Snoflower
Page 3
He gesticulated to his room where I followed. His apartment was furnished with only the basic essentials, a simple black couch, a black metal coffee table, two lamps, an ashtray filled with spent butts, and a water bong resting on the floor near a foot rest. The most extravagant item in the room was his fifty-eight-inch flat screen TV with about every video game console stored in the compartments below the stand. I noted how neatly the wires were twist tied. He told me to wait in the doorway and a moment later returned with the wine key. I noticed the look of pity on his face. He had seemed at first reluctant to lend one to me as if he didn’t trust me, but the expression dissipated. There was something he wasn’t telling me. I wanted to just return to my room and get started on that bottle, but my inquisitive temperament got the best of me and I asked, “What happened to the previous tenants in my place?”
His expression deepened. “Is there something the matter?”
“No,” I said, trying to keep my tone amicable.
His face relaxed and his eyes briefly flinched up and I could see that he was relieved.
I paused. “Why? Is there supposed something the matter? I found something that belonged to one of them.”
His countenance changed once again, this time with concern. His thick brows narrowed. “Look, girl, I just maintain this place. I’ve had enough trouble and I have no business frightening the tenants.”
“You won’t frighten me.” That was the truth. The only thing that frightened me was being out on the streets without food or money. I’d kill myself before that happened. Really. And if I didn’t find a job by next week, that’s exactly what would happen.
“I fucking hate this place,” Bill growled. “I’m sure you do too, and I don’t care much for reputations or superstitions, and I don’t want to frighten you, but this place is no place for a girl like you. If I were you, I’d move out immediately. Or at least to another room if one comes vacant. Might be soon too if that lazy sonofabitch upstairs doesn’t pay his rent. Asshole owes me for three months now.”
“Oh my God, why?”
“Because he hasn’t fuckin’ found another job. I only let him get this far because finding work in this neighborhood is damn near impossible. I’ve done and seen a lot of shit in my life, and I don’t want even more guilt of throwing anyone out on the streets. I’ve been out there already and I’ve seen some scary fuckin’ shit, girl. I don’t got the heart to do that to someone else.”
“I meant about my apartment. Room 503. Why should I need to move out? I have nowhere else to go but the streets.”
He nodded but did not ask for reasons why. “The last tenant moved out the first night he moved in. Haven’t been able to keep anyone in that room. If you stay tonight, you’ve made it longer than the others.”
“He?”
“Some man. Didn’t even know him long enough to get his name. A Chinese defector I think. Paid in cash under the table.”
“What about the girl?” I asked, growing impatient. I started feeling this conversation was getting me nowhere and perhaps my frustration and boredom and mental breakdown of my collapsing life was making me see and wonder things I probably shouldn’t.
“What girl?” he asked.
“Sally.”
Bill stood very still and I swear, even through his black skin, he paled. I had never seen that look on anyone’s face before. He appeared serious-eyed and tight-faced, and stood very still except for the trembling of his lower lip. I didn’t know if he was about to scream or cry. “Sally was a tenant who left about eight months ago. She had a husband and was generally a pleasant woman who loved to party. Sometimes she partied a little too hard, if you know what I mean. If she could snort it, drink it, smoke it, or ride it she would. One moment she was fun girl to be around, and a second later she flips the fuck out. Tore up her husband’s furniture, smashed a hole in the wall, fuckin’ ripped apart everything she touched, including her relationship with her husband. She earned the name Cyclone Sally from the fuckin’ mess she’d make after each one of her binders. As long as she wasn’t partying, she was the most pleasant woman you’d ever know. A good girl. Like you.”
I felt the ache of shame in my gut again and the mental agony that came with the guilt of doing something regrettable yet not having the memory of it. An itch I could not scratch. Cyclone Sally and I had more in common than Bill believed. I hoped to keep it that way. I was ashamed enough. I felt my eyes burn and I did not want to cry in front of him, but I could see that he could see I was upset, though not for the reasons he believed. The story did not frighten me. What frightened me was missing out on the future I could’ve had if I wasn’t such a fuckup.
“So what did you find?” Bill asked. His voice was soft now, and I could tell he didn’t wish to upset me any further.
“Just found some old clothes,” I lied.
“With Sally’s name on them?” Bill was doubtful.
I shrugged not knowing how to answer. “Well you bring them down to me and I’ll donate them to the shelter.”
“Doesn’t she plan on coming back for them?” I was growing ever more eager to leave. My eyes felt like acid trying to hold back tears as Seth’s bright face haunted me, but my curiosity held me in place like cement.
“No,” Bill told me. “She’s not coming back. Sally will never be back. Not ever.”
Read the chilling conclusion to Cyclone Sally by L.K. Scott on Amazon.com HERE
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Other works by L.K. Scott
NOVELS
Massacre’ade Party (An Eric De la Cruz Mystery)
Nightmare Eve
She Tried the Window (A Cruz and Holloway Mystery)
Evilution
Aladdin: A Tale of Terror
SHORT STORIES
Frozen Charlotte
Heretic
The Spider and the Fly
End Transmission
Murder After Sunset (A Penny Holloway Mystery)
Violin
Snoflower
Cyclone Sally
COLLECTIONS
3 Minutes to Midnight
Another Place