Paper and Blood

Her favorite kind were paper. The kind that wrapped around the ears.

In Asian countries, mask wearing had been normalized years ago. Swine flu, or one of these other variants, had prompted widespread usage.

Masking weaved its way into the culture. Invaded fashion and legislation. It was an unambiguous way to show solidarity. “I’m sick, but I’m watching out for YOU.” Altruism and popular acceptance in one product.

In addition, the mask had inadvertently become a boon for the introverted. The isolationist. The private.

The relationship between criminality and mask wearing, historical bedfellows, suffered infidelity.

Face recognition software stock sank.

Two years into mask wearing, Audrey had come to embrace the mask as a security blanket. A shield. A charm. A disguise.

Working from home gave her a cocoon. The mask was her cloak of invisibility. Its magic wrapped her in the arms of the spirits – cold, ethereal, faces obscured.

Audrey had a very difficult time recognizing anyone if they wore a mask. Eyes and eyebrows were not enough. Of course, she could examine body shapes and gestures. Type of hair. Skin color. She could make an educated guess, but was often incorrect.

Only six months before, Audrey first utilized the mask's gift of preventing unwanted identification. The sequence started with a dog.

Audrey’s neighbor was an old lady who had a small yippy mutt. The dog, who had a passing resemblance to a terrier, barked day and night. 

Audrey had worn a dark blue paper mask that night. It paired well with a grey hoodie and black gloves. Black and blue didn’t clash that night.

Her neighbor’s sliding door was open. The dog was there, running around, filling the air with its foul noises.

The mask offered Audrey something more sinister than abduction, but she declined. Audrey grabbed the dog and left the door open. She put the dog in her car and drove to the transfer station at the edge of town. Her father had disposed of old furniture there. It was surrounded by empty strip malls and dirt lots. 

Audrey drove up to the main office and placed the dog on the front steps. Perhaps the attendant would find it. Audrey had managed the common sense to remove its collar. She drove a few blocks, then threw the collar out the window. Then she drove home.

The blue mask chose to stay that first night on her bedside table.

The night following the displacement of the dog, Audrey slept more soundly than she had since college.

The next day she woke to a knock at the door. The clock read 8:03. The blue mask looked at her. Audrey put on a red paper mask and opened the front door. It was the dog lady next door.

“May I help you?” Audrey asked.

The lady’s voice cracked and stuttered. “Have you seen my dog? Little gray dog, red and white collar. “

“I’m sorry. I haven’t.”

“Yesterday? Maybe last night?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

Audrey’s mask moved up and down as she spoke. But it stayed in place.

“Okay. Thank you.” The old woman shuffled back to her house and closed the front door.

Audrey felt a wave of pity for the old lady and disgust for the person responsible for taking the lady’s dog. She didn’t like that person, not at all. The person who had done this wore a mask like a Halloween trickster. She was about Audrey’s height, and wore a grey hoodie. Black pants. Combat boots.

It was disgusting, whoever did this.

Audrey watched some TV until the tight feeling in her chest went away. She nuked veggie lasagna and grabbed a beer. Once the food was ready, the red mask came off.

***

Audrey gradually began to keep a mask on at home. At first, it was just for short periods. This was typically in the planning and recovery stages. Neither stage was as efficient without a mask. Later, the masks rarely came off.

***

Christmas was set to be a cold one this year, at least for California. Audrey had chosen to spend the day at home. Her family all lived in Connecticut, and they didn’t believe that it was safe for her to travel yet. Audrey had been fully vaccinated for several months, and was going to get the booster, eventually. But even with that, her mom told her that the airplanes were just filled with germs.

And there was this new variant. Best to wait. Maybe in the spring, dear. Maybe you could drive. Her mom didn’t seem to understand that driving from California to Connecticut was an exhausting alternative.

On Christmas Eve, Audrey wore a black paper mask. Classic black. She went for a walk near 5 PM.

She passed carolers on the street. There were eight small girls and two women. The group went house to house. They only stopped at houses with porch lights on. Audrey had left her light on, but no one would be home to answer the door.

The homeless problem had hit California like a tidal wave. They flooded south and west in the winter. Two years ago, the small park near Audrey’s home had been clear and clean. Now there were broken beer bottles and condom wrappers on the play structure. She had found used condoms in the park’s bathroom sink. There was toilet paper on the slide. Water bottles. Dog poop.

Audrey sat on the one swing and shifted herself back and forth, swinging a few feet off the ground. Audrey liked toys and play structures from her past. She had once considered having kids. A pandemic was a poetic time for new life. But none of her male potentials were interested, and she hated the idea of tricking a guy into procreation. Instead, she took her birth control like a good little girl.

The homeless typically camped at the backside of the bushes near the periphery of the park. There was a trail that led from the open grass down to a ravine. The small canyon housed a small stream. The stream was likely being used as a latrine. Audrey grimaced, thinking about it.

The trail was marked with a tiny, empty rum and vodka bottles. As she walked, Audrey sucked her lips behind her mask. She pulled the black paper up close under her eyes. Even in December sun, she felt overheated in the black hoodie. Sweat stuck her arms together under her pits.

She watched her feet in the worn, black, army boots. Dust clouded low as she shuffled.

Audrey saw red to the left. A sleeping bag. She could smell the sour of the alcohol. She walked carefully, so as to not disturb the bushes. Walking around green glass shards, Audrey nearly stumbled on a blue, threadbare pack. Righting herself, she stepped over the pack and examined the sleeping bag. It had black stains of liquid in patchwork over it. At one end was a grey beard and a green beanie cap.

Audrey bent at the knees and leaned over close to the face under the beard. She hovered a foot or two up.

Audrey had never pushed a sharp object through live flesh. Her sole experience puncturing meat involved dead animals already marketed as food.

She had never harmed a live animal larger than a mosquito. Animals, by and large, did not deserve either cruelty or mercy. They existed. They experienced life and death. But they didn’t have a deeper meaning to their existence. There was no reason to engage in an emotional connection with them. Humans on the other hand...

The knife Audrey carried was a small switchblade. She had received it in a monthly subscription box of camping and survivalist supplies.

She pulled the knife from her jacket pocket. The fake mother-of-pearl handle reflected the sun. She pushed the button and the blade flipped out, smooth and quick. It will be like cutting into a whole turkey, she thought. There is a righteousness to this, and a mercy. I am being used for a higher purpose.

Audrey pulled her arm back and plunged the knife toward the man’s neck. The knife stopped an inch from the flesh. There was an invisible, but no less real, barrier. She couldn’t get past it. Audrey breathed heavily behind the black mask. She tried to slow her cycle of air. She felt her heart pounding hard in her chest.

Again, she pulled her arm back and brought it down fast, aiming for a spot under the beard. The hesitation, the fear, struck again. At the very moment that her hesitation began to slow her arm’s descent, the man started with a grunt and jerked upright.

His neck met her knife. Audrey held her arm steady against the force of it. Her intent had succeeded despite her weakness. A validation for her cause. The victim had bared his neck for the axe.

Audrey watched as the man’s mouth opened to speak. She placed her gloved hand over his mouth. Whatever he had to say ended in a muffled grunt.

The blood was a deep red. It created a small pool inside the sleeping bag. Very little seemed to be getting absorbed. The man’s eyes focused on the trees overhead. It was a better last view than he deserved.

Audrey placed her knife on the ground next to the man. He had a small Pokemon keychain hanging from his pack. She pulled the keychain off and placed it on the ground. She stripped her gloves off and threw them into the bushes. Picking up the keychain, she regarded it slowly. Audrey looked back down at the man.

“Peace be on you,” she said, nodding. She made the sign of the cross and placed the keychain in her pocket.

Audrey adjusted her mask as she walked back toward the swings. Her heart rate and breathing were regaining a slow and steady pace. A burden had been compressing her chest for months. It had now lifted. Hallelujah! Audrey felt like shouting to the sky and the park. A Merry Christmas indeed.

At home, Audrey washed her hands and scrubbed her shoes with Lysol. Then she stood in front of the mirror in her bathroom. Only then did Audrey remove her mask and place it on the side of the sink. She washed her face and dried it on a hand towel. She picked up the mask gingerly by the elastic and brought it into her bedroom.

On a shelf was an old photo album with adhesive boards and clear sheets. Audrey brought the album to her bed and sat down. She opened it and began turning pages. A dark blue mask. A red mask. A purple mask. A light blue mask. A rainbow mask. A mask with My Little Pony characters. A Thomas the Train Engine mask. A blank page.

She pulled the clear sheet off the adhesive on the empty page and placed the black mask flat. Then she brought the clear plastic down. Audrey smiled and shut the book.

***

It was a warm day in February. The photo album had only one empty page left. It waited for inspiration.

Audrey wore a pink paper mask as she walked down to the park with her new dog. He was a small black and white mutt named Oreo.

That day she found a wrapper from a fruit roll-up stuck to the swing. One beer bottle sat on a bench, and a plastic bag was hanging on the top of a bush. But otherwise, the park was clean.

There had been a rash of violence within the local homeless population. Overdoses and stabbings. This park, and others like it, had ceased to be safe areas to camp.

As a result of the violence, the city had no choice but to clamp down. The violence had been taking place near children’s playgrounds, even in affluent areas. The voters had voiced their dismay loud and clear. Even the “housing first” crowd had been overruled. Criminalization had to come first and swift.

An alternate theory surfaced, but made few in-roads. A local crime blogger speculated that the spike in homeless deaths might be the work of a vigilante. A caped crusader cleaning up the streets. Or thinking they were. The pattern of deaths was too artificial. The locations too high profile. This theory made a small ripple on local talk radio, but the police didn’t look into it.

Audrey liked the pink mask. Her sweater was also pink. She felt quite feminine today. She felt delicate. This pink mask was a lady.

Her dog pulled her along. Audrey was past the park now. Oreo needed to pee. He presented himself to a tree and Audrey waited, humming behind her pink mask. A few blocks later, Oreo needed to poop. Audrey had forgotten the doggie bags for her walk. This slip was not very ladylike.

She chided the pink mask. “You should do better.” The pink mask was suitably contrite.

Audrey’s dog left a small round mound of yellow-tinted poop on the sidewalk. Audrey looked around and saw no one. She walked quickly away from the scene of the crime. A block later, her left shoelace came undone. On one knee, working on the laces, she felt the dog pull on its leash. A person was in front of her. She looked up to see blue jeans, then a black windbreaker. Short grey hair. Big hands with rings.

A black cloth mask.

“You didn’t pick up after yourself.”

The man’s voice was deep and soft.

Audrey stood suddenly, trying to back away. The man was right at her side. She felt something sharp press up under her ribs. She felt for her pocket and a shiver ran through her. Audrey had left her knife at home.

“Walk,” the man said. Then “Turn left.” Then “Straight.”

They ended up by a fenced property, behind a bush. The sidewalk extended along the perimeter of the fence, but the bush blocked the view of the main street.

With one swipe the man cut the dog leash. Oreo abandoned his mother and ran.

“Anything to say?” The man asked.

“Will it matter?” she asked.

The slice came as a hot line on her neck. She tried to breathe and inhaled blood.

Half off her face, pressed against concrete, Audrey’s pink paper mask slowly turned red.

A shame, she thought at the last, to not put the mask where it belonged.