Nikki's Secret

by William Malmborg

  Nikki’s Secret

  William Malmborg

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright 2012 by William Malmborg.

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the author.

  Tuesday, August 9, 2011

  1

  “It’s not bad,” Kimberly said while attempting to maneuver the car around a sharp corner with one hand. “The carpets are a bit aged, and the fridge had the most god awful smell since it had been unplugged for several weeks, but aside from that it’s big, it’s cheap, and I really like it.”

  “And better than living at home?” Melissa asked.

  “Oh, God yes!” Kimberly cried. “You have no idea how crazy it was getting living there again. Neither one of them could seem to wrap their minds around the fact that I was an adult and began treating me like a teenager.”

  “I bet that was fun.”

  “Yeah, so much fun that Dad decided I should have a curfew and then tried to ground me for breaking it. Can you believe that?”

  “Sadly, yes.”

  Kimberly shook her head and then quickly tried to twist the steering wheel to the left as a large pothole appeared. Her wrist couldn’t make the necessary pivot, however, and within seconds, groceries were bouncing off the seat and onto the floor.

  “Shit!”

  “What happened?” A worried film coated Melissa’s voice.

  “Ah, nothing, I just hit a huge pothole that probably killed a carton of eggs. You won’t believe the roads up here. Winter was a real bitch. Did you know we got almost two feet of snow one night in February?”

  “Yeah, it was all over the news. Hell we even got some down here with that storm and I can pretty much see Mexico from my apartment. It was great. Everyone was freaking out like it was the end of the world or something and it was only two inches.”

  “Really?”

  “They even shut down the schools. I couldn’t believe it. I remember times when we got six or seven inches and still had to go to class.”

  “Unless you went to St. James or St. Francis, they always shut -- oh fuck!”

  “What now? Your tire busted?”

  “No, no, I think I made a wrong turn. I still haven’t fully figured out the roads in this neighborhood yet.”

  “You know, maybe Mom and Dad were right to treat you like a little kid, I mean, if you can’t even find your way home from the grocery store -- ”

  “Shut up.”

  “Do you at least know what street you live -- ”

  “Shut up!”

  “Okay, okay,” Melissa said, and then, after a few seconds of silence, “So, you all settled in yet or do you still have a lot of unpacking to do?”

  “God, I’ve barely even made a dent and am royally pissed off because Kyle hasn’t come to help me once. He didn’t even show up to help me move like he said he would.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “And get this, he told me it was my fault because I gave him the wrong day and time which is complete bullshit since we had been talking about it for weeks.” Kimberly felt the anger of that moment returning and quickly tried to smother it.

  “Is this the same guy that caused you two to miss a movie because he lost track of time while playing a video game with his roommates?”

  “Yeah,” she confirmed.

  “And the one who sets limits on phone calls and will simply hang up on you if he feels you two have been talking for too long?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow, sounds like a real winner. You should have Cosmo do a write up on him so other guys know how to behave.”

  “Hey, come on, he has good qualities too,” Kimberly said.

  “Really?”

  “Yes!”

  “Well, I hope they start to show.”

  Kimberly resented the tone and unspoken implication. It was one thing if she complained about Kyle; it was another for those she was talking with to start bashing him as well.

  “So, who ended up helping you move?” Melissa asked.

  “Just some friends from school.” She pulled the car to a stop at another unfamiliar intersection. “Had to bribe them with the promise of free pizza, but it was worth it.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yep.”

  Silence settled.

  Kimberly decided to continue forward, her mind hoping to see something that would pinpoint her location. Nothing upon the street stood out, however, and she soon found herself sitting at another intersection, panic rising, eyes desperately searching back and forth.

  “You still there?” Melissa asked.

  “Yeah, I’m just having one hell of a -- ” the words halted as she looked up at the stop sign for the crossing traffic, her eyes settling on a very distinctive piece of artwork that had been added to it -- artwork that most guys would probably claim they had modeled for given the unrealistic size that was displayed. “Oh snap, I figured out where I am.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep, believe it or not I’ve got a penis pointing the way.”

  “What?”

  “Someone painted a giant white penis on the stop sign near my place. I noticed it the first time I ever drove this way to the apartment.”

  “Nice, and it points to your place?”

  “Well, no. My street is the next one down. South Street to be exact.” She made the turn while talking. “It’s the second to last house on the right. Hey I completely forgot to tell you, guess what’s within walking distance of my backyard?”

  “Um, an endless desert with cacti, tumbleweeds and rattlesnakes?”

  “That’s your backyard you brat.”

  “Oh right -- sorry. What’s in yours?”

  “A really big graveyard.”

  “No way, honest?”

  “Yep, and get this, the guy that lives in the apartment above me is a horror writer.”

  “Seriously?” Melissa asked. “Like a real writer that has published books and stuff, or a wannabe who calls himself a writer and brings his laptop to Starbucks?”

  “A real one I think. If not then he must have some other work at home job because he like never leaves the place.”

  “Hmmm, well that’s pretty cool.”

  Kimberly relished the excitement that carried across the phone connection. Her little sister had always had an obsession with the horror genre and seemed to crave everything within it.

  “So, what’s his name?” Melissa asked.

  “Oh, hmmm . . . good question.”

  “You don’t know his name?”

  “I only met him once when he came down to say hi and asked if we needed a hand moving my stuff. I’m sure he introduced himself, but I was so busy that I can’t remember.” She took a right into her driveway and parked next to the side steps that led up to her kitchen. “I guess he’s pretty shy too, at least that’s what the landlord told me.”

  “Shy as in ‘I’m socially awkward’ or ‘I have several bodies in my closet and don’t want to draw any unwanted attention to myself?’”

  “Wow, as if I didn’t have enough on my mind already, now you try to add a crazy horror writer killer living above me to the mix.” She looked over at the steps leading up to the writer’s second floor apartment, her mind picturing him carrying a bloody garbage bag down to the cans in the middle of the night. It was a ridiculous image.

  “Hey, at least you didn’t live there during the blizzard,” Melissa said. “He might have pulled a Jack Torrance on you.”

/>   “Do I even want to know what that means?” She shifted her attention toward the backseat and reached her free hand into one of the fallen bags to see what was inside. Relief soon followed. Nothing within those bags had been breakable.

  “The Shining by Stephen King,” Melissa said. “It was made into a classic horror movie by Stanley Kubrick. Any of those names ring a bell?”

  Kimberly sighed. “Yes. So, not only are you suggesting I have a crazy killer horror author living above me, but now the place is haunted too. Super.”

  “Well, Jack was a play writer, not a horror writer, and one never really knows if the hotel was haunted or if it was just him, so you’re in the clear on those two fronts. However, you might want to find out if he has published any super violent novels under a pen name because you never know when that half of him will start to take over -- oh, and check his marriage record.”

  “Is that a Stephen King one too?” Kimberly asked.

  “All the great ones usually are.”

  “Good point. Well, if anything crazy happens I will know where to turn for guidance. In the meantime, I better start unpacking these groceries before the heat kills them. It’s hotter than hell up here right now and I only bought like a hundred dollars worth of stuff that needs to go into the fridge.”

  “Okay, yeah, I actually need to run too and get some lunch before the DFAC shuts down. Tell Mom I said hi if she calls to pester you in the near future, and find out his name so I can buy some of his books, and then fawn over him when I come up to visit at Christmas.”

  “You fawn over someone? No one will ever buy it. Talk to you later.”

  “Haha, yep, bye.”

  Kimberly closed the phone and started to step out of the car, but then leaned back in to grab the keys, her mind realizing she couldn’t leave the car running because she needed to unlock the apartment door. Unfortunately, this act triggered memories of living in Champaign, Illinois and the hell that had encompassed the last few months of her life there before moving back in with her parents.

  Don’t, she warned herself. It was two years ago.

  Holding back painful memories wasn’t easy though, and within seconds, she found herself completely engulfed.

  Footsteps echoed.

  Kimberly turned and watched as the young mailman rounded the corner, his feet quickly taking him from the overgrown grass of the front yard to the scarred up concrete of the driveway.

  “Well, hello again,” he said with a smile, his feet gliding around all the potential trip points between the yard and the second two mailboxes without incident. “Still moving in?”

  “Nah, all finished with that,” Kimberly replied. “Just unloading groceries now.”

  “Ah, the big stock up,” he said. “I remember doing that myself many times. It’s always amazing how many things you have to buy when you have absolutely nothing in the kitchen.”

  “Oh, I know.” In all honesty she hadn’t really been all that amazed or surprised since this was her second time around. “So, was there anything for me today?”

  “Actually, yeah, quite a bit.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yep, almost had trouble fitting it all into the box too, mostly since you got a big padded envelope.”

  “Wow, okay.” She hadn’t been expecting anything, especially something that would be in a padded envelope, and had figured it would take at least two weeks before all the junk began to arrive.

  The mailman smiled and then went about filling her neighbor’s boxes, one of which was positioned next to the stairs leading down, the other on the stairway leading up.

  Kimberly, meanwhile, went about unloading her groceries, which took about eight minutes, and then pulled her car around to the garage. While walking back she watched as the writer guy hurried back up his steps, a bundle of mail in his hands.

  It’s almost like he times everything so we don’t ever come face to face, she noted as he stepped back into the apartment above, the wooden balcony groaning with relief as his weight disappeared. Or is it just coincidence?

  Kimberly thought about this for a second as she went around to retrieve her own mail from the front of the house, her mailbox still being the original box that had been bolted beside the front door when it was a single family home, and then contemplated forcing a face to face meeting by simply heading up the steps and introducing herself again as she walked back around to the side door.

  Not now, she told herself. You have groceries to unpack.

  Before heading in she glanced at the junk mail to see if there were any coupons worth keeping, and dropped the rest into the green recycle bin next to the steps. She then began to rip into the large envelope, curiosity on what it could be getting the better of her as her fingers struggled to get beneath the tape that helped seal the flap. Once open she paused to step into the kitchen and then reached inside. Tissue paper met her fingers, something soft and clothing like beneath it. She pulled it out.

  What in the world? she silently asked as her fingers unwrapped a very risqué piece of black lingerie, one that left more skin exposed than it covered. Then, In your dreams, Kyle.

  Anger followed as memories of their Valentine’s Day dinner several months earlier arrived. First Kyle had flat out told her he hadn’t gotten her a card due the amount of money he had already spent on her gift -- another risqué undergarment -- and because of how pricey dinner was going to be -- anyone who thought Big Bowl was pricey needed to get out more. He then had suggested she not eat too much because he didn’t want her to become so full that she couldn’t proceed with their after dinner ‘fun’, where, he told her, she would be able to wear the sexy lingerie he had gotten her and show him how much she appreciated him.

  The worst part of all, however, had been her indulgence in his wishes. Once back at his place she had taken a moment to put on the lingerie and then given him a blowjob. Later, back at her parent’s house, she had thrown up, the constant thought of his semen mixing in with the shrimp dish she had eaten causing her stomach to purge itself. Tears had followed, along with a decision to break up with Kyle the next day.

  But you didn’t, she said to herself.

  Fear of being single kept intervening every time she worked up the courage to break it off with him. Fear of . . .

  She pushed the thoughts from her mind and quickly carried the lingerie into her bedroom; a toss from the doorway allowing it to land on the bed.

  After that she headed back into the kitchen to start unpacking the groceries, her mind debating on whether or not she would call Kyle afterward or wait and see if he called her.

  2

  Kimberly forgot about her decision to call Kyle for several hours, a problem with her TV and Internet connection following her distribution of the grocery items forcing her to call Comcast and find out what the issue was. Naturally human error was to blame; someone on their end having switched off her service for a lack of payment. Unfortunately the person on the phone couldn’t fix the issue himself and informed her that she needed to go down to the local Comcast office and show them her lease to prove that she actually was the new resident of the house on South Street.

  “But I was just in here the other day getting everything all set up,” Kimberly told the lady behind the counter once she was at the office. It was located on Route 23, about fifteen minutes from her apartment.

  “We still have the Roberts listed as the residents,” the grumpy lady said. She had a pillow behind her on the chair and kept shifting it around to better cushion her lower back. “Are you sure this is the right address?”

  “Yes,” Kimberly said. Keeping her voice calm wasn’t easy -- not after having explained all this the Friday before to another employee. “The Roberts moved out last month, and I moved in last week. And this isn’t a house with one owner, it’s a house divided into three apartments, one of which I am now renting.”

  “Well, the address is still listed as a single family home,” the lady said. “And the Roberts are listed as
the tenants.”

  Kimberly shook her head and pointed to her lease. “That is an official renter’s document that lists me as the person living there. Now, I brought this in the other day and everything was set up without a problem. My TV and Internet has worked since then until this afternoon. Why has it now suddenly been switched off and why is it once again listed under the Roberts name?”

  The lady didn’t have a good explanation, yet she continued to be difficult for nearly twenty minutes. During this time a line grew behind Kimberly, the lady being the only employee at the desk. At one point she actually suggested Kimberly come in the following day when there would be more employees working so that she didn’t cause such a hold up, but Kimberly refused, the idea that the lady was almost saying this was her fault nearly pushing her over the edge.

  “I’m going to have to make a copy of this,” the lady eventually said while taking hold of Kimberly’s lease. “And you need to tell your landlord that he needs to list the house as an apartment building rather than a single family home now that he’s decided to start renting it out.”

  “Fine,” Kimberly said. Truth was she wouldn’t do any such thing, not when verifying such information was between Comcast and her landlord. She did, however, call her landlord just to let him know that Comcast might be getting in touch with him, and, in the course of the conversation mentioned the trouble she had just endured.

  “Ah, you know what,” Mr. Ludlow said, “for several years we just ran one cable into that place and had all the TVs and computers hooked up to it through the ground floor apartment and everyone paid a third. Last spring, however, someone bought a whole bunch of adult movies that added a hundred dollars to the bill, and no one would claim responsibility. After that, everyone agreed it was time to separate the service. Unfortunately, Comcast has never been able to fully understand the situation. Brian, the guy that lives beneath you, got so frustrated that he switched to DISH network, which is why you have a satellite dish sticking out of the side of the house, and Bill, the guy above you, decided after a month of fighting with them to just go without TV and Internet because he realized he was getting much more work done without them.”