My Head is Spinning

The folder was filled with countless pictures of the candy factory. Pictures of the bright vans, the candy bars, the factory, and the owner, Stellan Roinde. He was a tall, thin man with black hair and piercing green eyes. He dressed in a black suit, always sporting a red rose boutonniere. He often makes public debuts, strutting down the street and even visiting local children at the hospitals. No one ever thought anything of him, that he was normal, a saint even. He donated to charity and always was caught doing good deeds. I thought he seemed like a freak but it takes one to know one I suppose. No one just does good things out of the kindness of their hearts. No way. He most definitely had some sort of ulterior motive behind it. I didn't buy the nice guy act for one second. He was rich and famous, why would he need a good public image? It's not like people would boycott his company and even if they would, he is set for life financially. I sighed and paged through the stack of photos. There were several, all of him, sporting the same, devious smile. He looks like the type of guy who shouldn't be allowed within 100 feet of an elementary school.

"Fucking creepy," I muttered. I finally got to the papers behind the photos, all sorts of documents about missing people, visiting logs for the factory, but no specific correlation. Feeling a headache come on, I stuffed everything back inside the folder and walked into my apartment building. My place was on the thrid floor of the building. My girlfriend specifically wanted a high viewpoint for her paintings. Even in a grimy town like this, Isabella could see the beuty. She had the cliche "life is beautiful" ideology. It was amazing how we went together, considering her chery dispoisiton and my sarcastic one. I made it to my floor and started down the long hallway to my room. My neighbors and I didn't associate since Isabella left. The guys right across from mine tended to hotbox their pad and the surrounding rooms were generally older people or small families. When I reported Isabella as missing, almost everyone in my building had come up, brining casseroles of course. I threw almost all of them away, except the one from the family down on the first floor. The mom is a chef at the most expensive restaurant in town, so I knew that her dish would be worth my time. People were constantly flooding in and out of my room until I finally put my foot down about a week ago. My place had become a collection of pizza boxes and trash, as I no longer bothered to keep it clean. When Isabella and I first moved in, people were over constantly. We had the party house, the meeting point. Since she left, I didn't bother to let anyone over. I needed my time alone and no one could fill the void in my heart like she did. I crashed onto my couch and flipped the TV on. I had no intention of watching anything, but I happened to catch the news broadcast. A young teen just went missing, presumed to have run away. The reporter was interviewing a couple, crying and describing their son. That's more that I got when Isabella disappeared. If my boss hadn't cared so much, he would've rejected my pleas to continuously publish her missing ad. I sat up and walked over to my fridge, passing a picture frame on the way. I stopped to look at it, but regretted it after the pain washed over my chest. Warming up some leftover pizza, I made myself comfy on the couch and put the folder on my lap. I studied the papers, trying to make some sort of sense between the two. After ten minutes, I realized a pattern in the entry logs. Every three people didn't sign back up or had been recorded of leaving. So every three people who entered the candy factory didn't leave, at least not that day. But there were no names beside the logs, so I wasn't able to tell who could've possibly left the next day. Maybe the ones who entered were workers who just worked overnight. Or lived there. The candy factory was fucking huge, I wouldn't doubt if there were living quarters in there. I'm sure the big honcho in charge spent every night in there. I knew security was tight at night. Stellan didn't want his secrets discovered, or else he would be ran into the ground. Something about it seemed off, like it didn't make sense. Why would the workers want to live there? I'm positive they made more than enough to live comfrtably in their own homes, some could probably retire and be fine for the rest of their lives. The factory only hired workers every 10-15 years or so. It was a very top secret interview process from what I've heard. My coworker Jillian had applied there when she was a teen but when she went for the interview, she wasn't allowed to talk about anything that they discussed there. She acts like it never happened, but I heard the story around the office. I continued to read the dates of entries, focusing on those who didn't have a leaving time. One caught my eye, someone, the only one, to have entered on September 17th. Of all the people who visited, it was the only one who didn't leave. That was the same day that-

BAM!

Something thudded against my door and I looked up just in time to hear the fire alarms scream throughout the building.

"Shit!" I yelled while throwing everything off my lap and grabbing my phone. My priorities are definitely in a good order. I sprinted to the door and flew down the hall to trample down the stairs, amongst the crowd of people who were panicked. I made it outside and across the street, wheezing and trying to catch my breath. My lazy ass was too weighed down by pizza to be bothered with strenuous activity right now. I looked up at my building, expecting to see the building engulfed in flames, but it was normal. Everyone was chattering and screaming as the firetrucks showed up. It looked like a false alarm, someone playing a prank. They spent the next twenty minutes checking the building out before we were allowed back in. Filing in, I felt annoyed as the crowd took forever to trudge upstairs.I wished I could pull a Moses and part them like the red sea, but ah well. I noticed my door was hanging wide open, whereas everyone else's was closed. I didn't think I left it open but it was all so quick, I could have been dumb. I walked in and saw that in my rush, I knocked over the frame with Isabella's picture in it. Feeling the tears well, I bent down to look at it, and picked up her picture. I ignored the glass slicing my hand open and put her picture on the table.

"I'm sorry, love. I promise I'll fix that tomorrow," I ran my finger over her smiling face. I looked at my hand and almost facepalmed from my stupidity. It was a matter of minutes until I cleaned up the glass and my hand. When I finally got back to the couch, I noticed my folder and all the papers were gone.

"No fucking way," I exclaimed. My living room was spotless, no sign of the paper mess or anything. I checked around the couch, under it, everywhere. Every trace of the folder was gone. I noticed that all the pictures in the room were turned over, as if someone didn't like what they saw. But they were all pictures of Isabella and I. I went to flip one over, and saw the picture was gone. Feeling anxiety, I checked them all. Every single one was empty.

"SON OF A BITCH!" I yelled. A creaking noise from behind me caused me to spin around quickly to see my elderly neighbor standing in the doorway. Apparently my dumbass never closed the door.

"Sorry Mrs. Meria," I said awkwardly. She shuffled in quietly, coming towards me with a smile. I expected she was going to hug me. She had dementia and often confused me for her grandkids. Getting in close, she reached an arm up slowly and I cocked my head to the side. Without hesitating, she latched onto my ear and pulled my head towards her.

"YOU LITTLE SHIT! THERE ARE CHILDREN HERE. TAKE YOUR MILK OF MAGNESIA AND GO TO BED!" She screamed into my ear. She let go, slapped my cheek, and shuffled back out. I rubbed my cheek and watched as she left. That woman must be on some serious prescription meds. Crazy old bat! I waited until I heard her door closed before I slowly walked towards the door. I stopped at the kitchen table and felt my heart shatter. All my pictures of her, everything I had to remember her by was gone. Except this one memento. I was allowed to keep this one thing. I clutched the photo to my chest and let the tears fall. I had no way to get those photos back. They were the only copies. Just like her, they were gone. I sunk to the floor, and looked at her picture. This wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to have come home, picked her up, took her to dinner, and proposed. We should be planning our wedding right now, not me sitting here, looking at the last piece of her I owned. We would've gone wine tasting, cake tasting, dress shopping, all those gushy couple things. I would've hated it, but she would have been there, and it would have become my favourite hobby. I wiped my eyes and looked at the wall in front of me. I saw red splatters against the wall beside my open door. My eyes widened and I stood. Putting her picture down gently, I slowly walked to the door. I didn't need a Crime Scene Investigator to tell me that it was blood. I could see a small pool of it right behind my door.

"Oh please, please let this be ketchup. I need some for my eggs in the morning," I whispered. My hand trembling, I grabbed the doorknob and slowly shut the door, cringing at it's creak. I held back a scream as I unveiled it.