Flypaper: Dark Psychological Thriller - Book 1

by C. K. Vile

  She ran for the kitchen while Nick tottered to the bathroom sink. He rinsed and spit several times, but that taste was there to stay. Probably because it was in his nose.

  He spit into the sink for the eighteenth time and stumbled back to the living room. The couch greeted him like his oldest and dearest friend.

  “Fuck me.”

  The room gradually quit dancing. The faucet in the kitchen squeaked on and water drummed on the bottom of the sink. So much for dinner. So much for the night in general. So much for Danielle. In his experience, girls weren’t into the Technicolor yawn.

  Danielle came back into the living room, her bottom lip protruding ever-so-slightly.

  “Okay, so the eggs are fucked. But no worries, if I get hungry I’ll help myself to whatever. Deal?”

  “You don’t have to stay.”

  Danielle plopped onto the couch next to Nick. His stomach reminded him who was in charge then fell silent.

  “Nonsense, I want to. Are you okay?”

  Should he tell her the story? The story? It was a lot to dump on a half-stranger, especially one he was starting to like-like.

  “I’m fine. You mentioned my mom. And me being sick as a kid. And I was cooking. Perfect storm.”

  Danielle read of confusion. She put her hand on Nick’s, but said nothing.

  He cleared his throat. “You know what Munchausen’s Syndrome is?”

  Danielle nodded. “I spent a lot of time on the internet in that little room of mine.”

  “My mom had what’s called ‘Munchausen’s by proxy’. It’s where the mother poisons her kid to get sympathy or attention from people.” Nick took a breath to calm the jangling nerves.

  “I’ve read about it. That’s why you were sick a lot? Holy shit.” Danielle said.

  “Right, exactly. Turns out Mom’s secret ingredient was bleach among other things. A teacher at school noticed I was out an awful lot. Man, I wish I could remember that teacher’s name now. Anyway, I haven’t seen Mom in years and years. But sometimes I remember those days a little too vividly. As you can see.”

  Danielle reached up and stroked his hair. “Now I know why you wanted to cook for me instead of vice versa.”

  Nick laughed and a stray piece of vomit lodged itself in his throat. He should cut his losses and call it a night.

  Danielle gestured in the direction of Nick’s substantial DVD collection. “How about we watch a movie? Take your mind off it?”

  Nick choked the vomit back down. “Fair enough. After I brush my teeth.”

  ***

  The credits rolled.

  Nick and Danielle had watched about four minutes of the movie. The remaining ninety-two minutes, they’d talked about everything from their favorite movies to what it was like growing up in relative isolation.

  Nick never had so much in common with a person before. It was uncanny. Was this what love was? He’d never used the word outside of fiction.

  Danielle picked popcorn out of the bowl on the coffee table.

  “Hey, I want to ask you a question.”

  Nick sat up, attentive. She had an element of seriousness about her. “Shoot.”

  “Remember how I said I wrote a little bit?”

  Another familiar experience. Nick had this conversation lots of times, although he was usually less receptive to it.

  “You want me to read your work?” he asked.

  Danielle clutched her hands together. “Would you?”

  “Love to.” Judges say: Half-truth. On the one hand, this girl was plenty impressive in every other facet possible. There was a chance she’d written an interesting piece. On the other hand, if it was bad, that could be an awkward conversation.

  Fingers crossed.

  “What’s it called?”

  “Flypaper.”

  The word hung in the air. It rolled around Nick’s brain and made itself at home. It invoked flies and dead, sticky things. Finally, he nodded and decreed, “That is a great fucking title.”

  Danielle lit up like a ten-year-old mainlining sugar. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, that’s excellent, no kidding. Now I’m curious.”

  Danielle’s face dropped. “You weren’t before?”

  Her sudden shift in demeanor sent Nick into damage control. Sensitive about the writing, got it. “No no, I was, but I mean, damn, that title has me intrigued. It’s a good thing.”

  Danielle relaxed and gesticulated wildly. “I’ve always found flypaper fascinating. It’s one of those weird things kids gave me shit for.”

  Kids could be cruel. What did they know?

  “Fascinating how?”

  Danielle leaned in close. “I always found the concept to be strangely romantic. Hear me out.”

  There was nothing on Earth that could stop him from hearing this out.

  “See, the paper has this sweet smell that draws the fly in. They can’t help it. They find it irresistible.”

  She leaned in even closer. Holy shit, she was gorgeous.

  “The fly moves in.”

  Her breath feathered against his face. Was she moving in for a kiss? How did his breath smell? He brushed his teeth, twice, but still. He admired the tenacity.

  “The fly makes contact.”

  She stroked his cheek, near where Plain Jane had nicked him. He violently shoved Jane out of his head.

  “And the fly is bound to the paper for the rest of its life.”

  Nick’s heart pounded.

  “Alright, that is actually the most twistedly romantic thing I’ve ever heard. I’ll give it to you.”

  Danielle kissed him. He kissed her back.

  Point of no return.

  Chapter 7

  A chill ran through the air surrounding Nick’s balcony.

  He inhaled deeply. All-in-all the night had gone pretty well.

  Aside from the vomit, that was. That part was hell.

  Still, Danielle had stayed. She’d eventually eaten some of the snack foods he kept around for in-case-of-emergency writing rations.

  And they’d had sex. It’d been years since Nick had been with anyone. He thought he’d performed well, though he didn’t have a real basis-for-comparison.

  The night was colder than most that time of year, but old habits die hard, and 2:15 was right around the corner.

  He ashed into the mouth-tray next to his chair and the wood creaked behind him. He turned his head to see Danielle standing in the doorway in his University of New Mexico t-shirt and underwear.

  “I woke up and you weren’t there.” She rubbed her arms. “Holy fuck, it’s cold out here.”

  He flicked ash off the end of cigarette. “In all fairness, you’re not wearing any pants.”

  She smiled wryly. “I thought that look was your favorite.”

  Nick took a drag and blew smoke into the air. “I have about ten favorites when it comes to you. My least favorite is seeing you uncomfortable and cold.”

  She smiled at him, looking as if she warmed at least twenty degrees with his words. “What are you doing out here?”

  Nick reached for Danielle, who came to him and sat in his lap. She was the affectionate sort; he could get used to that. He rubbed her bare legs to give her warmth.

  “This is sort of my spot. I spend a lot of time out here, around this time of night in particular.”

  Danielle shifted in his lap to make herself more comfortable. “And why’s that?”

  Nick took his time selecting the right words. He twisted his head and looked at the clock inside.

  2:10 a.m.

  “I said I moved out here because I thought that’s what writers do. And that’s mostly true.”

  Danielle wrapped her arms around his neck. “Mostly?”

  He bobbed his head back-and-forth. “Eh, it’s true I guess, but it’s only part of the whole. Let me start over.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t like people much. Most people, I should say. There are a few good ones. Present company included.”

  Nick rubbed Danielle’s
back. She rested her head on his and sighed happily.

  “Go on.”

  “It’s gotten to be such a shit-sandwich out there. Everyone is always angry and self-certain. No one listens to anyone. It’s gotten to the point you have to shout to be heard because the internet has given a voice to every asshole in the world with an ax to grind.”

  He became self-aware and shook his head.

  “Sorry, I sound like the old guy telling the kids to get off his lawn again, don’t I?”

  “You sound like you miss the isolation.”

  “I guess I do. It was how I grew up. Sitting in my room all day reading, and watching Creepshow or whatever. Shit, you want to hear something stupid crazy?”

  Danielle nodded.

  “Sometimes I liked being sick. It sucked, of course, but it was a get-out-of-everything-free card. I had no responsibilities. I got to stay home from school and, most of the time, it meant I got to do what I wanted with my day.”

  His voice cracked slightly. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

  “And my mom was there. And she took care of me. I didn’t know she was the one who made me sick, so in that time, you know, at that moment, she was the one who took care of me. That’s how I knew her.”

  Danielle kissed him. It was a little weird. Maybe she didn’t know what else to do—that would be understandable.

  Nick rubbed his hand across his eyes. “Fuck, sorry. Damn dusty out here sometimes.” He was being facetious. The emotional source of the moisture in his eyes was obvious.

  She touched his face. “Don’t be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

  Nick sniffed. “I feel like this is an awful lot to unload on someone. Anyway. There was this one time, near the end, where I was beyond sick. I was old enough to think I was dying, and in retrospect, I probably was. So Mom took me to the hospital and they ended up keeping me overnight for observation. And the room was unbelievably dark, even with the door cracked. I wasn’t used to that. I liked all the horror stuff back then, but I slept with a nightlight. Go figure.”

  Danielle put her finger on the end of Nick’s nose. Interesting quirk. He moved past it.

  “My mom stayed with me there in that room, sitting in the dark, in a chair. I couldn’t see her, but knowing she was there made me feel better. Long story long, as much as I like being by myself out here most of the time, I start to get… I don’t know if there’s a word for it. I imagine it’s sort of what claustrophobia feels like. But I sometimes need to feel connected to the world. Not isolated, but without the hassle of dealing with other people. Make sense?”

  “I think so, yeah.”

  In the distance, the 2:15 Express whistled. Nick lifted his hand.

  “There it is.”

  Danielle craned her neck and listened. “There what is?”

  Silence, aside from the bugs. Then, the whistle again.

  “The train?”

  “Every night at 2:15. I hear that, and even if I haven’t heard from or seen another human being in days, I know the world is still out there. Carrying on. I’m never truly alone. Not more than I want to be, at least.”

  The two sat quietly, listening to the train whistle sound off in the dark. Danielle spoke up. “Why do they do that?”

  “What, the whistle every few seconds?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m not sure. If the railroad crossing signs aren’t working, cars will know there’s a train coming? Or in case there’s a cow on the tracks?”

  The train’s whistle continued to blow. They listened together as it got closer, and closer, and as it got farther and eventually faded into night.

  Danielle shivered. “It’s insanely cold out here.”

  “True enough.” Nick patted her on the leg. “Let’s get you back inside.”

  “Oh, wait a second.” She jumped up and ran into the house. Did she mean for him to wait there? Wait for what? She ran back onto the balcony toting her phone. “This feels important.”

  She dropped back into Nick’s lap and leaned her head in next to his. “Say choo-choo.”

  She snapped a photo and Nick smiled awkwardly. This was the kind of thing people did in new relationships, surely. It always felt strange. And this girl was fantastic. What was there to not like? That she wanted to remember their first night at his place? It wasn’t that weird.

  Danielle tapped away at her phone. “I’m sending this to my friends.”

  Nick had a girlfriend in college who hadn’t given one shit about their relationship. Julie Driver. Dating her was like dating a work of art. Pretty to look at, but he did the talking, made the effort. He’d decided back then he wasn’t wild about apathy.

  Maybe he was too critical. Maybe he needed to let the fuck go and enjoy the person the universe had dropped into his lap.

  They hopped out of Nick’s chair and went back into the house. He slid the balcony door closed. Locked it with a smirk.

  Danielle wrapped her arms around him from behind. “God, you feel good.”

  Nick recognized the sensation crawling up his back, at least the one that wasn’t Danielle’s fingernails. This was clinginess. He’d experienced it in college as well. Wendy Watkins. She crawled up his ass after the first date and didn’t leave until the overly dramatic break-up.

  He didn’t need another Wendy Watkins.

  Nick punched in his security system’s alarm code. Funny how it was even more important when he wasn’t alone than when he was. If a crazed fan broke in during the night and found Danielle in his bed, they wouldn’t react well. He didn’t want to be responsible for what they might do. Best to take precautions.

  The two crawled back into bed. Danielle wrapped her arm and legs around him and Nick drifted off to sleep.

  “I love you, Nick.”

  He was wide awake again. Even Wendy Watkins had waited a couple of weeks before she busted that one out.

  He pretended not to hear, pretended to be asleep. He hoped the pounding in his chest didn’t give him away. It must not have. Danielle was in dreamland moments later.

  Nick didn’t sleep for another half-hour.

  ***

  The light of the computer monitor cut through the dark room. Music played, loud and obtrusive.

  A notification flashed and dinged on the screen repeatedly.

  “New post by Flypap3r.”

  The cursor moved to the notification. Click. The post opened up; it was a picture of Nick and the girl. Night. Probably in real-time. There was a caption below it.

  He’s all mine now. The happiest I’ve ever been in my life. This was followed by an over-abundance of little hearts.

  She was in a t-shirt. University of New Mexico, his alma mater. Nick was smiling in the photo, but it was the kind of smile a person might have worn if someone put a gun to their head and said, “Smile, motherfucker.”

  The wall behind them was dark green. A sliding glass door was visible to the side.

  This was Nick’s house.

  The time on the computer read 2:32.

  Was she there now? Did she stay the night? Much faster than anticipated. He must have taken to her. How incredibly amusing.

  Another click and the website opened up, a black-and-red portal into the world of Nick Dawkins’ most devoted fans.

  Myiasis.

  The post had already been viewed and commented on by multiple people. It was mostly a stream of hate and anger directed toward the original poster. Member after member cast judgment and scorn upon ‘Flypap3r’, the girl who’d wormed her way into Nick’s home. His bed. Probably his heart.

  OMG.

  Is she fucking him, WTF???

  I’m going to literally kill myself right now.

  Fuck this bitch!!

  The flock was certainly vocal regarding the new development. And generally none-too-happy. Posts of approval broke up the rancorous responses.

  I hope she makes him happy.

  I think it’s nice.

  Gais, if he likes her this i
z a gud thing.

  That sort of thing was shouted down by people who demanded an end to Flypap3r’s antics, one way or another. Preferably with her head on a stick. Post after post appeared. Arguments broke out. The site’s once-relatively harmonious community was in chaos.

  Perfect.

  Chapter 8

  Forest Down’s Main Street was unusually busy. The locals hustled and bustled up and down the sidewalks. Until they saw Nick approach, that is. Once they noticed him, everyone stopped dead in their tracks. They all stared right at him.

  Was his fly down? He checked it, and when he looked up again, most of the people were gone without so much as a trace. Simply vanished.

  Nick walked into Bonnie and Chuck’s store. The bell above the door rang. And rang. And rang. For the longest time, it wouldn’t stop ringing. It was the damnedest thing.

  Bonnie and Chuck waddled up to him like penguins on speed.

  “Heya, stranger! Almost didn’t recognize ya!” Bonnie’s glasses were larger than he remembered. They took up half of her face.

  “Welcome to Hell! How ya feeling?” Chuck’s were the opposite. His glasses were much smaller, no bigger than quarters. They couldn’t be doing him much good. His hat moved as if it had a life of his own.

  Nick needed eggs. He was completely out of eggs. He moved to the refrigerator section and spied a carton inside. He opened the door and the cold air surrounded him.

  Something moved upstairs. Footsteps.

  “Such a lovely girl.” Bonnie was holding a bouquet of flowers. Flowers of every color; orange, blue, purple. They radiated light.

  Nick reached into the fridge for the eggs, but they were gone.

  “Can we make you some food?” Chuck flipped a burger on a charcoal grill. Smoke filled the store. It seemed like a fire hazard to Nick, but what did he know? He wasn’t a fire marshal. Or Smokey the Bear.

  Nick waved Chuck off. Suddenly, food was the last thing he wanted. He didn’t feel well. He’d come back another time to get some eggs. He stopped at the front door and turned to say good-bye to the Littleberrys.

  Bonnie and Chuck were facing away from him, motionless.

  “Bye guys.”

  They didn’t move or respond in any way. In the corner of the store, the night clerk of The Shady Thicket Inn helped himself to several jars of peanut-butter. He was naked. A weasel was having its way with his leg.