by C. K. Vile
Nick readied himself for violence, but it never came. Instead, Danielle scurried to the door and swung it open. The security alarm screeched, a welcome third party to this unbalanced duet.
“Fuck you, Nick. Fuck your stupid fucking face.”
Danielle was gone. She floored the gas in her piece-of-shit car and peeled out of his driveway, throwing dust into the air.
Nick exhaled for what seemed like the first time in five full minutes. He slammed his front door and hurriedly punched at the keys to his alarm. The digital caterwauling was cut by silence. Deafening, heavy silence.
He was alone again, in a town that hated him for no reason. Alone, and the focus of an emotionally disturbed individual.
He wished he could talk to Danielle about it, strangely enough.
Chapter 13
Nick’s phone rang and a shot of adrenaline joined the blood pumping full steam through his heart. He cursed, psyching himself up, preparing himself for the worst. He expected it to be Danielle, calling him on her way back to town to scream more profanities at him.
He pushed the button on his phone’s screen and was surprisingly pleased to hear Officer Roberts’ voice on the other end.
“You alright out there, Mr. Dawkins?”
No. No, he was far from ‘alright’. Where did he start? His kind-of-sort-of-girlfriend had been secretly stalking him for months? How about ‘this crazy chic has my name tattooed on her fuckin’ arm’?
“Jesus man, I don’t even know where to begin.”
Officer Roberts spoke like he was reading from a written prompt. “Are you in immediate danger, Mr. Dawkins?”
“Immediate danger? I don’t think so. I’m hoping the woman is gone, but let me ask you, do you know this Danielle girl that lives above Bonnie and…”
Roberts wasn’t listening; he interrupted with a gruff, “If you’re not in immediate danger, please feel free to give us a call to file a report in the morning, Mr. Dawkins.”
“Hey, bud, are you even listening?”
“Yes sir, heard every word. Now again, if you’re not in immediate danger, please feel free—“
Nick hung up the phone. He couldn’t have been a lower priority for them.
He paced around his living room for a while and considered his options. They were practically non-existent.
In an effort to isolate himself from the madness that seemed to permeate the outside of his home, Nick locked his front door and re-armed his security system.
He collapsed into his bed, exhausted. Damn. It still smelled vaguely of Danielle, so he stood and ripped off the sheets, tossing them into the farthest corner of his room before sprawling back onto the bare mattress. The adrenaline that pumped through his veins subsided, and he felt himself nearly melt into the cloth. In the morning he’d decide what to do about her. File a restraining order?
His eyes closed, the weight of the day pressing them down. He drifted into oblivion; into the black and quiet void of unconsciousness.
***
The loud note at the beginning of Nobody But Me pulled Nick from his dream-state.
What the hell—?
The bass-beat of the song pounded at his head like a jackhammer.
No-no was right, he thought as the first line of the song played.
He sat straight up in bed. Where the fuck was the song coming from?
Nick climbed out of bed and stumbled toward the origin of the music that’d dragged him from his slumber. What the hell? It came from outside. From his front lawn.
Nick moved to the front door. The music pulled at him like a sick Pied Piper. It was his song. His anthem. The music he played when he celebrated after writing a solid piece.
And it was coming from Danielle’s car. Her 1994 Shitbox, currently parked on his front lawn and blasting music at five-something in the morning.
He looked out the window and surveyed the lawn, seeing Danielle sitting on the hood of her car. It was too dark to see clearly, but it looked as if she was gazing lazily into the sky. The doors of her car were open, letting the music escape into the night.
Dread rushed over him as he connected the dots.
This wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Danielle must have heard him play this song before. Had she been nearby, listening the other night after he wrote The Inn? How else would she have known it was special to him? And now… now she was sitting on his lawn and playing it like a deranged John Cusack in Say Anything.
Nick remembered the moment when he thought he’d seen someone in the trees below his balcony. It was her. It was Danielle, it had to be. And she’d been watching him? For who-knows-how-long and had, straight-up, stolen his song.
He watched as she swung her foot back and forth with the music. She lowered her head and looked right at him.
Holy Christ.
He backed away from the window. She couldn’t possibly have known he was there. She was an impressive, if also highly dysfunctional, human being, but she probably wasn’t a mind-reader. If that were the case, he was well and truly screwed.
He ran back to his bedroom as the music boomed. His phone sat on his nightstand, ready to call the FDPD for help; a couple of finger-strokes and he was on point.
“Forest Down Police Department, what is your—Dawkins?”
Caller ID said everything he needed to. Help me, bro.
Danielle sat on the hood of her car and rocked out like Coachella had been staged in front of his house.
“Eric?” Nick whispered into his phone. “Eric, help. This fucking girl, man. Danielle? The one who lives over Bonnie and Chuck’s place? She’s parked on my lawn. Fucking get out here.”
On the other end of the line, Officer Roberts coughed and cleared his throat. “Would you please state your emergency, Mr. Dawkins?”
Nick felt like he was talking to a wall. Wasn’t ‘crazy-person-blasting-his-favorite-song-on-his-front-lawn’ clarification enough?
He took a deep breath, knowing he needed to get Eric on his side. “Hey, Eric, I know I’m not your favorite person in the world, but do me a favor and get your ass out here. This kid’s all sorts of screwed up. She’s scaring the living shit out of me. She broke my TV last night.”
Officer Roberts mumbled and put Nick on hold. While he listened to The Girl from Ipanema, he crept back to the window and looked out. Danielle was still engaged in a dance party as the song ended and repeated.
Worst case scenario… he could run her off himself. He didn’t want it to come to that, it’d be nice if he could talk some sense into her, but he didn’t imagine that would happen. Sense didn’t seem to come natural to her.
Officer Roberts picked up the line.
“Sheriff’s on her way out, Dawkins.”
“I appreciate it, but whoever’s driving by on night shift would be fine.”
“Sheriff lives out that way. She’s en route. You want me to stay on the line with you?”
“No, no, it’s okay. You have a good night.”
Officer Roberts hung up.
Nick watched the clock as though he could speed time along by sheer force of will. If anything, it moved slower.
He heard the sound of a car door and thought Sheriff Reed had arrived. He looked out the window and was surprised to see Danielle had climbed back into her car. The music continued to blare through her open window.
She drove backwards off his grass and onto the concrete. Nobody But Me faded into the distance as she backed down the drive and disappeared.
Nick was equal parts glad Danielle had disappeared and afraid Sheriff Reed would think he’d cried wolf. As afraid as he’d been before, with the immediate threat gone, he felt like he’d jumped the gun.
He tapped his fingers on the wall, trying to decide whether to call the station and let Roberts know Reed’s visit could wait until morning. Then again, she was already awake and on the way. Being told “sorry, never mind, false alarm” may aggravate her more.
Sheriff Reed pulled up the drive in her cruiser and ende
d Nick’s internal debate. She stepped out of the car and he went outside to greet her.
“I’m sorry they got you out of bed for this, Sheriff,” he said, trying not to look as asshole-ish as he felt. “You just missed her.”
“I think I may have passed her on the road,” she said, tipping her chin in the direction she’d came. “I wanted to make sure. You alright?”
“A little shook up. The whole thing was weird.”
Reed turned her flashlight on and pointed it at the ground. There were long, flattened grooves in the yard where Danielle had driven across it. Proof! At least he had that much. He could almost feel his chest puff out in satisfaction.
“Roberts said it was the girl who rooms with the Littleberrys? I heard you two were getting pretty chummy.”
“How’d you hear that?”
“It’s a small town, Mr. Dawkins. People talk.”
Nick shrugged. “Well, yeah, we were, but I found out she’s basically been stalking me for… Jesus, I don’t even know how long. I have no way of knowing. But she’s got my name tattooed on her arm.”
Reed raised her flashlight at Nick. He squinted in the light.
“She moves pretty fast, huh?”
He shook his head. “No, no. It’s not a new tattoo. It’s a little faded. Not a lot, but enough. She’s probably had it for years. I think she moved here to be close to me.”
Reed examined the grass again. “You sure do draw them out of the woodwork, don’t you, Mr. Dawkins?”
“What can I say, I’m a popular guy.” He meant it to come out funny; she wasn’t laughing.
“Debatable.”
Nick pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to fight off the oncoming headache. “I don’t know what to do at this point. I freaked out. I dunno, I shouldn’t have called.”
Reed pointed her flashlight at him again. “Don’t think like that. That may partly be my fault, and if that’s the case, I apologize.”
“I don’t follow.”
Reed turned off her flashlight and slipped it back onto her belt.
“Mr. Dawkins.” She paused. “Nick. Maybe it’s the late hour. I don’t know. But I’ll level with you. I love this community. Lived here my whole life. I care about its people.”
“Sure,” he agreed, nodding.
“It’s always been quiet. Aside from the occasional drunk and disorderly, people don’t cause a lot of trouble. When there is trouble, it’s usually outsiders.”
Nick nodded again. Drowned babies and double homicides at The Shady Thicket came to mind.
“Then you came along,” she continued, crossing her arms over her chest. “And you know what you brought with you? Outsiders. Some of it’s justified, some of it is small-town tribalism, but outsiders make people around here nervous. I’m defensive of that. But, that said, you may be new to the area, but the truth is, you’re a member of this community now.”
“Does that mean you care about me too?”
It was too dark to tell for sure, but he could almost feel her roll her eyes. “Don’t press your luck. All I’m saying is, don’t hesitate to call us when someone intrudes on your property because you’re afraid of being a nuisance. That’ll be the time you end up hurt or worse. Feel me?”
He felt her all right and the relief from her words went straight to his toes. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you saying that.”
“Now, regarding your girlfriend.”
He shook his head. “We had like two dates.”
“Either way. You have a couple of options. We could probably get her for criminal trespassing if you want to press charges. Think about a restraining order if you think it’ll come to that.”
He wasn’t sure about either option. A part of him wanted Danielle to be ‘normal,’ whatever that meant. He wanted to go back to watching movies on his couch; to wake up next to someone who hadn’t invited themselves into his bed.
“I don’t know.”
“Sleep on it.” She pointed at him. “Lock your door. Arm your system.”
“Definitely will.”
“And if you want a real piece of advice, think about investing in a gun.”
“Jesus.”
“I know you liberal Hollywood types don’t like guns.”
He bristled, not liking to be stereotyped. “I wouldn’t say I’m a Hollywood type.”
“Whatever,” she sighed. “Think about it. If this is going to keep being a thing, it’s better to be safe than sorry. Protect yourself.” Reed walked back to her car. “Try to have a good rest of your night, Dawkins.”
Nick went back inside and locked up. The house was like a tomb. He could have heard a mouse fart.
The only thing he heard was the chorus to Nobody But Me. It haunted him, and stuck in his head. Dammit.
***
Nick slept fitfully, when he did sleep. He finally crawled out of bed at half-past eleven.
He looked at his phone. Blaire had texted him.
“Not sure what to make of this. Call me.”
The phone rang on Blaire’s end as he trod across his house to the kitchen.
Coffee.
“Nick, hey.”
He formed words the best he could. “Blaire. ‘Sup?”
“Yeah, I was trying to figure out what to make of this e-mail I got from your girlfriend. I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend.”
His pulse raced.
“What e-mail? What’d she say?”
“Let’s see… blah blah blah, Nick’s girlfriend, blah blah blah, should take a look at this. Basically, she said you sent her my way with this story. I’ll be honest, it’s not doing anything for me.”
“Let me guess. Flypaper.”
“Flypaper, yeah. Did this not come from you?”
Nick leaned on his kitchen counter, his head buried in his hand. “Hell no. I’m sorry, disregard it. The whole e-mail, everything. And she’s not my girlfriend. She’s another one of these crazy fans, apparently.”
Blaire’s relief was palpable. “Oh thank God. I had no idea how I was going to tell you it was garbage.”
“No need, I know it’s garbage. I can’t believe she e-mailed you. Sorry again about that.” Nick’s laptop caught his eye. He wondered how busy Danielle had been. “Hey, I hate to cut this short, but there’s something I should check on.”
“How’s the writing coming?”
Would it have killed Blaire to listen to him for once?
“It’s not. Gotta go.”
He hung up before she could get a word out and hit ‘CorpseFlower’ in his saved numbers.
“Yo yo yo, motherfucker, what’s uuuuuuup?”
Normally, his webmaster’s crazy humor would get a smile out of him, but today was not that day. “Corpse, hey, sorry to bother you, but this is kind of important. Has someone claiming to be my girlfriend e-mailed you or anything?”
“Your girlfriend? The one you went on a date with the other night? Damn, son, you move fast. Well played, good sir!”
“First, she’s not my girlfriend.” He was already tired of saying that. “She’s a fucking nut. Second, she e-mailed my agent saying she was my girlfriend and sent her a short story she wrote. Flypaper, it’s called. You haven’t gotten anything like that? She wouldn’t know you I guess, so she might have sent it through the webmaster e-mail on the site.”
“Soz, Brobocop, nothing’s come through like that. Huh. Flypaper, you say? Why does that sound familiar?”
“Yeah.” Nick heaved out a breath, realizing he would have to tell the story. “It’s this terrible thing about a guy and girl who work at a flypaper factory, end up screwing themselves to death on a giant piece of flypaper. It’s as awful as it sounds. Worse, even. I can’t do it justice.”
Corpse howled. “Nah, I’d for sho remember. Telling you, I’ve heard that name before though. Like a while back. Flypaper. It’ll drive me nuts.”
“If you figure it out, let me know. Now I’m curious.”
“Fo shizzle. Oh! I meant to
tell you, The Inn is blowing up out there. I’m seeing it linked on Twitter, Facebook, you name it. And they’re hungry for more. If you’re not gettin’ busy fuckin’, you need to be gettin’ busy writin’.”
“Yeah.” Thanks for the reminder, Corpse, it’d been a full four minutes since anyone else had. “Alright. I gotta run. Long, stupid night. Body demands coffee.”
“Caffeine! Do it. Do it. Do it.”
Nick imagined Corpse had an intimate relationship with caffeine. He ended the call, opened his cabinet and stared.
Of course he was out. Of course he was. It was the one damn item he’d forgot to pick up at Bonnie and Chuck’s.
And getting more meant willingly walking back into the spider-web.
Fuck.
Chapter 14
Nick entered Bonnie and Chuck’s and the bell above the door rang. He winced.
Outside of his home, Bonnie and Chuck’s store had been the only place in Forest Down Nick was comfortable.
That was before the tenant occupying the space directly above the store had revealed herself to be a lamp-welding, song-stealing fanatic with his name tattooed on her arm. She’d waited three months for an opportunity to meet him. ‘Dedication’ was the nice way to put it. ‘Obsession’ was more accurate.
“Nick! Fancy seeing you here.” Bonnie’s surprise wasn’t unfounded. In two years, he’d never been in their store twice in a week. “You forget something the other day?”
Chuck set down a box of canned vegetables. “I don’t think he’s here for groceries, dear.”
Chuck was right. And wrong.
The bitch of the situation was he liked Dani. A lot. It hurt more than he’d have guessed, realizing the funny and charming girl was an illusion. An outright lie.
“You’re here for Dani, aren’t you?” Bonnie bustled out from behind the front counter and headed for the stairs at the back of the store. “I’ll get her for you, dear. One second.”
“No!” Nick startled himself with his reaction. As shocked as he was, Bonnie and Chuck looked doubly so.