Page 3
Author: Molly McAdams
But this Connor? The one I’d been trying to get a reaction out of last night was nothing like that. Over the last six months or so, Connor was no longer quiet and intense . . . he was gone. Physically and emotionally. I used to see him almost on a daily basis. He would always come into my apartment to use my Keurig because he forgot to start his coffeepot or was just coming in from a long investigation. I could count on both hands how many times I’d seen him in the last six months, and last night had been the first time he’d even said anything in months. He’d always been discreet about his home life, and shut down whenever anyone mentioned his older sister, Amy, but this was unlike anything I’d ever seen from him.
Shutting off the water, I stepped out of the shower and toweled off my hair and body before wrapping the towel around me and heading out to the kitchen for some much-needed caffeine. As soon as I rounded the corner into my living room, a scream burst from my chest and I clutched the towel around me as I tripped over myself from trying to back away too quickly. I landed with a thud on the hardwood floor and scrambled backward before turning and crawling back into my hallway.
My breathing was rapid and I covered my mouth in case the intruder could hear me. Not like he wouldn’t have heard my scream, or seen me crawl away; but at the moment, quieting my breathing was much more important. When I’d calmed enough to remove my hand without screaming again, I shakily peeked around the corner and a terrified cry escaped as I jerked back to hide from the demon in my living room.
All my worst nightmares are coming to life!
Do I scream for help? Call 911? Oh my God, my phone is in my kitchen! Good God, get a freaking grip, Maci. It’s not even real.
I slowly turned and eyed the offensive, life-sized blow-up toy standing in my living room, and tried not to start crying when I saw the white face, red hair, nose, cheeks, and lips. Forcing myself to stand and walk over to the object, I failed at calming my shaking arm as I reached out for the note taped to its chest. A whimper still left me when I touched it.
I hate clowns with a passion.
My blood boiled when I read the words on the page. I was going to kill him. Like honest to God, I was about to go down for murder.
Don’t forget I still have a key to your apartment, Maci, and I’ve known you most your life. I remember all of your biggest fears.
This guy is for the shower, have fun finding my payback for the headboard banging last night.
I really do feel bad for the poor bastard that has to put up with that.
Connor
By the way, you’re out of your little coffee-cup things.
I am so not out of coffee! I just went to the store a few days ago. Swear to God if that man took all of them, I wasn’t just going to kill him. I was going to kill him, then bring him back so I could junk-punch him.
I began storming into the kitchen, but when I remembered his words about another payback, I froze, letting only my eyes move around to find any other threats around me. Tiptoeing the rest of the way to the kitchen, I opened the cupboard that held all the K-cups and found two unopened boxes as well as one opened. I hadn’t moved them, Connor knew where they were, so why would he say they were missing? I reached up to grab one and immediately brought my arm back before investigating for anything suspicious. When it all appeared normal, I brought down a K-cup and put it in the Keurig before going through the same process in the mug cabinet.
Grabbing the handle of the mug closest to me, I took a deep breath in and pulled it out quickly, prepared for something to be behind it. Nothing.
I bet there is nothing else and he just said that to make me paranoid about my entire apartment. With a heavy sigh I started to slide the mug into the slot on the machine when I saw it, and a scream that rivaled the one I’d had for the clown filled my apartment as the mug went crashing down onto the floor. A giant piece broke off and the tarantula spilled out.
“Not okay. Not okay. Connor!” I screamed as I jumped onto my counter and kept pointing at it on the ground. “Connor help me!”
When a few minutes had passed and Connor hadn’t come in, and the ginormous spider hadn’t moved, I slid off the counter and opened up a drawer closest to me. Grabbing the tongs, I walked closer and had to try three times before I could make my arm go far enough to touch the now obviously plastic tarantula.
This meant war.
Running to my pantry, I grabbed a trash bag and opened it up before using the tongs to deposit the disgusting eight-legged beast in there, along with the two pieces of what had been my favorite mug. When the rest of the micro-shards were swept up and thrown out, I went to my knife block and took out the massive chef’s knife before creeping back to my living room. An icy chill ran down my spine seeing the back of the clown, and I just knew that little bitch was about to come to life any second and turn around on me. With two deep breaths in and out, I mentally pumped myself up for what I knew I had to do and charged it with a war cry, slashing furiously until it deflated into a pile on my floor.
After I returned the knife to the block, I grabbed the tongs and put Bozo the heart-attack-inducing clown in the trash bag too.
Still in my towel, I stormed over to Connor’s apartment with my key ring in hand. As soon as I saw that bastard, I was going to punch him in the throat, throw the trash bag at him, and then run back to the safety of my apartment. But there was another note on his door with my name on the front.
1. No, I won’t help you with the big ugly spider.
2. If you made it this far without dying, I’m proud of you.
3. Did you really think I am stupid enough to stick around and suffer the wrath of Maci?
Yes. Yes, I did. And I’d lied about him being the mature one. I went back to my apartment completely defeated and exhausted even though I’d only been awake for an hour. And there was no way in hell I was about to check the rest of my coffee mugs to see if they were safe.
Grabbing my phone, I dialed the number at my office and waited until someone answered.
“Yep?”
“You know, if I can’t answer the phone with a yep then you shouldn’t be able to either. ”
There was a beat of silence. “Are you on your way in?”
“Pfft. No, I have things I need to get done today,” I said as I grabbed underwear and a pair of jeans, and put them on.
“Like what? We need you here answering the phone, Maci. ”
“Dakota, you did just fine answering it this time, and hardly anyone ever calls the office phone anyway. They all call our cell phones. ” I put my phone on speaker and placed it down on my dresser as I grabbed a bra and angrily clasped it on. “I already told you I have things I need to do. So I’m not coming in to just sit there and play solitaire and Minesweeper. ”
“This is Dylan, and what’s so important that you can’t come in?”
I stood up quickly from grabbing the shirt that I’d just dropped on the floor and glared at my phone as I thought back through our conversation. That little bastard. “If I wanted you to know what I was doing, I would have already told you. Just tell Dad I’m cramping or something, he won’t want to hear anything else. And don’t bullshit me, Dakota. Dylan only calls me ‘Mini,’ you’re losing your touch, bro. ”
“Maybe I call you both. You don’t know me . . . you don’t know what’s in my head. Maybe I’ll call you Mack tomorrow. ”
And this is why I never understood anyone’s attraction to my brothers. Rolling my eyes, I grabbed my phone off the dresser and spoke over him as he continued to ramble. “Good-bye, Dakota!”
After rushing through putting on deodorant and brushing my teeth, I threw my wet hair up in a messy bun, and didn’t even bother with makeup before heading out. There was no time for that. I had shit I needed to get done.
First things first . . . I needed to stop at a Starbucks, like, ten minutes ago.
Connor
&nb
sp; THE NOTE WAS still taped to my front door when I got home later that night, but that wasn’t saying much. Maci had keys to my place too. I was surprised that my door didn’t have holes in it, though.
Cracking open my door cautiously, I inspected the small gap, looking for any kind of line or thread, and when I didn’t find any, I flung the door open and stepped back.
Nothing.
What the hell? Doors are Maci’s signature move . . . well, other than freezing my ass in the shower. I took silent and careful steps in as I looked around, inspecting every part of my apartment as I made my way to my bedroom. Going so far as to lift up the sofa cushions, and looking under the bed. But there was nothing.
Had the clown and spider scared her that bad? It wasn’t like she didn’t deserve it, and, hell, I’d been saving those for almost a year now since I’d played my last prank on her. If I hadn’t made sure her car was gone before I came back, I would have wondered if I’d actually given her a heart attack.
I’d just stripped out of my clothes and was walking into my bathroom when I heard a door shut. It could have been any of our neighbors, but knowing that it could be Maci, I jumped in the shower, turned on the water, and had the shampoo bottle in my hand within seconds. There was no way she was ruining two showers in a row.
The water didn’t start right away like I’d been expecting, and it made a weird noise before it sprayed out on me; but by then, I’d already turned around to inspect it. A string of expletives left me, and it took me a few seconds before I reached for the handle to turn off the water . . . but a few seconds was still too late. I had green, sticky water all over me. Grabbing for the showerhead, I twisted it off and brought it down to inspect it. There were green chunks in the base and after a few sniffs I yelled and slammed my fist against the wall.
“Kool-aid, Maci? Fucking Kool-Aid? This stuff stains—oh shit!”
I turned the water back on and lifted the lever so the bath faucet ran instead. When I had as much of the leftover Kool-Aid powder out of the showerhead as possible, I screwed it back on and turned the shower on. Reaching for my body wash, I flipped open the top and tipped it over to pour some into my hand.
“What . . . the hell . . . is this? Maci Price!” I yelled and threw the bottle—of what was supposed to be my body wash—out of the shower and turned to wash off the massive amount of liquid gold glitter that was now in my hand.
Needing Her Page 3