"The muses are ghosts, and sometimes they come uninvited."

- Steven King, Bag of Bones

It was my third evening shift working as a security officer and already, I hated it. My uncle Lenny helped me get the job, since he also worked in the business. He even coached me through the diploma program and got me an interview with his company. It was effortless really, with uncle Lenny helping. It wasn't the job I wanted, but I needed money. I had student loans in arrears and I was sick of living off of pocket change - sick of the strained charity of family and friends - sick of the collection agents who stalked my phone - sick of the closet-sized apartment I downsized to so I could continue living in Winnipeg. Most of all I was sick of myself. It was the end of April, 1997. I was 23, an art school drop-out, my whole life ahead of me and little behind. No point in asking me what I wanted out of life. I didn't have a clue. But getting a job with my uncle's company seemed like a good idea.

When I finished the security training program, I was half hoping to get a gig in a quiet office building downtown - someplace where I could get in a little TV or read a book between rounds. But those jobs, all seemed to go to the old guys. What I ended up with, was a part-time job working at a bus steeple downtown - a dirty little armpit of a place tucked beneath three stories of dilapidated car parkade. The steeple's waiting area was spartan - white brick walls, florescent lights, faded fibreglass furniture. The ticket counters looked tired and fake, while on the opposite side a series of windows let out onto a disappointing vista of cement. The steeple was the haunt of cheap tourists, mentally-disturbed people, people who aren't allowed to drive, natives travelling to and from the reserves, and occasionally, the odd runaway. It was my job to patrol the area, make sure it was safe, kick out the bums and the homeless who wandered in from the cold, and generally help people out. As much as I disliked it, I would live up to the uniform, the job, and hopefully, the promise of a paycheque. Who'd have thought that I would see here, that night, for the first time in years - Corlise.

I was sitting at the security counter, bored stupid, monotonously spinning a pencil between my thumb and forefinger, when a police officer and his dog walk in. The cop wore a black RCMP tuque and coat, and an overbearing moustache frosted over with snotsickles. His face was so pink from the cold, it looked boiled. He approached the security counter, pulled a sheet from a stack of papers and dropped one in front of me. He paused to wipe the fog from his glasses and the dew off his stache. 

"Have you ever seen this woman?" he asked. 

My heart skipped a beat when I saw the grainy printout of her face. "Holy shit," I thought, nearly saying it out loud, "that's Corlise!" But feeling kind of unnerved and little suspicious, I thought I'd play things safe and savvy. I decided to play dumb. 

"Nope, never seen her," I said. "What's going on officer?"

Replacing his glasses on the tip of his nose, he began to list off some of the things Corlise was wanted for including a drug possession charge, arson, two counts of theft in Moosejaw and a case of assault in Winnipeg. According to the officer, the assault had just taken place the night before at a strip club, the luckless victim's only crime being that she'd been chosen as the winner of a wet t-shirt contest over Corlise. Wow. I didn't know what to say. I thought of mentioning that I had gone to school with Corlise, but didn't think there was any point. I told the officer I would keep an eye out for her nonetheless. He gave me a card with his phone number and said I should call him immediately if I spotted her. 

"Do you have a copy of today's newspaper?" he asked. I told him I did. In fact, I had just seen my partner Dave stuff a newspaper under the security desk before going on break. 

"There's an article about her in the Winnipeg Sun," said the officer. 

He whistled to his dog. They turned in unison and left. I thanked him and asked him what kind of training a person needed to become a cop. He looked back at me, but walked away without answering. I suppose he had more important things to take care of.

I took the paper out, flattened the front section on the counter and turned to page five. I knew the photo well. It was the same picture that the officer had shown me – the same picture of Corlise in our High School yearbook. Grade twelve. Shit. Didn't they have anything more recent? I had to laugh – I mean, the picture must have been five years old by now. In it, Corlise wore a long skirt and a white sweater – her blonde hair parted intelligently to the side. She looked like she could have been a straight "A" student or a Sunday school teacher. But even in this photo, you could see it – that flicker in her eyes, that crack in her personality, that feline malice. Like that time in elementary school, when she forced Debbie Little to put on dog-shit lipstick. I mean, I didn't like Debbie either. She was a gossipy little bitch who badmouthed pretty much everyone – but no one bothered to do anything about it. That time, however, she crossed Corlise and Corlise wasn't going to let her forget it.

Grade 7. I saw it for myself, walking home from school. I could hear crying and the muffled sound of struggle - a hushing voice in threatening tones. And, as I slowly approached, I saw that Corlise had Debbie pinned to a dirty snowbank, discoloured from car exhaust and dog piss. It happened in Debbie's own driveway and unfortunately for her, mom and dad weren't home. I probably could have been a hero and tried to stop the fight, but I didn't. Instead, I just stood there and gawked while Corlise gave Debbie the hazing of her life. Corlise stood back for a moment from her work, and threw aside the thawing stub of dog shit she held in her mitt. Debbie, already a hot mess of shock and surrender, hardly knew Corlise was only half-way through. It was weird. My being there didn't even faze Corlise. It was like I didn't exist. She grabbed Debbie by the collar with one hand, and with the other, delivered a series of slaps to the head. She made her repeat over and over that she would never say anything about her again. Then, right when you thought the blows would never end, Corlise stormed off without so much as a sideward glance. 

"Hey Corlise, wait!" I called out. I found myself running, to my surprise, behind her now. "What did she do?"

 Corlise continued to walk away at a quick pace, entranced, short of breath. For a few moments, I didn't think she would answer me at all, but then...she did.

"That bitch.. has been telling people that I fucked my step-dad." She was sobbing now and shaking - on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Hey Corlise, if it's not true, it's not true. Who cares what that big-mouth Debbie thinks." And then I said something I instantly regretted. 

"It's okay. She calls me 'bacon grease.' But so what!" I quickly added. 

Corlise gave me a strange look that I couldn't quite interpret. Or maybe she had no idea what the hell I was talking about. I was referring to the slight smoky smell that my clothes sometimes had due to the wood-burning stove my father installed in the basement. Thankfully, this was a very short period of my life. Mom had the installation removed soon after for the same reason - the smoke! Yeah, Corlise probably didn't need to know that, but somewhere in those crazy eyes of hers, there was a glint of gratitude. Walking home with Corlise that day, I felt that we were, from then on, tentatively at least, friends.

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A huge thanks, to all you Wattpad community members and other readers, for reading part 1 of Corlise; Frozen Shit Lips. I hope you enjoy what you're seeing so far and I encourage you to please comment - and vote! Better yet, join me and other literary rebel-rousers in the Wattpad community by following me - 8BadBunny8. Don't worry. I'm friendly. Mostly.

Stay tuned for chapter 2 Pretty Slick, learn what beasties lurk in Corlise's past and why Ricky may have a hard time doing the right thing when these two chance to meet again!