Random Revenge

by William Michaels

  Lenny couldn’t decide between the mask and the nylons, so he took both with him as he got out of the car. He reluctantly left the camera, the last thing he needed right now was a keepsake photo of his bloody nose. The street was dead quiet, the last dog walker long since passed, not even noticing Lenny slumped in his seat. Melanie’s front porch light and living room lights had gone off a half hour ago.

  Lenny stepped across the street, heading toward the back alley. While still a block away his heart leapt when he discovered that the lights in the rear of Melanie’s apartment were off as well. Which meant she was in bed.

  His steps quickened, the mask in one hand, the nylons in the other.

  Gigi lay her head on the pillow, her hair still a little wet, but the sleeping pill had hit fast, maybe her empty stomach, maybe the long day. She hadn’t even bothered to turn on the tv in the bedroom to help her relax. Random thoughts flowing through her head, tomorrow was trash day, the cake she had to make for the office party, getting the car oil changed. Calling Melanie and apologizing for her mean phone message, asking about whether her lead had worked out. Buying an air purifier for her bedroom. She needed to write some of this down, she needed her lists, too much to remember. But just the thought of turning on the light was tiring, she was drifting off, so much to do, something pulling at her brain as she fell asleep, yet another task in her endless list, she’d left the windows open, she’d never done that . . .

  The wheezing air through Lenny’s still swollen nose was the loudest sound in the alley. Not a light on anywhere along the back of the complex. Even though the rain had ended, the night was cloudy, giving Lenny the perfect cover. Dark, but still easy to make out the gate which led into the small yard behind Melanie’s apartment. Lenny left the latch undone.

  One last look up and down the alley. No one there. He turned to the apartment and was greeted with his first bit of luck: all Melanie’s windows were open. Maybe she always slept with the windows open, he didn’t know, he didn’t care. He just took it as a sign, he was doing the right thing, maybe the gods were finally giving him a break.

  A whole string of losses had weighed on him, dragging him down. It wasn’t like he had fallen from some lofty perch; although he bragged about LA, things there hadn’t been much better. Yet each day brought him farther from his dreams, farther from his needs. The move east. Bullshit tips about possible celebrity sightings. Smashing up his hand. Getting beat up in the bar.

  Worse, possibilities dangled in front of him, only to be yanked away, driving him down, kicking him. Finding Melanie, and then getting blown off by her. Coming up with the idea of making both of them famous, and then Melanie stealing it.

  Fucking Melanie. Time to show her, time to turn this all around. Having something go right, just for once.

  He’d use the mask, it would be easier to take off, easier to reveal himself to Melanie. Shock and awe.

  Lenny crouched under the living room window, adjusting the mask, the simple act strengthening him. The casement was open far enough for him to stick his head right up against the screen. With no light behind him, he knew he’d be invisible. He was invisible, a superhero with a mask, a cloaking power.

  No one in the room, the nightlight leading his eyes to the hallway. He stepped across the pathway, into the garden. Aside the bedroom window he stopped to listen. Nothing. Even his nose had cleared up, another sign.

  He peered into the room.

  Much harder to see, no light, the bedroom door probably closed. Yet an unmistakable form in the bed. She was so close . . .

  He stared at the form, his heart pounding. Not a form, Melanie. His Melanie.

  His fingers felt for the screen, no way that would work, too loud. Pushing any thoughts of frustration out of his head—he was on a new path, he could feel it, there was simply no room or need for frustration—Lenny retraced his steps to the other side of the back door, all the way to the far end of the unit. Here, under the living room window, he went to work, his fingers shaking with excitement.

  The blade on the pocketknife slid easily through the screen, the tearing sound no louder than a rustle of leaves. Lenny had this same type of screen at his old house, two simple press in latches holding it in place midway up. He only needed to cut a tiny slit, virtually invisible, just enough for the blade to reach the latches. Once freed, Lenny twisted the screen so it fit through the window and set it on the floor.

  Still not a sound from the apartment. Lenny hoisted himself up on the sill, gritting away the pain from his hurt hand.

  He was inside.

  One last adjustment of his mask as he tiptoed across the living room. The hallway would be risky, the nightlight. He’d turn it off once he got his bearings.

  The bedroom door was unlocked, another sign, Lenny feeling it, everything going right. He should have done this a long time ago, taking things into his own hands. Not waiting for the world to come to him, but taking the initiative. He didn’t need roofies, not any more.

  He bent to snap off the nightlight, then grasped the door handle.

  Shock and awe.

  The door opened soundlessly, the room pitch dark. But Lenny had memorized it from his earlier reconnaissance, he had fantasized for hours about being in this room. He knew exactly where the bureau was, where the chair was, and especially where the bed was.

  He stood over the bed, letting his eyes adjust. Melanie was sleeping on her side, facing away from him, the covers half thrown back. It was hard to tell what she was wearing, he assumed some kind of sexy lingerie.

  What did a woman that beautiful dream about?

  Lenny wasn’t so egotistical to think she was dreaming about him. Not yet.

  Very gently he lifted the covers, now wishing he had left the light on, he wanted to see her, this other side of Melanie he hadn’t seen, so vulnerable.

  As slowly as he had ever moved, every shift a risk and a thrill, Lenny slipped into the bed, his clothes no barrier to Melanie’s heat, yet even the heat unable to stop him from shivering, to keep his hands from shaking.

  Time for the shock.

  In one motion he pulled her tightly against him, spooning, his mouth on her neck, turning her, he wanted one good kiss, so caught up in it he forgot the mask. He freed his mouth, hurrying, she’d wake, he needed to be kissing her before she had a chance to react.

  She was moving on her own, not really struggling, mumbling, still half asleep. Lenny pressed his mouth to hers, waiting for her response, but she just lay there. Lenny ran his hand down along her body, over her luscious breasts. She stiffened, and Lenny smiled in the darkness, she was awake.

  He let his hand drift lower, his mouth still on her, his lips working their magic. She still hadn’t said a coherent word.

  Lenny rolled right onto her, she didn’t resist at all, her lips moving, but not talking, moaning maybe. He’d been so right. The feisty Melanie was nothing but an act for the world, she just needed the right man to tame her.

  She just needed Lenny.

  Any minute now she’d come alive, she’d be the fiery Melanie that Lenny dreamed about.

  Yet she barely moved, a rag doll.

  She needed more shock. His hands sought out her crotch, and finally she reacted, her lips parting, Lenny taking that as a signal, his mouth back on her. He used his knees to spread her legs, sensing only token resistance.

  This was as far as he had planned on going, but her reaction begged him to keep at it, she wanted this, she wanted a man like him, she wanted him. Lenny.

  “Surprised, aren’t you?” he breathed, his own voice new to him, a powerful growl. “Bet you didn’t think I could do this.”

  His fingers grasped at her bottoms, pulling them down, her hips gyrating. Lenny fumbled at his own pants, trying to work the belt, hurrying, not wanting to lose this chance. Her hands moved in opposite directions, one grasping at his bandaged hand, the other pushing between them.

  His pants finally free, he poised himself over her, not believing his good fort
une. He hadn’t even dared to dream about this, about his plan working to perfection, Melanie helpless beneath him, wanting him so badly she couldn’t even speak.

  Yet he wasn’t ready for her, or at least the part of him that mattered. Painfully balanced on his bad hand, he willed his body to react, for his erection to appear.

  Melanie seemed to wait for it too, because she had gone limp again, as limp as he was. Mocking him.

  Bile rose in his throat, it was so fucking unfair, to be so close, his once in a lifetime desire before him, naked and ready, and he couldn’t rise to the occasion.

  So fucking unfair. Or in his case, not fucking unfair.

  This was more embarrassing than the damaged hand, than the broken nose. He couldn’t reveal himself to Melanie now, not in this position, as far from the alpha male as could be.

  Fighting back tears, he collapsed on her, his face in the pillow. With what little dignity he had left he mumbled, “The next time you see me you’ll know it was me tonight, and we’ll do it for real.” Not for a minute believing it himself, not wanting to have another dream shattered, but just in case.

  Lenny waited a few seconds for a reply, anything, some kind of reaction, a moan, a hint of expectation, of disappointment, but all he got was the mocking silence.

  He pulled her pajamas and underwear back up over her hips, like it was his idea.

  He rolled out of the bed, tripping, stumbling to the door with his pants around his knees, needing to get away before Melanie heard him cry.

  CHAPTER 10

  The harsh grinding forced its way into Gigi’s dream, an oddly welcome rescue from her nightmare. In that floating in and out state between sleep and wakefulness, Gigi opened her eyes into semi darkness. The sound came again, louder, powerful hydraulics, a machine of horror, yet oddly familiar.

  A garbage truck.

  No, that couldn’t be it, she never heard trucks so loud in her quiet bedroom. Must be the dream. Gigi closed her eyes, drifting back off, fighting to avoid falling back into the nightmare. The crash of metal on metal impinging on her brain, a slight hint of fresh air.

  Groggy, Gigi turned her head. The window of her bedroom, open. She never left the window open . . .

  The garbage truck whined, pulling Gigi from the sleeping nightmare. Why had she left the window open? Slowly it came back, the cigarette odor, Mel’s mess, the sleeping pill.

  She’d kicked off the spread and sheets in the night. Too early to get up. Reaching for them, a new odor in the bed, not cigarettes . . . beer? Mixed with another smell, burnt, earthy.

  Cringing, she reached for the light. The glare burned her vision, tears running as she squeezed them shut, not able to focus, dots floating in her pupils, dots of light still there when she opened her eyes, the dots transforming to random droplets on the bedspread, an assaulting stain on her usual obsessive cleanliness.

  Her mouth opened, a soundless scream, too stunned to remember how to use her vocal cords. She rolled out of the bed, wildly kicking loose from the sheets which threatened to envelop her legs.

  Another clang from the garbage truck, making her jump, jarring her into action.

  She forced herself to look more closely at the spots on the spread. Dried blood? Checked herself, no cuts or scratches. She’d washed the spread before she had left on the trip.

  Mel.

  The blood was probably days old, Gigi had been too tired to notice the night before, too out of it from the sleeping pill.

  But the smell of beer, still fresh.

  The mascara would be nothing compared to this if Mel had brought a man to her bed. And not washed the bedcovers.

  Gigi pulled on her robe and gingerly gathered up the spread and sheets with the tips of her fingers, dumping the load into the washer dryer combo in the little closet in the hallway, pouring in extra detergent and starting the washer. She padded into the hall, no way she was getting back in the bed, she’d lie down on the sofa for a while.

  Froze as she entered the living room, her favorite orchid plants overturned, dirt spattered across her pristine rug. The window screen on the floor, Gigi not comprehending, had the screen blown in? Walking closer, the scene finally registering, the violation of her apartment, her safety, her life, pricking her vocal cords to action.

  She screamed.

  Clasped her hand over her mouth, could someone be in the apartment?

  Gigi side stepped her still unpacked luggage and fumbled the latch to open the outer door. Her fear urged her to run, her anger rising, winning. She had to know. Leaving the door open, she grabbed one of the empty wine bottles by the neck and tiptoed back toward the bedroom, peering into the open bath door. Nothing. Glanced into the spare room. Back at her bedroom, the closet door stood ajar. Gigi took three quick steps, the bottle cocked, and jerked open the door.

  Just clothes.

  Her adrenaline inspired bravery slipped away, her hands shaking. She dropped the bottle and collapsed against the wall, confused. Had someone tried to rob her?

  She didn’t have anything valuable except for her diamond studs and a few hundred dollars emergency cash, which she kept in the top drawer of her dresser. She checked, everything in its place.

  Purse.

  It was on the table by the door, right where she’d left it. She examined the contents, all there. She quickly walked through the living room, nothing appeared to have been taken. Maybe the thief hadn’t even come in, something had frightened him off.

  Gigi picked up the phone, dialed Mel, got her voicemail. “It’s me, someone broke into my apartment, you didn’t let anyone see my stuff, did you?” Trying not to sound accusing, yet the mess she had found meant her sister had probably brought someone over. “Just call me, okay?”

  Gigi had never been robbed before, this was why she had moved to this nice neighborhood, to be safe.

  She gently picked up the orchids, maybe she could repot them. The potting mix had left a dark mark on the rug, and Gigi dutifully got out the stain remover and mindlessly went to work blotting it out. She couldn’t think straight, the shock of the break-in dulling her movements, and she was so very tired, why couldn’t she wake up? She closed her eyes, trying to remember the night. She had taken a sleeping pill but she couldn't recall actually swallowing it. That damned pill. Her memory was filled with only vague, foggy images.

  After the rug she straightened up the other fallen plants. She needed to separate herself from the mess, from the violation, get things back the way they were. She’d call the apartment manager and file a report.

  As she was fitting the screen back in the window she noticed dried specks on the windowsill. She’d just washed those windows, she wouldn’t have missed all this dirt. No, not dirt, it was . . . dried blood? She leaned over the sill, looking out, seeing the footsteps in the soft ground, seeing the drops of blood on the outer wall, under the window.

  Like the blood on the spread.

  The thief had bled here on the window, he’d bled in her bedroom, he’d been in the bed . . .

  Gigi dropped the screen, the bile rising up, and threw up on her boxwoods.

  “911. What’s your emergency?”

  “I think someone broke into my apartment last night.”

  “Are you at 611 Lakeview Apartments?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you safe? Is the person who broke in still there?”

  “What? No. I’ve locked everything up.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, it’s a small apartment, I’ve checked. I—I think I may have been—I think the thief may have touched me when I was sleeping.”

  “You were assaulted?”

  “No, I—I don’t know. I can’t think straight. I took some pills . . .”

  “Are you on medication?”

  “No, it wasn’t mine, I mean—”

  “Miss, are you under the influence of narcotics?”

  “No, it was a sleeping pill, and
something for my back.”

  “I’ll dispatch a patrol car, the police will come. What is your name?”

  “Let’s just forget it, okay? I’m fine, I might have been imagining it.”

  “Miss, the police will come and take a statement. Are you sure you don’t need medical attention? We can send a sexual assault counselor as well.”

  “No, please, can’t this just be anonymous? I don’t want my boss to find out . . .”

  “Miss, all calls to 911 are recorded. If you are in immediate danger officers can be there in a few minutes, otherwise someone will come take your statement about the break-in as soon as they are available.”

  “I’m fine, really . . .”

  “Is there someplace safe you can go?”

  “I guess I could go to my sister’s . . .”

  Melanie picked up the bits and pieces of her clothing as she made her way across the hotel suite. Fuck, what a night. The local press had tracked her down, calling and asking for a comment on the Shock and Awe situation, and she’d calmly played it cool, knowing it would only inflame their interest. She had wanted to go out and celebrate, and also get Jason’s threats out of her head, but she didn’t want to be seen.

  That didn’t leave too many options in Marburg, and though Boston was a possibility, she didn’t want to be far away. So she’d called Tim Tazik, the photographer, who had gleefully booked a hotel room a few towns over and brought two bottles of champagne. They’d just hung out at first, watching the Tony Awards. Melanie had done a little stage, she didn’t like it much, but most serious actors had it on their resume, it was just another rite of passage.

  The show got boring, as most award shows did. Still, Melanie wanted to be at one someday, even as an attendee, a lot of glitz, and the publicity was hard to beat, photographers lining up to take your picture, a lot of interest in what you were wearing. She wouldn’t even have to pay for the outfit, some fashion house would lend it to her, even the jewelry was borrowed.