by Elena Hearty
But Lenore doubted that. Paul had trusted her, and she betrayed him, even after he had gone out of his way to save her life. There would be no reconciliation. There would be no more trips to the grocery store, or outings to the diner, or zombie movies in the penthouse. There would only be Richard; Richard and the muted television to keep her company. "Rich, you can't let me starve to death while you wait for him to come around."
“That's ridiculous. You aren’t going to starve to death. It takes something like thirty days to starve to death, and you’re only on day two. Alright? So chill out and eat some Xanax. Why don’t you make yourself a cup of coffee?”
“We’re out of coffee. We don‘t even have -”
“Oh for Christ’s sake just stop talking. I’ll go to the store, okay? I’ll go. But you might have to wait a few more days. Now get out of here and stop bugging me. I have a lot of shit to print out before I meet with the lawyer at ten. Maybe I'll stop and get you something on the way back.”
“Thanks, Rich.”
“I told you to stop talking.”
Lenore walked back to her room and sat on the bed. She hungrily eyed the canister of Flintstones vitamins on the nightstand, tempted to consume its entire contents for sustenance. What was the worst thing that could happen? According to the warning on the back of the label, the worst thing involved poison control and a trip to the emergency room. She chewed three tablets, thinking that if she were going to overdose on anything, it would be on her beloved Xanax instead; a fitting end to their tragic love affair.
And that idea was quickly entering the realm of possibility. Because Richard wasn't about to get her more food. He would let her starve to death, not out of malice, but sheer carelessness, like a seven-year-old forgetting to feed a goldfish.
The front door closed in the distance. Perhaps there was still hope. Perhaps Richard would return with food after all.
Did it even matter? Eventually, he would grow tired of the biweekly chore. Eventually, he would replace her with someone else; someone easier; someone who hadn't alienated Paul.
Suicide, starvation, or death at Richard's hands. The future swelled with morbid possibility.
Lenore shook her head, hating her options. There had to be another card to play. There had to be some other permutation. There had to be a perfect universe. There had to be an escape.
The silver watch winked at her from across the room.
What are you going to do to me with it? Tell me the time?
Silver’s about as dangerous to us as poison ivy.
Poison ivy is only deadly when inhaled.
How could she get Richard to inhale a wristwatch? If only Mrs. Grayson had happened to have a bag of powdered silver on her instead. Now that would have been useful.
The silver watch, laying next to several industrial strength nail files, winked at her from across the room.
But would it work? Lenore's pulse quickened as she approached the dresser. Excitedly, she picked up a file and started grinding it against the chain links. The metal would not yield.
She needed more leverage. Items in hand, she entered the bathroom and placed the watch along the edge of the sink. Then, pushing all of her weight against the file, she slid it along the silver timepiece. After several tries, a small pile of dust began to form beneath her effort.
Lenore ran her thumb along the metal shavings. The filings did not appear fine enough to reach Richard's lungs as she had originally hoped, but perhaps they would still wreak sufficient damage if blown in his face. And any weapon was better than no weapon at all. She would be able to render her captor helpless, if only for a short while.
But where would she store the powder? It would need to be contained, obviously, and accessible at a moment's notice. Her eyes wandered to an empty Xanax bottle in the medicine cabinet. Perfect.
Lenore kept an eye on the clock as she pulverized Mrs. Grayson's final fuck-you. She allowed herself to work until 11:30, by which time the watch was three quarters diminished and a respectable amount of particulate filled the receptacle. Richard would probably be home any moment.
And that was a problem because silver specs lined Lenore's hands, hair, clothes, and the rest of the bathroom. She would have to act fast. Lenore removed all of her garments and stashed them, along with what was left of the wristwatch, inside the sink cabinet for later disposal. Then she mopped the floor with a paper towel before stepping into the shower to rid her own body of the residue.
As Lenore stood underneath the running water, she pictured the front door, and herself running through it. But it was always bolted shut. If she attacked Richard while it was still locked, she risked being trapped in the apartment with a very angry vampire. She would have to time it just right; she would have to strike the moment he walked through the door.
When Lenore exited the shower, she went through her clothes in an effort to find a decent outfit.
Because she was getting out of the apartment that night.
✽✽✽
When the front entrance opened again later that evening, Lenore stood at the other side, her hand poised on the crude chemical weapon in her pocket.
But she hesitated when Charles walked over the threshold instead.
She stepped back as he locked the door. And now it was too late to use the silver. Now it was too late, period.
“Ah, look who’s heart’s racing,” he said, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. “I’ll bet you weren’t expecting to see me.”
“Y-you’re not allowed to smoke in here” she replied, her mind running on autopilot.
Charles smiled. “Oh, that’s right.” He threw the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out on the marble tiles. Richard would be furious. “Hey, you know what? I just remembered something.” Charles grabbed another cigarette from his pocket. “I don’t give a shit.”
She nodded, watching him exhale a stream of smoke through his nose. This was bad. This was very bad. What other things did Charles no longer give a shit about?
“Why don’t you have a seat, sweetheart?” Charles gestured to the shoe bench. “I’ve been doing an awful lot of thinking about you lately. I’ve just been itching for a chance for us to be alone together.”
Lenore did not move.
So Charles grabbed her by the arm and shoved her into place. “I told you to take a load off, honey.” He stood back and looked at her, cocking his head to the side. “Yeah, that’s about right. You know what this reminds me of? Oh, wait. Hang on. Something’s missing.” He came to sit beside her. “Okay, now do you know what this reminds me of? Remember the last time we sat next to each other like this?”
She cringed as he ran his hand along her thigh.
“Dinner theater!” he announced at last. “Those were good times, huh? And, man! You were such a good player. Cool, calm, and collected, that was you. Paul still talks about it, you know. He says to me, he says, ‘Charlie, the reason Lenore’s stayed alive so long is she refuses to act like food.’ ’She don’t get scared,’ he says. I think he’s wrong, though. I’ll bet you do get scared.”
He brought his cigarette dangerously close to her ear. “I’ll bet you’re scared right now. Aren‘t you, honey?”
She turned away from him. “Rich is going to be back any minute. And he’s going to be pissed. He’s going to rip your -”
“Rich ain’t gonna do shit,” Charles said, standing. “And he ain’t gonna be back any minute. He and Paul are off at some 24-hour grocery store buying more Toaster Pastries for your scrawny ass.” He chuckled. “I hope they keep the receipt.”
Lenore looked at the ground, strangely happy to hear that Paul was still looking out for her. “What do you want from me, Charles?”
“What do I want from you? I just want to talk. I just want to hang out with you like Paul used to do. Why else would I be here?” He lifted his hand to his mouth in mock realization. “Now, Lenore, you don't think I'm still mad because you tried to kill me, do you? I certainly hope not. It would be awful
immature of me to hold a grudge like that.” He grinned wickedly. “Still, though, come to mention it, it would mean the world to me if you told me you were sorry. I think that would really clear the air between the two of us.”
Lenore remained silent. Third-grade retorts went through her mind, such as "I'm sorry you didn't die from that drink we gave you” and “go fuck yourself”.
“That's okay,” he said, chuckling softly to himself. “Sometimes it takes a while to realize what you done wrong. As I recall, I didn't apologize to you until Rich had me do some hard thinking in the laundry room. Maybe you need to do some hard thinking as well. Realize the error of your ways.”
“Charles, please,” she whispered. “You got what you wanted. What could I possibly do to you anymore?”
“Aw, now don’t sell yourself short like that, honey. I think there’s a lot of fun we can still have together.” He exhaled contemplatively. “It’s too bad you never got to know my ex-girlfriend, Deirdre. I’ll bet you two would have gotten on. You wanna know what Rich did to her that night?”
Lenore shook her head. She did not want to know.
Charles smiled. “He started off real easy with her. He sat her down, just like you’re sitting down right now. And he asked her to pick a number between one and ten.” Lenore squirmed as Charles tapped the ashes from his cigarette onto her knee. “At first, she didn’t want to pick a number. That’s why I think y’all would’ve gotten on, see. She wasn’t much for games, neither. But eventually, Rich talked her into it. Wanna know how?”
“No,” Lenore replied, bracing herself.
“Did you ever wonder what happened to that pack of Marlboro Lights you left in the laundry room that night?”
Lenore shook her head; she had never given it a second thought.
"Rich used ‘em up. Yessiree. He took one out." Charles pulled another smoke from his pocket. "Then he lit it up." Charles, still smoking his first cigarette, placed the second in his mouth and ignited it. He muttered with both of them between his lips. "Then he told Deirdre that he was gonna start putting it on her arm."
Trembling, Lenore pulled her arms behind her back. She slid herself as far as she could against the bench and stiffened as if she might become part of the furniture.
“Now, don’t be scared,” Charles laughed, readying the fiery stick in his hand. “This couldn’t hurt all that bad because she still wasn't screaming even after a few go-rounds. What I want to know is whether you'll last as long as she did." He knelt on the ground before her. "Now, do you think you could roll up your sleeves for me, sweetheart?"
“Go fuck yourself.” Third grade was making a comeback.
“Hah. You sound just like Deirdre just now. Let me see if I can remember what Rich said to her. Oh, yeah. I think he told her that if she didn’t roll up her sleeves, he’d put the cigarette out on her face. Does that sound about right to you? That sounds like something that Rich would say, don’t it?”
Lenore’s hands shook as she gathered her sleeves away from her forearms.
"That's more like it," Charles grinned. "Now, here's where Rich's game got interesting. Like I said earlier, he told Deirdre to think of a number between one and ten. But if she got it wrong, he'd make up the difference on her arm. Does that sound like a fair game to you? He told her it was important she really tried to get the number just right because when he ran out of room on her arm he was going for her face after all. And when he ran out of room on her face, he was going for her eyes."
Charles's words sent a wave of nausea throughout Lenore's body, and for the first time in two days, she was glad she hadn't eaten anything. So this was what it felt like to be one of Richard's less privileged victims. Helpless. Helpless and terrified.
Lenore looked at the front door with longing. Perhaps she was never destined to pass through it again. But perhaps that was no longer the objective. A new, much simpler, objective had emerged: Hurt Charles. Fight him off. Take that vial of silver and shove it up his ass.
“Aw, I'll bet that exit's looking pretty good to you about now,” Charles said, following her gaze. “It's always been in the way, hasn't it?” He dangled his keys in front of her. “Betcha wish you had these.”
Slowly, Lenore moved her hand toward her pocket.
“Yep, Paul oughta be more careful where he leaves these things,” Charles said, gloating. “They were just right out in the open, right out on his kitchen counter, where anyone could take them. It's a good thing they didn't fall into the wrong hands.”
Ever so slowly, Lenore slipped her hand inside, clutching the bottle of silver in her palm.
And Charles noticed. “What you got in there, cutie pie? You got something for me? Can I see?”
She froze.
"Come on, now. You can show me." He pulled the container from her pocket and turned it over in his hands. "Well, well, well. Xanax! Why am I not surprised? Now, what would you want to take this shit for? Am I making you nervous?" He frowned at her condescendingly. "Now, Lenore, I think it's time for an intervention. I just wouldn't be able to live with myself for another moment if I thought I was aiding and abetting this little habit of yours." Charles threw the bottle across the room.
Lenore let out a little whine and she watched it roll to a stop by the coat rack. “When Rich comes back he’s going to -”
“We’ve covered this already, cupcake. He’s an hour away at some crack-head grocery store. His cheap ass is probably buying your Toaster Pastries in bulk. And I‘ll bet he don‘t even get you name brand. I‘ll bet he‘s going with generic.” He leaned toward her. “Now are you gonna pick a number for me?”
She clenched her jaw. What would happen if she didn't pick a number? Charles would go for her face. Oh God. He would go for her face. Lenore unconsciously brought her hand to her cheek. “Five.”
Charles slapped his knee. “Now, I knew a clever girl like you would go with five. I knew it right off the bat because that‘s just what Deirdre did. Rich knew she’d pick five, too, so I guess that's why he went with ten.”
Lenore whimpered as he grabbed her arm in his hand.
And she screamed as he held the lit cigarette against her wrist.
“Woo hoo! Let it out, girl! I didn't peg you to scream right away. Deirdre, God bless her, she made it to three without even breathing heavy. I don’t think she actually started wailing ’till Rich made it up past her elbow.” He met her eyes and winked at her. “Four more, now, and then you get another turn.”
Charles reignited the butt and brought it back to her skin.
And he smiled when she screamed a second time.
“You know what just occurred to me? It occurred to me you're learning a valuable lesson here. You got any idea what that lesson might be?”
She quivered in his grasp, feeling like a mouse caught by its tail.
“Empathy,” he smirked, releasing her. Charles stood up took a long drag on his cigarette. “Now, all these years, I just thought Rich was sick in the head for torturing people. After all, Paul doesn’t really do that; he don’t approve of that sorta thing.” He blew the puff of smoke at her. “But now I been turned, I kinda see where Rich is coming from. Gets me all juiced up to hear your heart going pitter-pat like this.”
Charles came to sit beside Lenore and ran his hand underneath her shirt. He placed his fingers over her heart. “I’ll bet no one’s ever told you that you were beautiful, have they, sweetheart?”
When Lenore closed her eyes, tears ran down her cheeks.
“Well, let me be the first to tell you, Lenore. You’re beautiful to me right now.”
Lenore replied through grit teeth. “Well, you're still ugly as shit.”
Charles's lips formed into an 'O' as he pulled away from her. “Girl, you got a mouth on you, that's for sure. We should probably fix that. Can't have you talking trash this whole time.” Then he sprung back toward her, steadying her head with one hand, and bringing the lit cigarette toward her mouth with the other. “Open up, cutie pie. Let me se
e that sharp tongue of yours.”
Breathing heavily through her nose, Lenore gathered the fluids in her mouth.
And spat them onto the cigarette, extinguishing the tiny fire at the end.
Her tormenter cackled as he pulled another from the pack. “Well, aren't you clever? You know what? I'll bet you're getting pretty bored with this game. You're probably itching for some higher stakes. Am I right? Maybe I'll make up my own game just for you. How 'bout you pick a number, and if you get it wrong, I just go directly for that left eye of yours? How 'bout that?”
Lenore closed her lids tightly, determined not to pick a number, determined not to give Charles the satisfaction. He would be making for her eyes no matter what she said, and she might as well get it over with. Once he was finished, he would definitely kill her. And that was something to look forward to. That was the prize.
The sound of the lighter flickered in the background, and Lenore could hear Charles pull air into the flame.
“You wanna pick a number for me now?”
Silence.
“Aw, that's okay. Deirdre stopped picking numbers after a while too, you know. I guess she thought it didn't make no difference in the end. That's when Rich started making me pick the numbers instead. And I'll be damned if I didn't guess wrong every time.”
A terrible heat radiated next to her cheek.
“Now this'll only hurt for a minute,” he said, wiping the tears away from her eye with his thumb.
Lenore tensed and held her breath.
And then the front door opened.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
She peered through half-shut eyes to see Richard standing in the doorway, holding a takeout bag from Burger King.
And the front door was wide open.
Richard dropped the bag to the ground. “Charles, what the hell are you doing in my house? How did you get in here?”
“Welcome home, Rich,” Charles said, spinning around. “I figured I'd keep Lenore some company while you were away. She seemed awful lonesome when I found her. I thought I'd cheer her up. Play a game with her.”