Twisted Tales

by Brandon Massey

  She kept walking until she reached the cul-de-sac at the end of the block. Then she turned around and began walking back. She prepared herself to pass his house again.

  This time, she saw him. He’d opened the garage door. He emerged from the cavernlike darkness of the garage like a creature stepping out of its lair. He held a push broom in his large, meaty hands.

  Brown-skinned, Lonnie stood around six feet two, with the hulking, flabby build of a football player gone to seed. He had dark eyes set in a clean-shaven face that looked as soft as a young boy’s. He wore a wooly Afro, and he was dressed in a T-shirt that read, WHITE FAMILY REUNION 2002, and faded, paint-spotted Levi’s.

  He looked harmless, really. Like the good-natured, neighborhood man-child who offered to cut your grass for ten dollars. Or the mild-mannered, former high school classmate whose name you could never remember. But Lonnie White was a monster—a modern-day predator. He had served six years in prison for rape, and was reputed to have been responsible for many, many more sexual crimes, but they hadn’t been able to pin additional charges on him. He’d been unemployed and living in his mother’s house for four months now. Olivia doubted that any of the neighbors knew who he really was.

  But she knew better.

  As Olivia neared, Lonnie set about sweeping the driveway, though it already looked clean to her. Mimi began to growl, which was atypical. Her dog was usually friendly to everyone.

  Mimi knew better, too.

  Lonnie stopped sweeping. “Now that’s a cute dog. Does she bite?”

  He had a soft, mellifluous voice, with a gentle Georgia accent. Not the sinister voice of a vicious criminal. It was unnerving.

  Olivia forced herself to smile. “No, she’d never bite. She’s completely harmless.”

  Lonnie grinned. He had perfectly straight, white teeth—they belonged in the mouth of a better man. “What’s her name?”

  “Mimi.”

  By now, Mimi was barking.

  “Feisty little thing, ain’t she?” Lonnie asked. He leaned against the broom.

  Olivia tugged Mimi’s leash. “I’d better get her home.”

  “You take care, miss. I’ll see you around.”

  Lonnie watched her as she walked all the way back to her house. She could feel it. She had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming.

  An hour later, Olivia was watching television with Mimi on her lap when the doorbell rang.

  Mimi hopped off Olivia’s lap and raced to the door, barking.

  “Go lie down,” Olivia said to the dog. Rebuked, Mimi slunk away, a growl rumbling deep in her throat.

  Lonnie was at the door. He’d changed into a polo shirt and clean jeans.

  She had expected him, but her heart picked up speed.

  “Evening, miss.” He held a plastic grocery bag in his hands. “My mama asked me to give you this, since you was new to the neighborhood. A welcoming gift.”

  It was a pecan pie from Kroger. The price tag was still on the plastic lid.

  Olivia accepted the pie. “Thank you, this is a nice gesture.”

  “My name’s Lonnie.” He stuck out his hand, which was large enough to palm a basketball.

  Olivia hesitated. How many women had he pinned down with this hand as he violently thrust into them? How many horrified screams had that palm muffled? How much innocent blood had spilled through those fingers?

  Striving to conceal her revulsion, she shook his hand. It was clammy, like shaking hands with a waterlogged corpse.

  “I’m Olivia.”

  He held on to her fingers a beat too long to be neighborly. She shoved her hand deep into her pocket, wishing she could wash it.

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Olivia.”

  She caught a whiff of cheap cologne. He’d splashed on far too much, had taken a bath in the stuff. It made her want to gag.

  “Is the man of the house home, too?” he asked. “I’d like to say my greetings.”

  Clever. Fishing for information.

  “There’s no man of the house,” she said. “It’s just me and Mimi.”

  “Ah, gotcha.” He chuckled, but she could see the machinery working in his brain. “You one of those independent women, huh? Live in a house by yourself and all?”

  “I guess I am, Lonnie.” She added: “A good man is hard to find.”

  “Keep your eyes peeled. Never know where you might meet him. He might just come knocking at your door one day.” He blushed slightly, and lowered his gaze, as if ashamed at his own brazenness.

  “Wouldn’t that be something?” she asked.

  Lonnie shifted from one foot to the other. He wanted to come inside, she sensed. But she wasn’t ready for that—yet.

  “Thanks for the pie,” she said. “It was nice meeting you. Tell your mother I said hi.”

  “I sure will.”

  He stood on the doorstep, without moving.

  Her heart boomed so loudly she wondered if he could hear it.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  He smiled hesitantly, like a shy teenager.

  “Aw, nothing,” he said. “You have a good night.”

  “You, too.”

  She closed the door.

  Lonnie remained on the doorstep for a half a minute before he turned and shuffled away.

  Olivia sighed. Then she went to the kitchen and tossed the pecan pie in the wastebasket. And she thoroughly washed the hand that had shaken his.

  That night, Olivia took a bath before retiring to bed. Submerged in the garden tub, she luxuriated in the scents of lavender and vanilla, sipped a glass of Chardonnay, and performed what had become a nightly ritual: writing in her diary. She balanced the journal on the lip of the tub.

  May 7

  Today, I finally spoke to Lonnie. He looks the same—like a harmless oaf. It’s no wonder that he’s fooled so many women.

  Now that he’s met me, I don’t think it will be long before he will try something. It’s inevitable. He can’t control himself.

  He never should have been released from prison. I’ll call everyone first thing in the morning.

  The clock is ticking ...

  Olivia stepped out of the tub and dried off with a thick, warm towel. Leaving the towel on the floor, she walked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.

  She enjoyed the feeling of cool air caressing her bare flesh, but she was not doing this for mere sensory pleasure.

  Before bathing, she’d pulled back the thin curtains on the large bedroom windows. Not all of the way, but wide enough to give someone a tempting peek, a tantalizing glimpse.

  Someone like Lonnie.

  He would be watching her house. With binoculars. That was the way he stalked his prey. He’d admitted it during his trial.

  She paraded past one of the windows, her breasts bouncing.

  Watch me, baby.

  She walked in front of another window, as if moving about the bedroom cleaning or looking for something.

  Mimi lay on the bed, head cocked, watching her quizzically.

  “You think he’s enjoying this?” Olivia asked the dog. Mimi wagged her tail.

  Olivia approached a window, acted surprised to notice that the curtains were parted, and cinched them together—but not before giving anyone watching a full frontal view.

  That’ll get his heart racing.

  She strolled to the other window and pulled together the curtains on that one, too.

  She’d left her nightgown on the bed, near the first window. She dressed, slowly, positioning her body to provide a luscious silhouette viewable from outside.

  By now, he probably was masturbating.

  She cut off the lights.

  She sat on the bed and waited for a few minutes.

  Then, she crept to the window and peered through the curtains.

  A tall, husky black man with a cap pulled over his head ambled down the street, binoculars in his hand, like a kid walking home after his favorite movie.

  She’d pegged him perfectly. The pervert.<
br />
  “Show’s over, Lonnie,” she said. “Come back for the sequel, tomorrow night.”

  But as it turned out, she would see Lonnie earlier than that.

  The next day was a Saturday. Unlike most people, Olivia did not sleep in on the weekends. She rose at dawn and exercised in the fitness room she’d set up in the finished basement. She put herself through a punishing, two-hour workout. Aerobics, weight lifting, and knocking around the hundred-pound heavy bag.

  Afterward, she showered and made several phone calls. It took an hour for her to call everyone that she needed. By the time she finished, it was nearly ten o’clock.

  She changed into a cherry-red bathing suit. It was going to be in the low 80’s, a nice day for taking in some sun rays—though she was not really interested in a tan.

  She lay on a lounge chair in the backyard, wearing sunglasses, sipping a tall glass of sweet tea, and listening to an India Arie CD. Girl-power songs about loving yourself and taking control of your life. She periodically checked her watch. It wouldn’t be long.

  Barely an hour after she had begun sunbathing, Lonnie poked his head around the corner of the house.

  He wore the same family reunion T-shirt and paint-soiled jeans he’d worn yesterday. He was getting comfortable with her. Or perhaps he was just filthy.

  “Good morning, Miss Olivia.” He gave her a half-wave. “I rang the doorbell, then I heard the music playing and figured you was out back here.”

  “Hi, Lonnie.” She put on a plastic smile. She shifted on the lounge chair, to best display her legs and cleavage to him. “You’re an early riser on the weekends, I see.”

  Lonnie’s lips had parted. He stared at her body. Gawked really. His eyes had glazed over, and she was sure that he hadn’t heard a word that she’d said.

  He had an erection, too. One of his hands slid into his pockets and slowly stroked its length.

  Revulsion curdled her stomach. He was cruder than she had thought.

  She cleared her throat. “Lonnie?”

  He blinked. His eyes swam back into focus, and he snatched his hand out of his pocket, shamefaced, though his erection remained.

  “Good morning, Miss Olivia,” he said, clearly not realizing that he was repeating himself.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Umm, I was gonna offer to cut your grass,” he said. “It looks kinda high, and since you ain’t got no man here to cut it for you, I’d be happy to do it.”

  As he spoke, he didn’t meet her eyes—he kept his attention focused on her body, his gaze crawling across her hungrily. Olivia felt as if spiders were creeping across her flesh, but she forced herself to stay calm.

  “That would be nice of you,” she said. “How much would you charge me?”

  “Aww, it’d be free—for you. Little way for me to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

  She didn’t bother reminding him that he had already given her a welcome gift—the pecan pie—last night. Neither did she say that nothing in life was ever free.

  She only said, “That’s sweet of you, but I won’t ask you to do it for free. How about I cook dinner for you tonight? Would that be a fair reimbursement?”

  Lonnie gulped. “You’d cook dinner for me?”

  “Certainly. What do you like to eat?”

  He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “I love me some catfish. That’s what my mama cooks, every Friday. Fried catfish and French fries. When I was in the pen—”

  He stopped, laughed nervously. She watched him, waiting for him to continue.

  You can’t fool me, Lonnie. I know your life story, you sick bastard.

  “When I moved away from home for a little while,” he said, “I missed Mama’s fried catfish most of all.”

  “Fried catfish it is, then—though I can’t promise that I cook it as well as your mama does.”

  He giggled, like a child. “What time we gonna eat?”

  “How about eight o’clock?”

  He bobbed his head. “I’ll be there. Want me to bring some hot sauce?”

  She smiled thinly.

  “I’ll have all the heat you need, Lonnie.”

  Giggling deliriously, he hurried away to get his lawn mower.

  Olivia returned inside the house.

  There were preparations, beyond the food, to be made for tonight.

  Lonnie rang the doorbell at a quarter to eight o’clock. Well in advance of their dinner date.

  Olivia had been prepared for his overly eager arrival. She checked her hair in the mirror one final time, made sure that her short skirt and blouse looked good, and answered the door.

  Lonnie wore a dress shirt and slacks. He carried a glass jug of Carlo Rossi blush wine.

  “They had a sale on wine at the store,” he said. “I got me three jugs of this—left the other two at the house. I can get another one if we drink up all of this.”

  “That’s so thoughtful of you,” she said, taking the jug. “I’m sure this one will be sufficient, Lonnie.”

  He moved closer, his bulk filling the doorway. Once he crossed the threshold, that would be it. This would move from a case of subtle manipulation to an eventual life-or-death struggle. There would be no turning back.

  But that was what she had signed up for.

  “Come on in,” she said.

  “Thanks, Miss Olivia.” He walked inside. He looked around, appreciatively. “This sure is a nice place you got here.”

  “Thank you.” She showed him into the living room and handed him the remote control for the television. “Make yourself comfortable. What would you like to drink?”

  Sitting on the sofa, he smacked his lips. “How about you crack open that jug of wine? I got it nice and cold.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Where’s that little cute dog?” He looked around.

  “I put Mimi in the basement, so she won’t bother us. We can have a quiet evening to ourselves.”

  His grin was so large it seemed it might consume his face.

  “I’ll go get that drink for you,” she said. “Dinner will be ready in a little while.”

  She strutted down the hallway, toward the kitchen, swinging her hips sexily. She heard him make a low whistle.

  When she got into the kitchen, she opened the wine, and took two glasses out of the cabinet.

  She also removed a bottle of pills from the cabinet. A powerful sedative that could be absorbed in liquid without leaving a trace. After a few sips, Lonnie would be in La La Land. And then this would finally be over for her.

  She shook two of the pills into one of the glasses, and splashed wine over them. She filled another glass, her glass, with wine, too.

  Then, drinks in hand, she sashayed down the hallway and into the living room.

  Lonnie was gone. The TV was on, to the evening news.

  Terror leapt in her chest. Where was he?

  She heard the faint creak of a floorboard, behind her. She spun.

  “Sorry, Miss Olivia,” Lonnie said, and clouted her upside the head with a blunt object.

  Olivia awoke sometime later to find herself lying on the sofa. Her head ached. Rough rope bound her wrists and ankles. She had been stripped to her bra and panties. Her clothes lay heaped in a pile on the carpet.

  The large clock hanging above the fireplace read fifteen past eight. She’d been unconscious for ... what? Twenty minutes?

  She was alone in the living room. But she heard Lonnie’s heavy, thudding footsteps moving around upstairs. Searching through her stuff.

  She had underestimated him. Once he entered her home, she should not have allowed him out of her sight, not for one second. The sisterhood had warned her about that.

  She had made a rookie mistake, and she might have to pay the terrible consequences.

  From where she lay, she could see the phone, lying on an end table. A red light on the cradle would indicate whether someone had called. The light was not lit.

  That meant they had not called t
o check in yet. They had no idea of the danger she was in.

  When an entrapment date was set, the sisterhood was supposed to call during the event, to confirm that the operative was safe. But they never promised precisely when they would call, to prevent the operative from furtively glancing at the phone and possibly alerting the prey that something was afoot.

  If they called and she did not answer, they would dispatch back-up assistance immediately. But they might call five minutes from now—or two hours from now. You never knew when.

  You assumed such risks when you signed up for the job.

  As a last resort, there was a panic device that, once activated, alerted the sisterhood that you required emergency assistance. Resembling a tiny key chain, you wore it around your neck on a lanyard, and pressed the button only when absolutely necessary.

  Lonnie had taken off her lanyard. It probably lay in the mound of clothes on the floor. Out of her reach. It didn’t matter, since she was tied up.

  How was she going to get out of this?

  She tried to loosen the knots, but she was bound tight.

  Lonnie began to come downstairs. He was reading something. Her diary.

  Tension tightened her stomach another painful notch.

  “Hmmm,” Lonnie said. Flipping through pages, he crossed the living room and sat at the foot of the sofa, near her feet. He glanced at her. “Ain’t this interesting? Sound like you know all about me, don’t it?”

  “Lonnie, please, I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

  “Then what was you planning, then?” He removed the bottle of pills from his shirt pocket, shook it. “You was gonna give me some of these so I’d fall asleep, then you was gonna call some folks here to catch me, wasn’t you?”

  “No, it’s not like that—”

  “That’s what you wrote in here!” He flung the diary across the room. It struck the wall and fluttered to the floor like a dead bird. “I ain’t going to prison again, uh-uh. I’ll kill myself before I go back to that place.”

  “I want to get you help, Lonnie,” she lied. “That’s all. That’s what we do. We help people like you.”

  “Help me? Ain’t I heard that before?” Lonnie laughed. He put his meaty hand on her thigh, rubbed. He leaned closer to her. His breath stank.