by Amelia Stone
I raised the hammer again, and again, and again, smashing anything that shared any real estate with my most hated inanimate object. The door frame, the clapboard siding, the house number. Gone, gone, gone. I kept on hefting that hammer until I could no longer lift my arm.
I stood, my chest heaving, staring at the gaping maw in my little cottage where the doorbell had once been.
And then I burst into tears.
“Uh, okay,” Phillip said from behind me. He spun me around, gingerly took the sledgehammer from my hand, and steered me toward the porch swing. He could have shoved me, though, for all I would have noticed; my arm was numb. My whole body was numb.
My whole being was numb.
With a bewildered look on his face, my neighbor cautiously lifted the sledgehammer. He looked at it, then at me, then at the hole in the house, then back at me. Then he sighed.
“My wife has a cousin in construction,” he said. “I could call him to fix that.”
I hiccupped, unable to stop sobbing long enough to answer. I had no idea why I was crying. I hated that fucking doorbell. I wouldn’t miss it at all. My tears confounded me. Something else, some other feeling, had to be behind them. But damned if, in that exact moment, I could say what it was. I was just overwhelmed.
It felt right, though. It felt freeing, sitting here on my porch and crying with a man I despised.
“His rates are reasonable,” my neighbor continued, like we were having an actual conversation. “But I, uh, guess you don’t need that, what with all Daniel’s money,” he added.
Because this was South Bay Island, where everyone knew everyone else’s business. Of course he knew about Daniel’s trust fund, and that I’d inherited it after his death. He probably knew my damn account balance, too. His wife worked at the bank on Grand Avenue, and she was as nosy as her husband, if not more.
I looked up at him, blinking. I was done with this conversation. Done with Phil. Done with everything. I needed out of here. I needed an escape. I sniffed, wiping my tear-streaked, snotty face on the backs of my hands. Then I stood.
“I’m going for a run,” I announced.
“Uh, okay,” Phillip said.
Ignoring him, I stepped inside the house to grab my running shoes, which I kept in a little cubby by the front door. I shoved them on my feet, sans socks, tying them just tight enough to make sure they wouldn’t fall off. Then I straightened, walking across the porch and down the steps.
Before I took off, I stopped. I turned to look at my neighbor, who was still standing on my porch, debris strewn all around him. I met his eyes for a brief second, but I couldn’t hold his gaze for too long.
“Phil?” I grunted.
He huffed. “Phillip.”
I closed my eyes. “Phillip,” I relented.
“What?” He sounded wary, and I couldn’t blame him. I’d just gone all Patrick Bateman on my own house, after all.
“Thanks,” I muttered, eyes still closed.
I would not have been able to do this while looking at him. He may have mowed my lawn, and sure, he was about to weed my flower beds and tidy up my landscape. And he’d just taken care of me through a house-wrecking breakdown. He certainly deserved a small measure of gratitude for all of that.
But his face still pissed me off.
“Oh,” he squeaked. I cracked one eye open to see him blinking at me. “Uh, okay. Yeah, sure. No problem.”
I sighed, relieved that he wasn’t going to make a big deal of this.
“You want me to, uh.” He glanced at my front door, which wouldn’t shut now that I’d destroyed the doorframe. “Uh, I could try to lock up everything when I’m done?”
I nodded. “You do that.”
“I’ll leave your keys in the window box, I guess?”
Because I didn’t have a welcome mat to put them under.
“Sounds great,” I told him, shaking out my tingling arms and cracking my aching neck.
“When Taylor comes home, you want me to tell her where you went?”
I grunted. “Not sure where I’m going.”
But that was a lie. I had a destination in mind, a place I’d been avoiding for a long time. Longer than I wanted to admit.
Sixteen months, twenty-four days, and – I checked my watch – three hours and six minutes, to be precise.
I felt almost giddy after my showdown with the doorbell, drunk on adrenaline, perhaps. It had been brutally cathartic, taking a sledgehammer to the house that I both loved and hated. Weirdly, I felt clear-headed, like the act of destruction – both the house’s and mine – had sharpened me somehow. And though I normally did everything I could to suppress my emotions, I sensed that I needed to keep pushing at the pain, needed to take it as far as it could go.
Because I knew that the pain was something I needed to feel. Whether I was trying to punish or heal myself, I couldn’t say. I just knew I needed it.
Either way, it was time to face something I’d been hiding from for too long. It was time to go back to Soundtrax.
“Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams
Blinded by me, you can’t see a thing.”
- Metallica, “Master of Puppets”
“Your name is spelled wrong.”
I chuckled as I watched the exchange between my sister’s best friend, Krista, and the store manager, whose nametag read ‘Kristi.’
Yeah, Krista and Kristi. The whole thing was confusing enough for me, what with my weird mental block about names. But it was probably worse for them.
In fact, I imagined that for both women, meeting each other was a bit like looking in a funhouse mirror. They were the same, but not. Two auburn-haired beauties, one on the red side, one on the brown. One with curly hair, one with straight. One tall, one average height. One with huge, dark blue eyes, one with almond-shaped brown ones. One Krista, one Kristi.
Krista smiled. “Your name is spelled wrong,” she teased.
The other woman shook her head. “But I’m older, so you’re the failed copycat.” She was staring at Krista in fascination. “It’s like your mom tried to cheat off my mom’s biology test, only she was reading it upside down.”
Krista laughed. “How do you even know you’re older? All you have is my name and email address. We’ve never even met before today.”
“Because I know who you are,” Kristi-with-an-I replied. “I was in your sister’s graduating class.”
Krista-with-an-A lit up at that. “Oh, you know Phoebe?”
“No, Lindsay. We were on the soccer team together.”
That was another thing about the Summers family. Krista didn’t just have a lot of cousins. She also had three sisters – two older and one younger – plus scores of aunts and uncles, and a handful of nieces and nephews. There were also always at least four wolfhounds running around at any given birthday or Thanksgiving. Irish Catholics really took that “birth control is a sin” thing seriously, I guess. Even with their dogs.
The first time Ellie had strong-armed me into attending a Summers family function, I’d been completely overwhelmed. For most of our lives, Ellie and I had only ever had our mom and dad. They were both only children, and they had no children of their own. And while they’d loved us a lot, it was in their own low-key way. I think they’d wanted to give us a peaceful upbringing, maybe trying to make up for how harrowing our first few years had been. They were always good to us, but they were never effusive in their affections.
So the dynamics of a huge family – and all the noise, teasing, inside jokes, being in each other’s business, and just the general chaos they’d brought with them – had both fascinated and terrified me.
“Lindsay’s bringing the kids down next weekend for trick-or-treating,” Krista-not-Kristi was now saying.
“Nice! I haven’t seen her in a few years,” Kristi-not-Krista replied. “Not since Phoebe’s wedding, I think.”
My head was spinning from just trying to keep these two women’s names straight. When they started throwing
in a bunch of other people I only vaguely knew, I decided it was best to leave them to catch up for a few minutes, before I got too confused to function. So I roamed around Soundtrax, checking out the treasure trove of stuff they had for sale.
Ellie had told me last night that this store sold collector’s items like old computers and gaming systems. I’d expected a little hole-in-the-wall with dusty shelves full of miscellaneous parts, a couple of Commodore 64s, and maybe the odd Atari. I had not expected the converted warehouse with exposed brick walls that climbed nearly forty feet, exposed ducts, and a leaded glass ceiling that flooded the space with light. “Mirror in the Bathroom” by The English Beat blared from the speakers, the horns bouncing through two levels of pure nerd heaven.
The shelves, racks, and bins were brimming with everything you could ever want or need: vinyl records, CDs, and cassette tapes; movies and shows on Blu-ray, DVD, and VHS; comics and books of all genres; clothing; board games; video games for seemingly every platform from the last three decades; collectible figurines and toys; and of course machines. So many machines, both ancient and new. Computers, game consoles, tablets, TVs, film projectors, boomboxes, Betamax players, laser discs, Walkman and Discman. Original Gameboys sat on shelves beside the latest model DS, and I could have sworn I even spotted an 8-track player in a corner. Obscure treasures mingled with popular items, and several times I found my eyes bugging out of my head at something priceless just casually sitting on a shelf, waiting for someone to take it home.
This place was a certified nerdgasm.
We had the shop to ourselves that afternoon, and I took advantage of it, walking up and down every aisle, picking up things here and there that I decided I “needed.” Like the vintage Polaroid camera and a few boxes of compatible film, which I immediately used to take a photo of Ellie. She looked up from the rack of tee shirts she was digging through when I called her name, and I got a cute snap of her sticking her tongue out at me, her green eyes smiling.
Weirdly, I thought of another pair of eyes as I shook the photo out, waiting for it to develop. Larkin’s lavender eyes would look amazing on a grainy Polaroid. She had an old-school look to her, a little offbeat by today’s beauty standards. Her whole vibe was quirky and unique, really.
Something told me she’d really dig this store, in fact. I could just see her wandering the aisles, exclaiming over all the cool stuff in that husky voice of hers.
I wondered where she was now. Probably at home, if her reluctance to join the land of the living last night was any indication. I could picture her in her cozy little living room. Maybe she’d be curled up on the couch, reading. I wondered what her favorite books were, if we had any in common. It would be fun to have a lazy day with her, doing nothing but eating and reading and snuggling.
Though snuggling would probably lead to other things, and then we wouldn’t get much reading done.
I frowned, wondering why I couldn’t get the woman out of my head. I’d known her less than a day. I knew almost nothing about her. But it seemed like everything and nothing made me think of her. My mind eagerly filled the gaps in my knowledge of her, inventing scenarios that were nothing more than idle fantasies.
At least I would get to see her later. I planned to head to her house when I was done here. I’d give her that money back, maybe see if she wanted to get some dinner. We could talk, learn a little bit about each other. Slow and steady does it.
Because I was going to win this damn race. I needed to make it to the finish line and see what was waiting for me on the other side. She was under my skin, digging around and making me crazy. I needed to find out if the torture would be worth it.
I sighed, putting Larkin out of my mind for the moment and moving on through the store. In the record section, I grabbed a couple of Metallica albums on cassette, looking forward to rocking out in my Jeep. My ride was almost as old as I was, and still had the original stereo, so it was tough to find good music to listen to on my daily commute to Bethpage. This cache of so-called “obsolete” tech was a godsend.
I was just about to take a look at the computer equipment when Krista called my name. I headed over to the counter that ran along the back wall, where she was standing by herself, tapping her fingers on the polished wood excitedly. Kristi-not-Krista was nowhere to be found.
“All done catching up?” I asked with a smile.
She nodded. “She’s just gone into the back to grab my order.”
“What did you get?”
She grinned, and I guessed it was something pretty special, based on the bright light in her eyes.
“She’s been scouring the web for months for this,” she told me. “I have been searching for so long, but it’s really, really hard to find, and I haven’t had the time to look. She finally emailed me last week to tell me she found it.”
I chuckled. “That’s great. But what is it?”
As if on cue, Kristi emerged from the back with a huge box in her arms. She set it gingerly on the counter, then smiled at Krista.
“Here you go!” she announced, spreading her arms wide.
Krista bounced on her heels, giving me a conspiratorial smile. “Want to see?”
I nodded eagerly. This was one of the reasons why she and I were good friends. We both geeked out over old tech, though mostly it was in our respective fields. Still, she knew I’d be interested even if I wasn’t a gaming expert like she was. I inched forward, watching as she opened the box and extracted a bubble-wrapped game console, about a foot wide and a few inches high.
A bubble-wrapped, pink game console.
I looked at Krista in confusion. I’d known her a while, thanks to my sister, and she was notorious for hating the color pink. I’d never seen her wear it in all the years I’d known her.
But the console she was currently digging out of its protective wrapping was most definitely a hue not often seen outside of bubblegum.
“What the hell is that?” I asked. “And why do you want it?”
She grinned. “I know, right?” She rolled her eyes at it, but she still looked almost giddy with excitement. “I can hardly believe myself, either.” She stroked the knobs on the front of it lovingly. “But I had to have it.”
“Is that it?” Ellie asked, coming up on my other side. She laid several tee shirts and a handful of DVDs on the counter, then leaned around me to get a good look at her best friend’s new prize. “It’s very… pink.” Ellie wrinkled her little button nose, looking as confused as I was.
Krista nodded. “The Super Lady Cassette Vision,” she intoned reverently. “One of the first consoles aimed at female gamers.”
Ellie laughed. “God. Even the name makes me cringe.”
Krista snorted. “I know. And get this.” She opened the console lid, showing us the cartridge tucked inside. “The game that came with it was called ‘Milky Princess.’”
“Subtle,” Ellie quipped.
Krista smiled. “It’s one of the first – though certainly not the most egregious – cases of pandering to the fairer sex to be found in the video game industry. Complete with a healthy dose of condescension.”
“So what will you do with it?” I asked. “Can you still play it?”
She nodded. “If you can find the games. They’re kinda rare. This console – and the ‘boy’ version, the Super Cassette Vision – had a super limited release.”
“How old is it?” I asked, taking in its blocky design and retro graphics. I didn’t know much about video game history, but I figured this had to be about as old as the original Nintendo.
Krista confirmed as much with her answer. “1984. Older than me. Older than you, even,” she teased. “And it was only sold in Japan, so the games aren’t in English. But a lot of older games are like that, so I’m used to it.” She picked the console up, inspecting it from every angle. “I think after I test it out, I’m just going to display it.”
“Why?” Kristi asked. “Wouldn’t you want to get your money’s worth?”
Kr
ista gave her a flat smile. “I will, but not like that.” She sighed, taping the bubble wrap back over the console and putting it carefully back in the box. “It’s a good reminder for me.”
“A reminder?” I repeated. “Of what?”
She chuckled darkly. “That sexism in the gamer community is far from a thing of the past.”
Before any of us could respond to that depressing thought, there was a crash in the back room.
Everyone jumped at the sudden noise, but Ellie the scaredy-cat shrieked, pressing herself into my side. The girl just never could abide anything scary. No horror movies or Stephen King novels for my little sis. I put an arm around her, rubbing the top of her head to soothe her, and she gave me a rueful smile.
“Don’t mind me,” she muttered. “Getting scared over nothing.”
“Must be a Saturday,” I teased, sticking my tongue out at her.
Kristi’s eyes went wide, though. “I’m the only one on the schedule today,” she whispered.
I straightened, suddenly all business. “Want me to check it out?” I didn’t really relish the idea of tangling with a potential burglar, but I would if I had to.
But Kristi shook her head. “I’ve got it. My husband gave me some pepper spray last week,” she said, reaching into a drawer under the counter. “He’s always worried about me being here by myself at night.”
“You sure?” I asked, eyeing her dubiously. Even with pepper spray, I’d feel better if she had someone with her, and of the four people here, I was the obvious choice. I had a good seven inches on Krista, the tallest of the three women, and probably a hundred or more pounds on all of them, most of it muscle. “I don’t mind. You can stay here and call the police.”
She snorted. “It’s probably nothing. And it would take me less time to deal with it than it would for SBPD to get here.”
“Deal with it?” Ellie squeaked.
Kristi winked. “Don’t worry. I’ve taken self-defense classes. I’ll scare them off with my ninja moves,” she assured us, karate-chopping the air in front of her.