by Nikki Chase
I part my lips and open my jaw. My mouth is so dry. Coaxing my vocal cords back to life, I say, “Christine?”
“Yes!” She grins like we’ve just run into each other at the mall. “Surprise surprise, it’s me.”
I look around me. This is Bertha’s house.
“What are you doing here?” I squint as I look up at Christine. The light right behind her head is getting in my eyes.
“Oh, come on, be nice. That’s no way to greet a neighbor.” She laughs, then continues, “But then again, what can I expect from you? All this time you’ve just been putting on a mask, pretending to be a good girl, an innocent schoolteacher. I can’t expect you to play that role when you’re like this.”
“Like...what? What did you do to me?” I don’t feel any restraints on my body. No rope, zip ties, or masking tape. But I can’t move. My whole body feels heavy, like gravity has an extra strong hold on me right now.
“I just gave you something to calm you down so we can have a conversation, darling. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“You drugged me?”
“Drug is such an ugly word. Let’s just say I medicated you.” Christine smiles at me, but the shadow on her face makes her look creepy. Her facial features look all distorted. Has she always looked like that?
“You made me snort some kind of date-rape drug.” I say these brave, accusing words, but my speech is slow and slurred. I’m sure I don’t sound half as intimidating as I try to.
Christine’s foot connects with my shoulder. It’s not a particularly hard kick, but I don’t have the strength to put up any kind of resistance. I slide down against the wall I’m leaning on and fall into a heap on the floor.
Shit. Why can’t I do anything, or move any part of my body? What has she done to me?
While the kick wasn’t particularly painful, the realization of just how weak I am hits me like a truck.
I’m completely vulnerable. Christine can do anything to me and there’s nothing I can do about it. And from the looks of things, she wants to do all kinds of evil things to me.
I don’t know if it’s just the lighting or if I’ve just noticed something that has always been obvious, but she looks crazy. She looks like she belongs in an institution.
“Did you give the same drug to Max?” I shift on the floor so I can keep my eyes on Christine.
“You mean the dog?” She pauses and gives me a weird smile. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t waste such an expensive medicine on an animal. That was just good old rat poison.”
“It was all you? The letter, the break-in?” I frown. I can’t believe it. I can see her flapping her mouth, saying some words, but what she’s saying doesn’t make any sense.
“Yes,” she says calmly, like she hasn’t just admitted to being the perpetrator of multiple crimes.
“Why?” I’m thoroughly confused. I haven’t done anything to this woman. I’ve always tried to be a good neighbor. I’ve never even played loud music or leave Max’s shit on anybody’s lawn. What reason could she have to hate me so much, she’d commit crimes and risk being arrested?
“Isn’t it obvious?” She gives me a look that I often give to misbehaving students, the look that says she knows that I know what I’ve done.
Except I have no idea how I’ve wronged her.
Christine clicks her tongue, annoyed at me for playing innocent. “I have to protect Ashbourne from women like you.”
“Women like me? What are you talking about?”
“You know darn well what I’m talking about. Women like you lure men into your trap and ruin families.”
“What?” I must’ve heard wrong. That doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever done in my life.
“Oh, don’t act like you’re innocent. I know your kind. You seduce married men, you take their money, you make them forget all about their families,” she says with utter conviction, as if she has seen me do every single one of those things with her own eyes.
Sure, there were some married men who visited the Pussy Cat, but my relationship with them—and with all the customers except for Jacob—was strictly professional. If anyone should be blamed for married men who stray into strip joints, it’s not me. It’s those men.
That’s what I would’ve told Christine if I weren’t so weak. It’s hard to even say short sentences, much less defend my innocence in a debate on the institution of marriage and the moral responsibility of cheating spouses.
“I never did that,” I say instead. Eloquent argument, I know.
“My Toby was a great husband. We had the perfect family. Everything was perfect. Sure, we weren’t as active in the bedroom as we used to be, but we had kids and careers. Nobody just keeps doing it like rabbits forever.”
“I don’t even know your husband,” I say weakly from the floor.
“Of course you don’t,” she says condescendingly, like she can’t believe how stupid I am. “He moved away long before you came here. With a woman just like you. She took my husband from me, but I’ll never let that happen to any other woman in Ashbourne.” Christine shoots me a sharp glare and pauses to let the weight of her threat sink in.
I watch her, dumbfounded. My eyes blink frequently because of the bright light behind her. Maybe I do look like an idiot, but I honestly don’t know what to say. S
he’s punishing me for her husband having left her for another woman, a woman I don’t even know? Is she serious?
“When Bertha told me her daughter used to work at a strip club with you, I knew exactly what I had to do. I feel bad for Nancy, but maybe what happened was for the best. She used to be such a good girl. I never would’ve imagined she’d end up being a stripper,” she says, spitting out the last word like it’s caked with dirt.
“I’ve changed. I have a new life now,” I say.
I don’t actually have any moral qualms about being a stripper. I wouldn’t have worked at the Pussy Club for so long if I did. I just want to try appealing to her sense of compassion. Maybe if I act like I’m remorseful, she’ll let me go.
“Women like you don’t change,” Christine says. “You act like you’re just a good little schoolteacher, but I know it’s all a lie. You’re putting on a mask. I can see right through you. You think I don’t see you, seducing multiple men in town? That neighbor of yours, the date you were on when I called you. You think men are toys. You don’t care about them, or their families.”
“They’re single.” I know this is a stupid response, yet I can’t help but point out this fact. I honestly don’t see how I’m a threat to all womankind when I’m not even friends with any married men—except for Tony, but he doesn’t count here.
“Sure, it starts with the single men. Sooner or later, you’ll catch some married men in your web as well. Luckily for Ashbourne, I’m here to stop you.”
Who does Christine think I am? Some kind of a polyamorous seductress on a quest to build my own harem of men? I can’t understand how she could believe her own fantasy. She seemed so normal before tonight!
“What are you going to do to me?”
“I tried to tell you to leave, but you just wouldn’t budge.” The way Christine looks at me as she says that, you’d think she was doing me a favor with the break-in, the threatening letter, and the poison for Max. How nice of her to try to resolve this without hurting me, how noble.
“Maybe I would’ve, after you poisoned my dog,” I say.
“Maybe. But you have that guy staying with you now,” she says, scrunching her nose like she finds it absolutely offensive that two consenting adults are sleeping together under one roof.
“When I saw you come here, I knew that was the right time. I was going to wait until tomorrow, when you were supposed to let the repairman in, but this was better. Sometimes things just turn out better than you could ever plan,” she says with a cheerful smile on her face.
She crouches down, looks threateningly at me with her crazy eyes, and strokes my cheek with her cold fingers. “I’m going to destroy your pre
tty mask, so everyone can see the real you, the way I can see the real you. This is the only way to protect the town from you. I don’t want to do this, but you leave me no choice.”
Christine stands up abruptly and strolls toward the kitchen. She stands in front of the shiny magnetic strip on the tiled backsplash, choosing a knife as she hums the cheerful tune of Mack the Knife.
A chill runs down my spine. She’s going to cut me?
I stretch my limbs as much as I can, trying to grab onto something, anything that can help me get up and run away. But I just end up kicking one of the wicker chairs in the living room, making it fall on the floor with a loud crash.
Christine calmly turns around and smiles when she sees what I’ve done. Obviously, I don’t pose any threat to her.
I keep trying, but I’m only strong enough to topple pieces of furniture onto their sides.
I should’ve listened to Jacob. He was right; it wasn’t safe for me to be on my own. It should’ve been obvious that some deranged person wants to hurt me, and yet I was doing whatever I wanted, oblivious to the dangers facing me.
I wish Jacob were here, and not just because he could rescue me from this crazy woman. I desperately need comfort right now. Somehow, unexpectedly, he has become the most comforting thing I can think of.
Jacob
I'm about to fucking lose my mind.
I know I can just walk away and that's probably best for both of us, but I know that's not a good idea either.
If I go home right now, I’d just end up lying in the dark, wishing I’d gone inside Bertha's house. I’d drive myself crazy, thinking about why she's angry at me, wondering how I should've done things differently, trying to come up with ideas to make it up to her.
I’ve been running all over town looking for Jessica, trying to make sure she's safe. Now that I’ve finally found her, I can't just leave without seeing her. That would be crazy.
I walk down the concrete pathway leading to Bertha's front door. After I changed her locks, Bertha told me to place one set under her welcome doormat.
I crouch down to lift it up and see nothing but concrete. Of course. If Jessica used the spare key to get in, then she’d have it with her inside.
If I can't get in on my own, maybe I should ask Jessica to let me in. Sure, it sounds ridiculous to suggest that she’d let me in when the reason why she's here in the first place is to avoid me. But there’s no harm in trying.
I press the raised round button by the door and hear the speaker inside play some electronic tune.
The door doesn't open, but I hear voices inside. Female voices.
That's strange. If Jessica needed to talk to anybody, the person she'd approach would probably be Tony. I'm not aware of her having any close female friends. At least that's what her phone records indicate.
Maybe I’m wrong and she has a girl friend after all, or maybe she's just watching TV.
Whatever it is she's doing, it obviously doesn't involve opening the door for me.
Maybe I should leave her alone after all, give her some time to cool down. The police said they were going to come see the backyard in the morning, which means she's coming home in a few hours. I can wait a few hours.
I turn around to leave. Just as I’m about to reach the sidewalk, I hear a soft crash inside.
I ring the doorbell again, but there's still no response.
I round the house to get to the backdoor. Bertha doesn’t keep any spare key in the backyard as far as I know, but Jessica could've left it open. I turn the doorknob and push.
It doesn't budge. I should've known. It's just not my night.
There's nothing else I can do, unless I want to break something to get in, and I feel like that would be overkill. I don't care about Bertha hating my guts, but I know it would only make Jessica angrier. I don’t want her to report me for trespassing when the cops arrive in a few hours.
Just as I pass a window on the side of the house, I hear another crash.
Okay, once could've been an accident, but twice is suspicious.
Sure, Jessica's in a sour mood, but she wouldn't destroy things that belong to other people.
Maybe something's wrong after all. Maybe she's not doing well. She could be sick, or she could be held prisoner in there by someone.
“Jessica!” I yell by the window.
I'm not leaving until I see her and make sure she's fine, at the very least. Maybe that’ll make her angrier, but who cares? What's she going to do, give me two silent treatments instead of one?
“Jessica!”
I know I’m being way too loud. There's no sound in the neighborhood other than the occasional calls of nocturnal animals. I have a feeling the neighbors aren’t going to be as forgiving to me as they are to the owls and the coyotes.
On the bright side, if I’m bothering the neighbors, I’m probably bothering Jessica too. After all her hard work trying to be nice to everybody, she wouldn't want it to be undone by me.
“Jessica! I know you're in there, and I’m not leaving until you see me!”
When she still doesn't reply, I know for sure something's not right.
I may have changed the door locks, but the windows are still old. I know the lock on one window in particular is broken. I told Bertha about it when I changed her locks, but I'm pretty sure she hasn't had a chance to fix it.
I find the window and, sure enough, it slides open easily. I climb inside and find myself in a bedroom.
From here, I can vaguely hear some talking. It's definitely not coming from a TV. It's a woman's voice, but not Jessica's. Who is this woman?
I open the bedroom door quietly and follow the voice. It gets louder and louder until I can finally make out what she's saying.
“Now that he's gone, we can get on with the program,” she says cheerfully. “We're going to peel off that mask of yours so everyone can see the real you.”
What’s going on? Is this some kind of a makeover thing? I know girls do weird shit during PMS or after breakups, but is it really an appropriate reaction to your dog being poisoned? I wonder if Jessica thinks we have broken up, because she’d be wrong. She's still mine and always will be.
“No. Please don’t.” Jessica’s voice. She sounds weird, though, like she’s not fully awake, like she’s drunk.
This is starting to seem more and more like a post-breakup scene. It’s beginning to piss me off. As I get closer to the women, lurking in the shadows, I wonder what Jessica’s thinking.
If she’s that broken up about it, then why would she decide to leave me? And if she’s not leaving me, then what is she doing drinking and having a makeover instead of coming home?
Who is this woman anyway? Jessica has never mentioned having a close girl friend.
Maybe there are still parts of Jessica’s life that she’s hiding from me. After all my effort in earning her trust and getting her to open up to me, maybe she still doesn’t take me seriously.
“Where should we start? I wonder…” The woman crouches in front of Jessica, who’s lying down on the floor. Only Jessica’s hips and legs are visible from where I stand, but she seems unharmed.
The unknown woman has long, blonde hair so light in color that it’s almost white. She’s wearing black yoga pants and a black shirt. From her voice and her skin, I’d guess she’s in her forties.
Again, I wonder if I should wait until the morning, when Jessica comes home to see the cops. If she’s intoxicated, it’s probably not a good idea to talk right now anyway.
“Please don’t,” Jessica repeats. She starts to sob. “Please, Christine. I’ll do anything. I’ll move. I’ll go away like you want me to. I won’t tell anyone.”
Okay, that doesn’t sound like girl talk anymore. It’s fucking weird. Jessica’s begging and crying, but her voice sounds like she’s barely awake.
Fuck. I should’ve fucking known.
She’s being drugged. That’s the only possible explanation.
“It’s a little too late for th
at,” the woman called Christine says. She pulls out a kitchen knife and drags it over Jessica’s cheek. The light from the kitchen glints off the blade.
Christine must be the “guy” who’s been terrorizing Jessica. I’d been so focused on Steve and Caine—even Tony, for fuck’s sake—that I’d overlooked other possible suspects.
I should’ve brought my fucking gun. It’s too late now to go back home and get it. I don’t have any weapon on me, not even a knife.
I calculate the probability of me getting a knife from the kitchen without being heard by Christine, but it’s too risky. The kitchen opens to the living room, where the women are.
Ah, fuck it. I’ll just wing it.
Christine is just a civilian woman. I went through the toughest military training that exists and joined the country’s most elite special ops force.
I’m a little rusty now, but I’m still a tough motherfucker compared to most guys, much less some housewife who wears all black to commit a crime, just like every single bad guy in every action movie ever.
I step lightly, crouching a little as I approach the women.
My plan is to get as close as I can to Christine without being detected and incapacitate her. It sounds simple when I put it like that, but it’s far from easy.
For starters, most of the lights are off, except for the ones in the kitchen. This means that they’ll cast my shadow in front of me. If Christine sees my shadow on the floor, that would be the end of stealth mode, and the start of open confrontation.
Even though I’m stronger and more skilled in close combat, Christine has a weapon and I don’t. I need to move fast before she stabs me—or worse, Jessica.
Christine is also crouching really close to Jessica. Way too fucking close. If I make the slightest mistake, Christine could quickly grab Jessica and use her as a human shield, make me do whatever she wants. At that point, it’s game over. My superior strength and skills don’t matter if that were to happen.
I’m about three feet behind Christine now. Pretty close, but not close enough. I hunch a little lower.