple pizza.  He asked Richie, "You ever deliver to that Dam Road address when the Beemer wasn't there?"

"Not me," Richie said.  "Mike went a few weeks ago. Said the lady gave him a bad vibe, so, you know, have fun with that."

"Right."

Between the heavy rain and dark sky, visibility on the downtown roads wasn't too great. It only got worse as Chris drove to the outskirts of town, where the unlit road wound between an interconnected series of ponds and reservoirs.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.  Chris felt his car lurch with the occasional strong blast of wind.  He could just make out the roiling waves on Maxine Pond to his left, and the swaying, mostly-bare branches of the trees to his right.

It felt like a long drive.

His customer lived at the very end of Dam Rd, in a modern-looking cottage that loomed over Maxine Pond.  Chris parked beside a blue Mazda.  There was no BMW in sight.

Nothing could have prepared him for the woman who answered the doorbell.  She smiled with embarrassed sweetness when she said, "You're already here? I must have lost track of time."  She held up her hands, revealing wet streaks of blue and green paint.  She held a paper towel in one hand, no doubt to protect the doorknob when she opened it.  "I have to wash this off before I touch my purse.  Sorry.  Come in, just for a minute. Let's get you out of this storm!"

Chris said something in agreement--he hardly knew what.  He followed her into a living room with gigantic windows facing the water, which churned strangely in the storm.  The furniture looked new and stylish.  

An easel stood to one side of the room, with a bizarre erotic painting in progress.  It showed the outline of a naked woman surrounded by the feathery tendrils of an aquatic plant.

The cottage and painting couldn't hold Chris's attention for long, though.  It took too much effort to pry his eyes off the woman as she led him into the kitchen.

Worn, paint-speckled jeans hugged her curves, with frayed holes revealing smooth skin underneath.  Her tee shirt was similarly distressed, streaked with paint and cropped high on her abs.  She even had an adorable smudge of green paint on her cheek.

"You can put the stuff down on the kitchen table," she instructed.  "No point in holding them up the whole time."  He obeyed.

She used her paper towel to turn on the sink.  She rubbed her hands in the water, but struggled with the soap dispenser.  Chris stepped closer and offered to help.

"Yes, please!" she smiled.

He leaned in to dispense soap on her hands.  He couldn't help breathing in her spicy, slightly floral perfume.

Their faces were inches apart.  Her dark eyes sparkled at him.  "Thank you," she breathed.

Chris instinctively stepped backwards.  "No problem."

"I'm Marta, by the way," the woman said as she scrubbed paint off her hands and arms.

"Chris," he answered.

"Nice to meet you, Chris."

"You too, Marta."

Marta turned off the faucet.  Her kitchen towel hung from a hook on the side of an overhead cabinet.  As she reached for it, her crop top pulled upwards, affording Chris a slight glimpse of the lowest curves of Marta's breasts.

His face felt hot again.  He looked away.  He wondered if he should text Anton.

Why did Richie say Mike was creeped out by Marta? She seemed perfectly friendly and kind… and absolutely beautiful… 

Marta hung her towel back up.  "All right! I can touch my purse now.  Thank you so much for your patience."

"No problem at all."

"It's in the living room."  She led the way again.

A movement on the storm-swept pond caught Chris's eye.  When he peered in the darkness, he could see nothing but the effects of wind and rain on the water.

Lightning flashed over the pond.  A few seconds later, thunder rumbled.

Something hit the floor and Marta exclaimed, "Shoot!"

She dropped to her hands and knees.  Her purse had apparently fallen to the floor and spilled open.  She reached for something under the couch.  Chris couldn't help but wonder if she had taken that position on purpose.

Marta emitted a sound of adorable frustration.  "Ridiculous! My wallet slid right under the !"

The bare skin of her lower back… the curves of her waist, hips, buttocks, and open thighs… Chris whipped out his phone and shot a quick text to Anton: "Might be late coming back."

Marta sat back on her feet.  In that appealing kneeling position, she looked up at Chris with a shy expression. "I'm so sorry about this, but the couch is heavy and I just can't reach my wallet."

Chris smiled. "I've got you."  He easily lifted the side of the couch and turned it, revealing both Marta's wallet and a trap door.

Marta grabbed her wallet and rose to her feet.  "Thank you so much.  You're so patient and helpful."

Lightning flashed again.  The rumble of thunder came more quickly this time.

"My pleasure," Chris answered.

Marta held out the cash to Chris.  When he reached for it, she took hold of his hands.  "I, um." She looked away, then back at him with a shy smile.  "I have to ask: do you need to leave right away?"

Chris's heart pounded in his chest.  This was too good to be true.  "I'm due for a break," he told her.

She bit her lip in a fetching way.  "Excellent. You won't be missed?"

"It's fine," Chris assured her.

Smiling, Marta released her messy bun.  Brown locks tumbled over her shoulders.  Chris pocketed the money, then ran his hands through her silky hair.

"Absolutely beautiful," he said.  He could melt into her big, dark eyes.

"Thank you," she said coyly. She reached a hand up to his cheek and started leaning in towards him.  He tried to close the gap between their faces, but froze in place.

He couldn't move.

She took her hand off his cheek. He felt a tiny trickle of hot blood drip down from where her middle finger had been.  She didn't even try to hide the needle-sharp implement in her hand.

Chris tried to speak. He could only emit vague groan out of his paralyzed mouth.

Marta's smile lost its sweetness.  "Good," she said.  "The Undine Milfoil extract is working."

Questions raced through his mind, but his mouth refused to work.  He could only moan.

Marta started singing a haunting, beautiful tune in a language Chris couldn't identify. She opened the trap door.  A thick, wet, sickly sweet scent drifted up from below.  Between Marta's song and the rumble of thunder, Chris could make out a strange squelching sound.

He thought he would give anything to see what was under the trap door.

At the same time, he prayed he would never find out.

Marta's eerie song ended.  "Potamos of the Deep," she chanted. "Great Being of Primal Waters, Arbiter of Blood and Breath, I offer you this sacrifice."

Cold sweat seeped into Chris's clothes.  His body refused to move.

The squishy sound from below grew louder.

"Bless me, oh Potamos, with the power of Sight…" Marta's incantation continued.  

A gurgling sound claimed Chris's attention.  A cold, wet tendril climbed up and around his leg.  Marta's voice and the otherworldly sounds blended together in Chris's mind.

For a moment, he was on his back, staring at the ceiling.  More tentacles wrapped around his legs and dragged him towards the trap door.  His entire world consisted of sound: Marta's chanting, the crack of lightning, the boom of thunder, the wet noise of the Thing that dragged him.

Then, Chris was plunged into the dark waters.  Everything fell silent.