by Cheri Lewis
Tank brings in the bags from the store and says, “You’ll be staying in the basement.”
Basement! I try not to sound ungrateful but I don’t think I’ll like staying in the basement, “Um, Tank, don’t you have a spare bedroom upstairs or something?”
He shakes his head. He motions for me to follow him so I stand and walk behind him through the lobby and then through a tiny kitchen which holds a small mini-fridge that my coffee creamer will completely fill. He stops in front of a closed door at the back of the kitchen and flips a light switch beside the door. When he opens the door and starts down the stairs, I hold Prima tightly, bringing her closer to me and pet her as I hold my breath and I start down the stairs behind him. I blow out the breath I’d been holding when we reach the bottom step because this isn’t a basement; this is a house underneath an office building. When Tank turns around I have my mouth open to ask but nothing comes out. He half smiles then says, “This was my dad’s place before he died, he left it to me and now it’s mine.”
I nod slowly. Wow. When you come down the steps you enter a large area that was apparently the living room. It has oversized furniture placed all facing an older model big screen television. The carpet is blue and the furniture is a large gingham white and blue pattern. Everything seems to be stuck in the 90s but it’s all in good shape. There are pictures hanging on the wall. I make a mental note I would come back and investigate those later. He disappears down a short hallway and flips on light switches as he goes. I put Prima down when he starts calling out different rooms, “This is the kitchen, the bathroom, and there are two bedrooms down here. You can take your pick. You’ll probably want the larger room though.” I peek in the kitchen as I pass by and it’s a full size kitchen with a full size refrigerator, thank God. The bathroom is a typical bathroom, shower and a tub, a single sink under the mirror. The first bedroom holds a twin size bed and it’s small, like matchbox small. I cross the hallway and walk into the second bedroom. Tank is standing in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips staring at the room. I peek around him and it definitely is the larger room, there is a large dresser made with real wood with a mirror on top and an assembled bed frame set up in the middle of the room but no mattress or box spring. One wooden nightstand sits beside the wall with a lamp that’s missing its shade. I open my mouth to point out there is a slight problem with sleeping in here, because of the missing mattress and box spring. But I close it, then open it and close it two more times and just decide to take the smaller room. He turns to me and answers my unasked question, “My dad bought a new mattress set, it’s still in the wrapper if you don’t mind helping me set it up, I’ve never had a need for it so I just left it propped up against the wall.”
As tired as I am, I know I won’t sleep and this will help keep my mind busy. “I need to set up Prima's litter box first. Do you have a preference on where I keep it?”
He shakes his head. “No where’d you keep the last one?”
“I had it in the utility room because there was no carpet and it was out of the way.”
“That’ll work.”
He walks out and I stand in my new bedroom trying to figure out what seems so odd about this room. The dark wood paneling on the walls and the wood dresser seem to be a bit overwhelming on wood. Apparently his dad liked the wood look considering it’s on every wall of the underground house. I glance behind me when Tank sits my luggage inside the door, then continues down the hallway. When I step out into the hall, he isn’t there but there’s a light shining out. I get to the door way I lean against the door frame and watch. He has the new litter pan lying on top of the washing machine cutting off the tabs with his pocket knife. I hear Prima’s soft meow and I lean back a bit and watch as she pads down the hallway toward me. She rubs against my leg. He’s now pouring the litter inside and I tell him, “You’re going to have to take the door off the front; she won’t go in there if you leave the door on.”
He eyeballs me. Either I’m crazy for spoiling my cat or I’m crazy for knowing she won’t go into a litter pan with a door. He pops the door off then set the pan beside the washing machine. I scoop up Prima and shove her in the litter pan so she will know exactly where to go.
I stand and back away as I listen to Prima scratching around then say to him, “Thanks for doing that. Where’s the mattress? I can start taking off the plastic.”
“We’ll leave it on until we get it to the bedroom, it will slide easier.”
I step back into the hallway for him to lead the way, when he exclaims, “Good God. That’s terrible.”
I can’t help but laugh at the disgusted look on his face and I wrinkle my nose because I can smell it now. “That’s why I bought the thirteen dollar bag.”
He exits the room quickly and mumbles to himself, “You should’ve bought a hundred dollar bag.”
I giggle quietly as I follow him back down the hallway and up the steps where he turns toward the back of the building into another room. There’s a large table with at least twelve chairs that catch my eye. This is where they apparently had business meetings. I wonder what his dad did? I hear the rustling of plastic. I look over my shoulder and there’s a mattress set leaned up against the wall. Tank begins pushing half of the box springs down the stairs; I grab the other half and followed him. “These aren’t going to be the problem. The mattress is going to be a bitch to get down the steps,” Tank says as we go down the stairs. I don’t reply. I just follow after him. He pulls out his knife and cuts the plastic off, then sets the box springs on the base.
We trudge back up the stairs; he stops and stares at the mattress then sighs, “Are you ready?”
“All we can do is try. If we can’t get it, we just can’t get it,” I say trying to sound optimistic.
Tank carefully cuts a slash in the plastic so we can grip the handles to help guide the large mattress. It definitely isn’t easy to hold onto, it must weigh two hundred pounds. We try to stand it up and it bows in the middle. We drag it to the door then make it down the first few stairs alright then I bump off the wall and send the mattress bending in the wrong direction. Tank yells, “Whoa,” but the mattress doesn’t listen. It bends and I’m not smart enough to let go of the handle. I find myself thankfully on the top of the mattress holding on for dear life as I scream and slide down the stairs in what feels like slow motion but it’s over in a matter of seconds. I lay on top of the mattress breathless, my face stuck to the plastic. Tank appears quickly and squats down staring at me. “Are you alright?”
“Yes—Yes, just give me a minute” I whisper.
His half grin returns. “That was a lot easier to get it down than I thought it would be,” he jokes. I blink a few times then I feel his hand on top of mine that’s still holding a death grip on the handle. “McKinsey, you’re alright, you can let go of the mattress now,” he softly reminds me.
I loosen my grasp and can feel the blood seeping back into my fingers. I slowly sit up, look at Tank and pitifully say, “I—I don’t think I can take any more surprises tonight.” His sympathetic grin doesn’t help me any either, he sticks his hand out to help me up. “Why do I always feel like you’re helping me up?”
“You’re okay. Come on. Let’s get the bed set up.”
He lifts the heavy mattress up on one end and slides it the rest of the way to the bedroom. He cuts the plastic cautiously to not nick the fabric with the blade. Then we both push and pull on the giant cushion until we get it in place. Once we are done, his phone begins to ring and he pulls it out of his pocket. “I need to take this.” I nod and he answers the phone, “Ambrose, long time…” He crooks his finger at me to follow him so I do. “Hey, Ambrose, hold on just one second.” I follow him back across the hallway to the little bedroom where there are some plastic shopping bags sitting on a dresser. He hands them to me and says, “I need to take this upstairs to make some notes. Here are the sheets. I’ll be back down in a minute.”
“Okay,” I mouth quietly.
He walks back toward the steps that lead upstairs and I return across the hall. I pull the package out of the bag and it’s a new set of sheets. When I pull them out of the bag a piece of paper flutters through the air toward the ground. I bend to pick it up and it’s the receipt for the sheets. I glance at the date, and it’s dated for 2 years ago, which is also weird. Why would someone keep new sheets for two years? I stick the receipt back down in the bag and begin making the bed. Once I finish with the bed, I walk to the dresser and slide a dresser drawer open slightly to see if it’s empty. I check the rest of them and they all are empty as well. I shut all the drawers back, then drag my luggage to the dresser and set my large bag on top of it. I decide not to unpack, I’ll just get what I need out of my suitcase. I grab my smaller suitcase, unzip it then lift the clothes still on a hanger up and look around for the closet. There are two doors to choose from, I open the one on the left slowly and find it is in fact a closet and it’s fairly empty, other than a few shoe boxes and paper lying around on the floor, so I have plenty of space to choose from. I hang my clothes up, turn to grab another handful of hanging clothes, and then let out a loud scream.
Alexander rolls his eyes. “Tank wants you to come upstairs.”
He turns and walks out of the room without another word, and I yell at the top of my lungs and I don’t care that I sound like a complete lunatic, “If one more person scares me, that’s it! I can’t be held responsible for my actions!”
I storm out of my new room, stomp up the stairs, and then follow the voices into the room where we got the mattress. I see that I’m right, it is a conference room. There are several people in there now. So much for not getting scared anymore; who was I kidding, I was terrified. Tank has his back to me. Alexander sits in a chair that looks like it won’t hold him. There are two officers here from the local police department already sitting at the table and a huge black man smiling at me who was wearing a polo shirt. He’s a cross between L. L .Cool J and Michael Clark Duncan. He has L.L.’s dimples and smile, but Duncan’s enormous size. I can’t help but get a feeling I’m going to like him and that’s just by his smile. I look back at the officers and I notice that one who’s smiling at me he throws up a hand and gives me a half wave. I give him a small smile back and then I pull the chair out at the end of the table and sit. Tank turns around. “Okay good you’re here, let’s get started.”
As he introduces everyone I glance in their direction. When he introduces the officer who was smiling at me earlier as Officer Hunter, I immediately remember him from the night the man was terrorizing me at my window. At that time I was too scared to take in his appearance but now he’s sort of hard to miss. His short black hair is styled to a gelled spiky perfection; he has a cut jaw line and full lips. I bit the inside of my cheek as I studied his face more. Something seems weird to me about him. He obviously spends a lot of time in the sun. His sunglass marks ran across both cheeks. Maybe that’s it. He works the midnight shift but has tan lines. When does he sleep? My eyes cut back to Tank when he calls my name, “McKinsey, is that alright?”
Is what alright? “I’m sorry I guess I’m a little dazed. Is what alright?”
He lays a folder on the table as he says, “I know it’s late but tomorrow you have to go to work like nothing is wrong.”
Go to work? With somebody after me? “Is that really safe, I mean the guy’s possibly a serial killer, right?”
“You’ll never be alone. Someone, one of us will always be watching you.”
Tank glances at the large black man. “Ambrose.”
Ambrose slowly rises from the chair and stands. “McKinsey, I haven’t been briefed on what you exactly know—”
I wave my hand motioning for him to stop. Everyone in the room turns toward me, I blow out a big breath of air. “Not to be rude but I think I’m at my limit at stuff I can handle. From what Blondie over there told me, I’m pretty much screwed and I’m going to die.” I stare at the table in front of me; I don’t know why the words suddenly became real to me. Once I say them out loud they seem to settle into my brain and become very real. I’m going to die. I look back up at Tank and ask in fear, “I’m going to die, aren’t I? This psychopath will find me and kill me.”
I hear several mumbled no's in the background but I’m solely focused on Tank. He shakes his head and empathically says, “No, McKinsey you’re not. I’m not going to let that happen.” It may be foolish but I believe him. We stare at each other a long time until someone in the room clears their throat. I look away from Tank and back to Ambrose, when Tank speaks again, “McKinsey why don’t you go on down and try to get some sleep. We’re going to get a plan in place and I’ll tell you everything in the morning, okay?”
I take a second and look at every person in the room in the eyes when I stand. “I don’t know why he chose me but thank you for everything you’re doing. I don’t know how I’ll be able to pay you all back but I will. I promise.” I turn and walk away before anybody can respond. As I walk down the stairs my head aches worse. And it reminds me I still haven’t eaten anything. And then I remember I never put away the few groceries I bought earlier. I need to do that before I go to bed. The kitchen light is still on and when I walk in the room empty bags sit on the counter. He must have put them away. I open a few of the wooden cabinet doors and find where he stuck my granola bars. I grab one and a bottle of water out of the fridge that hadn’t had time to get cold yet. I scarf the granola bar down and chug my water, I lean against the counter and rub my head. Okay McKinsey how did you end up here? I mean how did you get so lucky as to attract the attention of a psychopath? I could feel my heart began to beat quickly. No don’t get yourself worked up. There are lots of people helping you now, like he said. Normally they don’t know until after the victim was killed that they had received black roses. So this is good. This means we can catch him before he catches me.
After I do my nightly routine and dress for bed, I lay wide awake staring at the wall on my right. The bed is extremely comfortable but I’m afraid to close my eyes. Prima is curled at my thigh in a little ball having no trouble at all sleeping. I’d left the hallway light on and know when I see a shadow moving slowly it’s Tank. He silently walks into the bedroom and I lift my head to look at him. He quietly whispers, “You really should be asleep.”
I lay my head back on the pillow I’d stolen from the bedroom across the hall, “What time is it?”
“It’s a little after two.”
I look back at the wall across from me, “Do you have your plan all worked out?” I ask.
He walks further in the room then stops at the side of the bed I’m facing. I hear the fabric from his clothes rub against the wall as he slides down and sits on the floor beside me. He leans back against the wall and I can see him clearly in the darkened room from the hallway light. “Do you want to hear about that now? You really should try to sleep.”
I shake my head, hug the comforter then ask, “That poem you recited to me earlier tonight about not leaving me where’d that come from?”
I hear a light thud when he leaned his head back against the wall. “It’s not a poem. It’s something my grandmother use to say out loud, when she was praying for herself, for me, or whoever she thought needed praying for. I guess I picked it up over the years.”
“I get that, my granny used to say "Lord in the name of Jesus", all the time but hers was extremely southern and slow. Jessie and I say it, sometimes when we’re remembering her and now when I’m praying for my life,” I half laugh at my terrible joke.
Silence fills the room, I stare at Tank. “Will you stay in here ‘til I fall asleep?”
He crosses one leg over the other and I can hear the tiredness in his voice. “I can’t think of anywhere else I need to be.”
His half smirk stands out in the light. “Thanks,” I whisper. I keep my eyes on Tank watching his chest raise and lower as he breathes in and out. The air conditioner kicks on and there’s a nice flow of cool air on my cheek. The last
thing I remember is watching Tank watch me.
CHAPTER SIX
Gingerbread Man
When I open my eyes the hall light is still on but I’m alone in my room. I roll over and pat on the bed around me feeling for Prima. She isn’t there. I slowly sit up, my eyes burn from all my crying the day before and the blurred vision from not wearing my glasses. I instinctively reach over to the nightstand and retrieve my glasses. That’s weird. I don’t remember taking them off last night. My cell phone is on the nightstand, plugged in on charge. Okay, I know for a fact I didn’t do that. Tank rounds the corner to the bedroom carrying a coffee cup in each hand with Prima hot on his heels. “I just picked one of your flavors. I think it was butter pecan.”
Prima jumps up on the bed and comes to me. I pull her up in my arms and pet her as I say, “Thanks, you didn’t have to do that.”
I take the coffee cup out of his outstretched hand. “I know you haven’t gotten much sleep but we need to go over a few things before you get ready and head into work.”
I look back at my phone. “What time is it anyway?”
“Quarter till seven.”
I nod then take a sip of my much needed coffee. “Mmm, you made this so good.”
He ignores me and gets right to his point. “You need to go about your life like you would every day. Like I told you last night, someone will be watching you around the clock. Even when you’re here you won’t be alone, ever. You have three people you need to bring up to speed on your current situation and that’s it. Your parents and Jessie, nobody else. We are going to rule people out as suspects one by one. ”