Fee Green hated her job, and it showed.

  As a special treat, her work buddies had given her free rein to create a new recipe at a takeout restaurant known as: 'You wanna Pizza me?'

  A goodwill gesture they came to regret. For there, in the glow of sweat-soaked ovens, Fee served up a kind of chilli-based hate crime:the bastard son of a ham pizza and some spice-themed revenge plot, which proved so inedible, so unholy, it would have made the Gods of Pizza blanch with horror. Disgusted, her fellow employees were left rushing to rid themselves of the aftertaste, much to its creator’s amusement. After recovering, everyone reconvened in the break room, which was no mean feat, given its size. A mid-range coffee machine took up most of the counter, while a small wooden table with enough to accommodate three people, if two were ghosts. The restaurant was the size of a lunchbox, between a Pharmacy and the rumble of an all-night laundrette. Cheap neon winked behind the window, next to the laminated menu, while everything smelt of sweat, pepperoni and baked bread. Boss Man leaned against the cupboard and gave his thoughts on Fee’s new recipe.

  "Interesting," he said. I like the combination of spices; everything that should clash somehow complements the dish.” His employees stared at him, aghast. Even Rick Pie, the young, blue-eyed oven manager, shot his boss a bemused look. “Can you recreate it?”

  As far as Fee could tell, she had piled on the spices with all the grace of an explosion and was now asked to walk back the ingredients.

  "Not really." She said. “I made it up as I went.”

  "What would you call it?"

  A beat.

  “Death from above?"

  "Nice. Catchy." Boss Man said, before turning to the others. “Alright people, you've all got places to be, except you, Green, go home."

  Fee stood straight in an attempt to look fit for duty but was unconvincing. A red line divided her lower lip, with yellow marks underscoring her pale grey eyes. The palette of bruises was topped off with a nasal strip bridging her nose. Up close, it looked like she had picked a fight with a stampede

  "I know I look..."

  "... like crap, yes." Boss Man said. "That’s why you won’t be working tonight."

  "I'm fired?"

  "No. I just want you to rest up. "

  "I could use the cash; Mum just gave me a car."

  "I saw the Cortina. Built like a tank, turns like a yacht."

  "Super Speed." Fee said. "Pretty sure that's optimistic."

  "You're talking to someone who owns a Mach One."

  They shared a smile; only one of them winced.

  "I could wear sunglasses." Fee said.

  "Will the sunglasses cover your face? I need all hands on deck, but none that will scare the customers. You're in bad shape; come back when you've recovered.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s all she wrote.” Boss man said. Fee was moved to protest but could only resign herself to a slight nod. She collected her coat and pushed open the back door; unlit eyes looked toward the fading sun. "Oh yeah...Happy Birthday."

  ***

  Against the wet wall of a darkened alley, Fee stood rubbing her nose, while fat icy drops drummed against the hood of her Parka. In a way, it felt good to see how the cold water tracked down her face like skeletal fingers. Framed in a bank of amber light, she stood under a dead neon sign for an Auto-Repair shop and fished out a packet of Mekong Cigarettes. The crumpled green box had the gold outline of a ram's head, encircled in Chinese lettering. Shaking the box, she eyeballed two fingers of wrapped tobacco, one of which belonged to her Mother. Smiling at the brazen theft, she winced as her nerves lit up like brake lights in rush hour traffic. Putting on a brave face was starting to take its toll, as the white-hot pain returned with a vengeance.The intense burning was elastic bands around her optic nerves, while scraped fingertips sang with the sensation of being dipped in vinegar. The rest of her felt hollowed out and stuffed with crumpled static. Every tight cough was a gut punch.She followed the alley to a nearby Izakaya bar, where pink neon hoops lighted slat-blind windows. Stopping to check the menu, she pulled on the cigarette and sighed.

  Time ticked away on stilts.

  ***

  After a brief confab with the boss, Rick grabbed a plastic bag and found Fee inspecting the front bumper of her car. One end was hanging down and threatened to break off at any moment.

  “Damn it” Fee said, quietly.

  "Having fun, I see.”

  "Yeah. yeah.”

  The car was in rough shape, pock-marked with red rust and cloudy windows. The whole thing looked fresh out of a barn. Unlocking the door, Fee lowered herself into the driver's seat, surrounded by dark plastic, faux wood stickers, and the aroma of fifty-year-old tobacco subsumed into worn vinyl. Rick helped himself to the passenger seat and rifled through a bunch of cassettes in the centre console. He watched Fee give the glove compartment a frustrated whack.

  "So weird not being able to blip the door from a mile away." He said.

  "It’s annoying, like people who go through my stuff.”

  Rick replaced the cassette. "This is why you don't like passengers."

  "Probably." Fee said, giving the gear-stick a wiggle. After a year of nervous driving, she was still reluctant to take on passengers. "I don't want to be responsible for someone else's safety."

  "I guess you won't be babysitting."

  "I guess."

  The pair started dating a month after she joined the workforce. There was no love at first sight, just mutual respect, a propensity for sarcasm, and a healthy interest in pop culture. Over time, it became obvious that their feelings could not be masked with stolen glances and awkward small talk.

  "Wanna go for drinks?” Rick said. “This town could use some chaos”

  “I was gonna check out the re-release of Die Hard 2 in the cinema.”

  “Oh yeah, I can’t believe they’re showing all five again.”

  “All three.” Fee said, flicking the spent cigarette out of the window. “Four, if you count 16 Blocks, which is a faithful and spiritual closer to the franchise.”

  “Yes, you explained the similarities in great detail.”

  “That’s what long car journeys are for.”

  Rick frowned, remembering something.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “Hold on," He said. "How you come you never went to see the original Die Hard?”

  “Why would I, when number 2 is superior?”

  “Okay okay, now I know you’re trolling.”

  “I’m serious, the sequel goes further by putting real lives at stake.”

  “The first one had literal hostages!”

  Fee scoffed.

  “A bunch of coked-up yuppies? Who cares? Compare that to actual kids and babies.”

  “There was a pregnant woman in the first one.”

  “Who would have no doubt given birth to a corrupt banker. The cycle continues.”

  “That baby could have been a Celloist, you don’t know!”

  “Can we not with the fan fiction? Let's just agree that the second one had a twist no-one saw coming, which was missing from the first one.”

  “And some male naked Yoga.”

  “I…was not complaining.”

  “That scene will be the death of you.”

  Fee chuckled. “Haha! I see what you did there.” Smiling, she looked down and spied the box we was carrying. "Are you going to keep that for yourself or what?"

  Rick rubbed the Eagle tattoo on the back of his neck.

  "Oh right! I thought this might cheer you up."

  Lifting the lid, Fee was surprised to see a pair of red Trainers.

  "Oh my God."

  "Remember our first date? After dinner, we looked through a bunch of shop windows."

  Fee took in that new shoe smell. "I love them. Thank you."

  She gave Rick a quick squeeze

  "Wanna go for drinks first?” He asked.

  Fee smiled. “Sure, like you said, this town could use some chaos. At least while it’s still around, anyway.”

  She had stopped remembering Coventry a long time ago. It was nothing now, a dead city wreathed in a mist of poisonous smog.

  "You shouldn't dwell on the past," Rick said. "Or you'll never leave."

  "Still doesn't help."

  "There was no escaping from it, Fee. How can anyone?" Before she could answer, they were interrupted by a Goth girl waving frantically in their direction. She looked pale with anxiety; a picture of dread. Rick wound down the window. "S'up?"

  The girl hugged herself, barely holding it together.

  "He's back."

  ***

  The three arrived at the manager's office, where Boss Man, Tired Student, and Beach Bum were all poring over grainy footage from an ancient CCTV. The boss man brushed away pistachio shells while track lines on the video cut across the CCTV monitor. The screen showed a stranger known as ‘Mr Cold’ dressed in a white Tuxedo. He stood perfectly still in the corner while Goth girl was in front of the shop. Eventually, it got too much to the point where she had to shoo the man away. The stranger started to walk backward like it was nothing, wearing the same rictus smile with unblinking eyes. There was an uneasy lull as everyone tried to process what had happened.

  "When I closed the door, the inside handle was like ice." Goth Girl said, rubbing the back of her shoulder. "He called again and asked for Fee by name."

  Beach Bum looked away. "For what reason?"

  "Nothing good,” Fee said, still rattled.

  This caused Boss Man to shake his head.

  "It's gotta be more than that; no-one can be that obvious."

  "Yeah, rapists are known for their subtly," Rick said. "This is crazy. It's been a month, and he's still at it. What did the police find?"

  "They did a follow up, but the house was abandoned, no one to find."

  "Abandoned house and creepy phone calls," Tired Student said. "All we need now is a cheerleader with a broken-down car.”.

  Fee smiled darkly.

  “Yeah, my car is cooked, so I’m halfway there.”

  As the image flickered, the stranger almost appeared to wink at her through the crooked feed. Something cold snaked down the small of her back.

  "Don't even joke." Goth Girl said. "I can't imagine going anywhere near that weirdo, day or night."

  "What if I went anyway? Not alone, obviously."

  Everyone shot Fee a confused look.

  "Be serious," Rick said. "Why would you want to?"

  "He'll keep harassing us if I don't."

  "And become an unsolved mystery?" Boss Man said. "Nope, not gonna happen."

  "Rick will be with me, all the way."

  "Thanks for taking me down with you," Rick said, slightly irked.

  "Why are we even discussing it?" Beach Bum asked.

  Fee tried to present her case. "We have his details; he’s not going anywhere."

  "Yeah, let’s just wait ‘til he stops.” Boss Man said. " I am not sending my employees to their own crime scene."

  "So what do I do? Wait until he gets bored?"

  "Bored means he'll give up."

  "Who's to say he won't drag Fee into a van?" Rick said. "It's the next step."

  "And thank you for that," Fee said sharply. "Cos I wasn't freaked out already." She thought for a while. "What if I quit? Or work in the office? Administration. Do the accounts."

  “Great idea.” Boss Man said. “Now, all we have to do is wait for you to graduate Uni. Job done.” This time, Fee did not protest. "I know, it's like choosing the least smelliest turd. For the moment, we have food going cold, so let’s get a move on. Everyone is back to work. Green, you're on scrub duty.” Fee’s body slumped dejectedly. “Don't sulk. Next time you're given time off, I suggest you take it."

  ***

  Mr Cold’s address led Fee and Rick to the gloomy cul-de-sac of terrace houses. An overhead street lamp provided the only patch of orange against the encroaching dark, which cooked the adrenaline in her veins. No sounds, not even the distant traffic on the main road, could be heard. Fee switched off the solo for ‘Riding on the wind’ and stopped the car. Everything was still as if the world was holding its breath.

  Great idea, Fee. You win at ideas.

  Rick sat motionless on the motorcycle. Usually, he would be the first to knock on her window, but he remained unmoving. She waited thirty more seconds.

  "Pizza's getting cold, dumb ass," Fee said, with increasing frustration. “What are you doing?”

  Wasting no more time, she stepped out, marched over and gave him a punch on the top of his arm. No reaction.

  "I'm taking your all tips and leaving you here." She slapped the back of his helmet. "Wake up!" Nothing. He was out cold. Rubbing her wrist, Fee looked back toward the customer’s house. Folk music played with joyous abandon while silhouettes danced behind thin curtains. The sight of this gave her a twinge of relief. "Witnesses,” She said, dully. “It’s something, I guess."

  Pushing on glasses and a bucket hat, she tried to look as innocent as possible, like a doe-eyed ingénue on her first day. (If anything, it was good for tips.)

  Approaching the drive of number twenty-six, her skin prickled with excitement. Soon, survival instincts gave rise to a new feeling of trepidation. Splashes of light continued to dance from within as shadows jostled with hedonistic revelry. She passed the garden gate and took the side entrance, figuring no one would want to thread a Pizza around a house full of partygoers. The incessant throb of music was harder now, pulsing from the walls. Out in the back yard, someone drunkenly crashed through the door onto the lawn, causing a group inside to laugh loud and heartily.

  People. Fee thought bitterly.

  Upon entering the garden, she was surprised to find everything lit by a honeyed glow, with a scented air reminiscent of Potpourri.

  Okay, getting spooked now.

  A masked soirée was taking place on the crisp, manicured lawn, surrounded by white lanterns hanging between laced buntings. At the back, a large ice swan sculpture was presented as a centrepiece for the buffet table, which featured hors d'oeuvres and crystalline glassware.

  Each guest sported an insect or animal mask covering their entire heads, reminding Fee of a comic convention. Inexplicably, everyone she passed felt the need to curtsy or bow.

  She found Mr Cold in his bright white Tuxedo in the right-hand corner, focusing on her with those dead, unblinking eyes.

  "T-twelve pounds f-fifty," Fee said, handing over the box.

  A guest in a Grasshopper mask gave her a nod and made her jump.

  In that moment, something caught in her throat, which caused it to dry out. A parcel of dread began to unpack from inside of her gut. These were not masks but their actual heads.

  Anxiety rang Klaxons in her mind. Abandon ship!

  "Welcome," Mr Cold said, in a sibilant tone. "Care for a drink?"

  "I-I'm at work," Fee replied. The pitch of her voice had increased exponentially, eyes growing wide as saucers. "I really need to go."

  "You have just got here. This party is for you."

  "M-me?"

  The Tuxedo man gave a slight bow. "Welcome home, your Majesty."

  Fee turned toward the guests, who all lowered themselves in veneration. Saltwater welled up in the rims of her eyes; she could barely push out a sentence.

  "I need...I...have to..."

  The man placed a hand softly on the top of her scalp. Under his breath, he uttered a single word: "Awaken."

  ***

  Rick woke up with a jolt, feeling cold air leave his lungs. Why had he slept? He was not even drowsy. It felt like a bad dream or worse, some kind of witchcraft. Cursing, he unsteadily dismounted the motorcycle and coughed out a rope of saliva, tasting metal on the breeze. Something had felt off upon arrival, maybe a name unspoken for fear of evoking an ancient evil. Even the air felt unnaturally frigid, like the inside of a cave. Looking up at the address, it turned out to be a decrepit pile with boarded-up windows and no signs of occupants. Rick breathed out sharply. He should never have agreed to this. If only he had taken the Boss Man’s side, maybe he could have convinced Fee to abort the mission. He checked her car; it was locked and empty.

  She must have gone on ahead or was taken.

  Fearing the worst, Rick pushed the gate, which creaked noisily on rusted hinges. Dead air hitched in his throat as he made his way up the wretched path. Everything on the ground was carpeted with plants jutting through broken stones like tendrils. Wandering in a silent stupor, he was shaken up after tripping on a rusted tricycle.

  Crap-crap-crap!

  Desperately brushing himself off, Rick took a moment to calm down; no easy task seeing how everything reeked of dead vegetation. High fences were half-buried under a mass of overgrown shrubs and foliage. The untouched lawn rolled at knee-height, forcing him to wade through tall grass to reach the door.Locked. Looking around, Rick suddenly spotted the discarded pizza box, still warm and left under a glass table.

  An icy chill ghosted over his face.

  Fee Green had disappeared into thin air.