by Megan Hart
“Yeah, um, okay. Sure…” With shaking hands he pulled the pill bottle from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. When she grabbed it, his hand lingered on hers. He put his other hand on her shoulder and gave a soft squeeze. Keisha smiled.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Sure. If you need anything, just call me or whatever.”
“Okay.” She couldn’t hide the emptiness in her voice.
She was so relieved to get the ashes back she wasn’t even angry anymore that he’d stolen them in the first place. He looked so confused and awkward, as if he might burst into tears, but before they had a chance to spill, he stood up.
“Bye, Keisha,” he said, and he walked out her door without slamming it and without looking back.
7
She watched the door for a few minutes after he left hoping he wouldn’t come back. He was a good guy, but when he tried to comfort her, it felt wrong, icky, like he couldn’t understand that even though she’d told him such terrible things, she felt better. It was his idea that she was broken that led him to think that he had to comfort her. Instead, she felt strong, and getting all that shit out of her, not to mention getting the ashes back, made Keisha feel better than she had in months.
Confident Brady wouldn’t come back, that he’d waddle home with his nice guy tail between his nice guy legs, she did something she didn’t do very often. Keisha lit a few candles, sprinkled a few of Conrad’s ashes on the board and engaged him in one on one communication.
She sipped her bourbon then gripped the planchette.
“Hey, Conrad.”
“Hey, yourself,” the planchette scratched across the board.
“What happened tonight? Why did you want me to tell that story? Why now? Why to him? I don’t understand.”
The wooden piece glided under her fingers. It took a long time to spell the words, but she never forgot a letter.
“You needed to. Don’t you feel so much better now?”
“I do.” She nodded. “Thank you. But it’s just weird. Last night you told me just to have sex with Brady, and now tonight you’ve got me spilling my guts to him.”
“He tried to steal me away from you.”
“I know, but I think that was innocent, even though it was pretty awkward.”
Just as Conrad started to answer, Keisha’s phone chimed.
Text message.
Brady fucking MacGregor.
Hey. Sorry for leaving like that. And more sorry for stealing those ashes. I had no idea what they meant to you. Sorry if things got really awkward, I just really like you, Keisha. I would love to hang out again sometime soon.
She read it, rolled her eyes, and picked up the planchette.
“So what do you think I should do, Conrad? Obviously I can’t replace you, but I’m only twenty-eight. Sooner or later you’re going to have to approve of a guy for me, right?”
Before he could answer, her phone chimed again.
Text message.
Guess who?
And I just wanted to say thank you for opening up to me, I know that wasn’t easy for you. I’m glad talking about it helped you to feel better. And I’m glad that I could be the one there for you. Also I just remembered that both times I was at your place I had like three beers and half a bottle of bourbon. Next time drinks are on me :D. Night.
“Jesus Christ. What a knight in shining armor. How did I ever survive before him?”
She wasn’t even talking to Conrad, but the Ouija board spelled out “Ha ha ha.”
“Well, I’m gonna go out next weekend. Maybe getting my past off my chest, at least to one guy will help my confidence and I can find someone else, maybe even Mr. Perfect, but like always, I’m gonna need your help, Conrad.”
“Of course, my lovely.”
My lovely. She sighed and clutched the planchette to her heart. That’s what he always called her. God, she missed him. He knew she loved that nickname and he used to say it at ridiculous and inappropriate times to make her laugh. “Does my cock feel good inside you, my lovely?” he would say in a deadpan voice that would have her cackling underneath him. “Is my lovely upset?” he would ask if he just ran the pool table after breaking and not letting her even get a shot in. Her mind got lost in all the sweet memories and she sipped bourbon and squeezed the planchette.
Her phone chimed.
Text message.
Brady MacGregor.
“What the fuck am I going to do with this sad, pathetic, desperate douchebag?”
Before she could release the planchette and pick up her phone, the board drew her hands to it and spelled out two words.
Her mouth fell open, but she couldn’t release it from her grip.
“Kill him.”
Her hands cramped around it making it nearly impossible to let go, but finally she did, flinging it free with horror on her face and tears in her eyes. It smashed into the empty tumbler Brady had left on the end table. The glass shattered, tinkling to the floor.
She read the most recent text message.
Sorry for bombarding you. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. If you are, then don’t answer this message, and I’ll know for sure. Winky face.
Keisha didn’t know quite how to take that. Talk about a no-win situation. But his concern wasn’t her concern at the moment.
She reached into the dregs of broken glass to pick up the planchette, slicing her hand open on two or three shards as she retrieved it. The cuts stung and blood beaded on her skin.
Dripping blood, she put it back on the board and asked, “Do I really need to kill him?”
“Yes,” the planchette answered, leaving a smear of blood across the board.
“Then I will,” she said. “If it has to be done, then I will do it.”
Even though she spoke the words, she could never see herself committing such an act.
Blood coated the board, but the wooden piece slid right through it.
“Good,” it said. “Sooner the better.”
8
A week passed and Keisha understood more and more why Conrad wanted her to kill Brady. Even though they all seemed so concerned and so innocent, the fucking text messages just wouldn’t stop. A few times he’d even called, but she never answered and after ten calls, he only left one voicemail.
“Keisha, it’s Brady, but I’m sure you know that. I’ve been thinking about you. Kind of a lot. You should call me back. Or answer me. I really don’t know what happened here. Okay. Bye.”
She didn’t call him back and didn’t answer any of his texts. Half the reason being that he annoyed the shit out of her, the other half being that Conrad wanted her to kill him and she kind of wanted to kill him herself. Better for Brady’s safety and her sanity to just ignore him.
She went back to doing what she always did before Brady invaded her life. She worked hard on her career creating advertising for local businesses, and she partied in her free time. Sometimes she went out with friends, but just as often she liked to go out by herself. Out with friends, she’d be more likely to get out of control because someone there would look out for her. She liked going out alone because she kept things in control and that worked a lot better when she was trying to meet a guy.
She didn’t know why she liked bars so much. Keisha knew the general consensus was that no one fell in love with someone they met at a bar. Though easy to say, and condescend, and bash the scene, in reality she knew plenty of people in happy long-term loving relationships that had met just that way.
A few times she tried online, but that never worked. Usually she’d feel butterflies in her stomach before a first date, pull out the Ouija board and ask Conrad. Every single time he vetoed it, and she ended up canceling. At least if she met a guy in a bar, she still had a chance to get laid.
She tried the café, bookstore, and gym thing too, but she never found anyone even remotely interesting in such places. Maybe she would’ve before The Boys, but now, she never felt a twinge of attraction unless it involve
d some mystery and possible danger or adventure.
Tonight she decided to go out by herself. She didn’t want to go to the Ooga Booga, and she didn’t want to go to the bar where she’d met Brady either. She wanted something different, something exciting, to go somewhere she hadn’t been. She decided on a place called Chump’s. It didn’t have the best reputation, bikers, fights, occasional drugs, but it was in a decent part of town, and if things got too intense or too uncomfortable, she’d leave. Simple. And if they got real bad, she could probably call Brady and get a ride. Now that would be evil. She laughed.
Before she got ready she sprinkled some ashes on the board and asked Conrad. Right away, the Ouija board guided her fingers to “Yes,” and she felt relieved.
She put some music on and popped a beer as she danced around in front of the mirror taking her time dressing and doing her hair. A little over an hour and two beers later, she gave herself a final glance in the full-length mirror. She went with a sexy, yet conservative look that highlighted her favorite features. Happy with her hair, makeup, outfit, she ventured to Chump’s.
Walking in, she found herself pleasantly surprised. It didn’t appear nearly as shady as she imagined but it was rough around the edges. Thankfully the old puke and sour piss smell that plagued so many otherwise fantastic hole-in-the-wall bars didn’t emanate from Chump’s.
The specials chalked on the board behind the bar were cheap and enticing, and Black Sabbath blared on the jukebox. Keisha took a seat at the far end of the bar near the restrooms, facing the entrance. The bartender gave her a subtle, quizzical eye before bringing the Yuengling draft she ordered. The beer tasted cold and crisp, not a hint of flatness draft beer gets at a lot of dive bars. She faked staring at her cell phone, instead stealthily watching all the other patrons. A few shot pool, a few played ping-pong, a few watched football, and more than a few sized her up.
She knew how out of place she was, that being the whole point. Now she wanted to see who would do something about it.
While feigning focus on her phone, good old desperate Brady struck again. His behavior had transcended pathetic to the point in which she wanted to kill him, but now, reading this newest message, she felt sorry for him all over again. How had she even given him the time of day in the first place? He was about as beta and unexciting as plain yogurt. She put that one up to drinking with her friends that night.
On her second beer she checked out the jukebox, decided to give Chump’s a little bit of a woman’s touch. She put in a five for five songs. She scrolled through, picked out a couple by Evanescence and Garbage. To mix things up a bit and soften the hard edge this place had, she had her fifth song picked out and just as her finger went to poke the touch screen, a strong hand grabbed her by the wrist.
She had to tip her neck back to see his face as this guy towered at least a foot over her. He wore a baseball cap tilted to one side and the cockiest smirk she’d ever seen. He didn’t let go of her wrist and she didn’t want him to.
“No, sweetheart, you were doing okay, but Kelly Clarkson just ain’t gon’ fly in a joint like this. Let me help you out.”
He pushed his big body into hers, gently knocking her out of the way. She felt her face flush with anger, embarrassment, and an undeniable attraction. Keisha’s eyes stayed too busy studying him to even see what song he chose.
“Much better,” he said.
Then in one fluid movement, he released her wrist and shook her hand.
“I’m Dick,” he said.
“Yeah, you kind of are…”
“Drink?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Keisha,” she said.
Together they walked to the bar.
9
Three hours, four beers and two shots later she felt herself toeing the line of control. She was having a lot of fun with Dick, and didn’t want things to get out of hand. Or maybe she did. Her cycle had been the same for so long. Meet guy, let Conrad vet guy, usually fuck guy, dump guy, meet guy. Maybe tonight she’d break the cycle.
Dick smiled at her with big dimples and glazed-over eyes talking about something she couldn’t remember or understand, but he looked excited about it and she found him cute, fun to watch.
It was only midnight, but Chump’s had already started winding down, with only the most hardcore patrons still drinking in full capacity.
“Let’s get outta here,” Dick said. “Can we go to your place though? Mine is… messy.”
“Yeah. Okay. Cool,” Keisha said. “Let me call an Uber.”
“Nah, I’m good. I got this,” he said, patting the keys in his pocket.
“You sure?” she slurred.
“Oh yeah, watch.” He proceeded to strut ten steps while touching his nose with his forefinger.
She laughed and leaned into him and he put his arm around her and walked her to the car and drove her home.
Dick bobbed and weaved with one hand on the wheel and one hand creeping up her thigh while Slayer pulsed through the speakers. Even with her senses dulled, Keisha’s heart hammered in her chest, but halfway through the car ride, she let all her fears and inhibitions go. She’d ventured out seeking something different, something dangerous, and here he sat beside her.
He parked on her block and she led him upstairs babbling about her special Ouija board, but he didn’t pay any attention to her. He followed and she talked and he didn’t answer her or ask any questions.
Outside her door she kept going, oblivious that he wasn’t listening.
“So that’s what we’ll do okay? I want to show you my Ouija board.”
“What are you talking about?” Dick said.
She keyed the lock and twisted the deadbolt open.
“Come on in and I’ll show you.” She giggled and patted his chest.
He didn’t answer her giggle or meet her eyes. He looked all business as he stepped into her place. “Got anything to drink?”
“Of course.” She padded to the kitchen, returning with two bottles of beer.
“Got anything stronger?” he asked, taking a barstool at the island in the kitchen.
Keisha frowned, pouring him three fingers of bourbon.
“I thought we’d sit in there. I want to show you something.”
He refused to move, took two massive gulps of beer and picked up the tumbler. Took a sip.
“Not bad,” he said.
Difficult one, she thought, but nice to have one she couldn’t completely control for once, she was so used to making them squirm. If he wouldn’t come into the living room, she’d bring the board to him.
She set it on the counter in front of him.
“What the hell is this?” His voice came out in a slur.
“The board I was telling you about. Here it is.”
“I didn’t come here to play any kids games. Why the fuck do you even still have clothes on?” Dick grabbed the waistband of her pants and pulled her close. He put one hand on her ass and one on the back of her neck and pulled her in. She gasped, then moaned, as she mashed her mouth into his, licking up the bourbon taste off of his tongue. He squeezed her ass and pulled a little on the hair at the base of her neck as she ran her hands through his hair.
Tingling and turned on, she rubbed her hands up and down his back and Dick lifted up her shirt, squeezing her breasts through her bra. He nibbled her ear and kissed her neck and…
Someone knocked on the door. Three quick raps, then it stopped. Keisha went back to kissing Dick and then there was a full on pounding from the door.
“What the hell? It’s like 2am?” Dick said. He walked to the door ready to punch someone’s lights out.
“No. Stop,” Keisha said. “Just… stay here.”
“No way,” he said. “You can’t answer the door alone in the middle of the night.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I know who it is. Just stay. I promise, I’ll be right back. And then…” She flashed him and went to the front door.
Poor Brady MacGregor stood ou
t on her doorstep, his eyes red and wet. He tried to hide the rage on his face, but Keisha saw through.
“What are you doing here? Haven’t I made it clear that I don’t want to talk to you? At least not for the time being? Plus coming to my apartment in the middle of the night? C’mon, man.”
“Yeah well, that’s what I don’t understand. Why you don’t want to talk to me? We had fun. We got along. I was there for you when you broke down and told me your story—”
“I didn’t break down.”
“You know what I mean. I was there for you to listen and I know you felt better afterwards, plus, I thought we got along pretty fucking great before that, but maybe I’m nuts. And then you ghost me? For what? Because some Ouija board told you to? I don’t buy it. And no you haven’t made it clear. You’ve just ignored me. From where I’m at, that board of yours looks like a real convenient excuse to do whatever you want, whether that’s punish or reward yourself or just fuck with other people. And now you’re in there with some bad looking dude who grabbed you before he even talked to you and then drove you home drunk as shit. I should’ve stopped it then.” His chest heaved, out of breath.
Keisha couldn’t believe it. She didn’t know what to say.
“First off, you stole from me, remember?” She poked a finger in his chest. “And now you’ve been stalking me, you creep? Dude, I don’t owe you anything, but even if I did, I wouldn’t even know what to say to you right now. This is fucking crazy.”
“Yeah? Well, so is letting a spirit on a board run your fucking life.”
She slapped him, a solid smack on the jaw and he stood there and took it. Didn’t flinch. She raised her hand to hit him again, and he caught her wrist. The one she’d cut a few days ago. He saw the pain on her face and felt the bandages and released her.
“What happened?”
“It was…” she almost told him the truth, but settled on, “nothing.”