by Megan Hart
Even in the short walk to the alcove they both got doused with rain. His hair hung in tangles and his jacket looked like she could wring it out like a towel. She felt some of her own makeup run and wiped it away with the back of her hand.
“You look like The Crow,” he said, “but prettier.”
“And you look like some greasy wrench monkey.”
“Easy, I am a greasy wrench monkey,” he said.
They laughed and went to the door. Keisha’s teeth chattered together in the cool air of her apartment.
“I’m f…f… fucking f…f…reezing,” she said.
“Me too.” He gestured to his jacket. “I knew I should’ve gone with Gore-Tex.”
“Gore what?”
“It’s a waterproof material… never mind,” he said.
She started taking her clothes off. His eyes bugged out at her.
“What are you…?”
“Strip,” she said. “These are going straight into the dryer before one of us catches pneumonia.”
“Fair enough,” he said.
“Go start the shower while I put these in the dryer. I like it hot.”
She dropped the clothes in the dryer and went into the bathroom. Dick already had the shower heated full bore with hot mist billowing behind the curtain. This is going to feel so good, she thought and leaned into Dick. They held each other, naked outside the warm shower, both looking for warmth from the other and finding it even against cool, damp skin. He kissed her and she smiled.
“After you,” he said and slid the curtain open.
She stepped into the spray.
“Mmmmmm perfect,” she murmured, and Dick stepped in behind her.
Until the water turned to lukewarm they took turns soaping and caressing each other, splashing and playfully smacking. A two-person slow dance under the heat of a hot shower. Shower sex had always been awkward when Keisha tried it before, but something about the two of them just worked. They got into a rhythm and even though it didn’t last very long, they were both satisfied as they clung to each other on weak knees.
Just before the water turned chilly they cut it off and dried each other. They’d showered so long that the clothes dryer buzzed. They dressed and shared Keisha’s favorite fuzzy blanket and a bowl of buttered popcorn and watched a movie.
When the movie was over, and it grew dark outside, Dick stood and yawned and told her he had to go. Keisha didn’t want him to leave, but she didn’t want to guilt him either. He’d told her before they came and she didn’t want to come off needy.
He hugged her goodbye in the doorway and gave her one last, lingering kiss. Holding her cheek, he smiled. “I kinda like you.”
“Good. You better.”
Dick drove away, and Keisha danced back inside with her head full of ideas and her heart with a growing sense of affection.
The Ouija board still rested on the kitchen table. She didn’t have any more ashes to sprinkle, but she wanted to try it anyway. She put her fingers on the planchette.
“Have I finally found the one?” she asked. “Is it Dick?”
The planchette didn’t move.
“Conrad, if you’re still there will you answer me? I really like this guy, can you tell me? Is Dick the right guy for me?”
The planchette still didn’t move. It only remained on that ambiguous letter.
Y.
13
The board didn’t want to talk to her, but Brady MacGregor did. Her phone bonged with an incoming text.
You are a fucking bitch.
“That’s not very nice, Brady,” she said to her phone.
Fuck you, you stupid fucking whore. I hope that asshole treats you the way you treated me and you get what you deserve.
She twisted the deadbolt on her front door and then did something she should’ve done a long time ago. She blocked his number. No more could that weasel send her awful messages. Keisha’d never done that to anyone before. She hoped it wouldn’t tell him he’d been blocked when he sent another message. That instead it would just go out into the digital ether where the rest of his asshole thoughts belonged.
She tried to keep both Brady and Dick off her mind. After spending twenty minutes or so idly fumbling through her phone willing it to ring with a new message or call from Dick, she decided to put it on silent and stick it under one of the couch cushions.
She walked three steps away and pulled it back out. Sent one quick message to Dick.
Thanks again for your help tonight, and then for warming me up. I had fun. Night.
It felt honest without being needy or aggressive and adding “night” showed she wasn’t looking to start a conversation. God, why was dating such a pain in the ass? Why was telling someone you were into them such a taboo relationship killer? The only answer she could come up with were guys like Brady. Without doing the dating dance, it’s way too easy to fall too fast and too hard with a total scumbag. Or fall too hard too fast and get ghosted. She’d grown so fed up with that, so she’d always been the one to do the ghosting.
She shoved the phone back under the couch cushion and went to her office where she tried to get a head start on some work.
She focused on the materials provided to her, studied them and sketched out some concept ideas with pen and ink. With four different options outlined, she sipped a cup of tea while she critiqued her work. Satisfied with the boost she’d given herself, she went to bed without checking her phone.
She slept and woke and showered and made breakfast for herself, stalling as long as she could before she picked up her phone. Holding her breath, she slid her thumb across and exhaled. No new messages.
So what, she thought. He said he went to bed early and had to work. Some people out there actually worked and didn’t spend all day screwing around on their phones, and today, I will be one of those people. She brewed herself a pot of coffee and disappeared into her office.
She spent the morning transferring her sketches to Photoshop and tinkering. Another client called around 10 am and asked to take her to lunch to talk about a future project. Keisha accepted, happy to get out of the house, and didn’t take her phone.
They met for lunch and this reinforced to her that she could get along just fine without Dick or any man. The meeting went great. Lunch drifted into happy hour and ended with a handshake and a promise that Keisha would turn around the project in the next week.
With no phone, she’d totally lost track of time, getting home just before sunset. She’d been gone a while, but had started hard this morning to get ahead on her current project and secure the next one. Not bad for a day, but unfortunately, Dick still weighed on her mind and she felt confused and annoyed when she got back to her phone. He still hadn’t responded.
“Fucking men and their fucking head games,” she said to her empty apartment. “If you fucking like a girl, answer her. Playing all coy, especially after you’ve already established such a powerful attraction is ridiculous. Can we just be people and talk like adults?”
She looked at the Ouija board and longed to ask it some questions, but without the ashes, Conrad was gone, no one left in there to talk to. She walked over anyways and picked up the planchette from the Y it had rested on for the last couple of days.
“Why won’t Dick answer me?” she asked.
Nothing.
Defeated, she poured herself a drink and went over her project for a while and when she finished, Dick still hadn’t answered.
She hated herself for what she was about to do, but she couldn’t help it. She sent him another message. She didn’t know what to send. She wrote, revised, deleted, and rewrote. Finally she went with, Hey, hope you had a great day. I’ll be around if you get bored, and pressed send before she could second-guess herself for the thousandth time.
As soon as it sent she laughed.
“Oh fuck, that’s terrible, oh well,” she said. “Goddamn it.”
He didn’t answer and she went to bed, and when she woke up, he still hadn’t answered
.
14
“Fuck that asshole.” It was noon and he still hadn’t answered. She couldn’t understand. She tried to stalk him on Facebook but he didn’t have a page. Couldn’t find him on Twitter or anywhere else either. Good thing she didn’t know exactly where he worked, she was feeling hurt and crazy enough to go pay him a visit. None of this made any sense.
She was more mad at herself for getting worked up than anything, but it consumed her. She couldn’t concentrate and looking at her computer screen gave her a headache. She took the afternoon off and walked to a movie theatre down the block, and took her time coming home. She found living life without her phone with her constantly sort of liberating, but not completely as she rushed home to check and see if Dick left her a message.
Her heart skipped a beat. After almost two whole days, he answered her.
Hey there, sorry it’s taken me so long to answer. Work has been crazy busy the last two days and my son (yes, I have a son) broke his arm. Been trying to console him and deal with his mother, and keep things moving at work, and it’s hard to focus on much else at the moment. He goes back to his mother this weekend, maybe we can meet up then? How about we talk on Friday?
Relief cascaded over her and Keisha scolded herself for getting so carried away the last few days. Everyone has a life, and it’s not his or her responsibility to be on call 24/7 even if technology tried to convince her otherwise.
Now she faced a new problem and laughed out loud. Did she answer right away and let him know she’d been waiting? Or did she act busy herself and make him sweat it?
She decided he had enough on his plate.
Oh, I’m so sorry. That’s awful. I hope the little guy is okay and heals up quick. Do what you gotta do, mister. I’ll be ready and we’ll see if we can meet up or something. :D
He answered almost immediately with, Sounds great, and a smiley face of his own.
See, she told herself, quit being so damned paranoid. You two hit it off and he likes you, just relax, let it happen and enjoy the ride. Nothing to stress over.
With her fears alleviated and something to look forward to, the rest of her week passed in a blur. After finishing up her current project, she rewarded herself with a rare midweek day off and spent half a day at the spa, manicure, pedicure, facial, and a massage.
That Friday she kept an eye on her phone hoping that he’d text her first. It didn’t really matter, but a small part of her thought that him contacting her earlier rather than later would redeem him. But she waited and waited and by early afternoon, she still hadn’t heard anything.
At about six pm, after spending the whole week relieved, she found herself wound up even tighter than she was before, and getting angry with herself for being childish all over again.
As she held her phone, wanting to text him something nasty, but knowing she wouldn’t, it vibrated in her hand.
A new message from Dick.
Hey, sorry I’m a little late texting you. Had some trouble getting in touch with my ex, but I just dropped my son off. With the crazy week, I’ve got some things I have to finish tonight, but how about dinner and drinks tomorrow? See you at 7? At the Bourbon House? I’ll be the one dressed up this time.
Part of her felt relieved that she’d once again misjudged the situation, but another part felt agitated. Had he not one spare moment to tell her this earlier in the day? Why did he need to hold her hostage all day? She could’ve made other plans tonight. She started sounding paranoid even in her own mind. He’s probably oblivious, or maybe he’s just not a texter, maybe instead he’s got his concentration on his career and his kid. Can’t really fault him for that.
Plus the Bourbon House? Hell yeah, it was one of the nicest places in town with melt-in-your-mouth steaks and aged bourbons from around the country. Also, he said he’d be dressed up. It sounded like a nice, formal date to her.
Ok, see you then.
And though dinner wasn’t for almost another twenty-four hours, she started getting ready after she replied.
15
Saturday afternoon Keisha got serious about preparing for the evening. She’d spent the night before trying on clothes and plucking eyebrows and painting nails, but that afternoon she put all her efforts together.
She chose a red dress with gold pumps and a black and gold purse. Her hair rested on the tops of her bare shoulders and her makeup complimented her best features. She wanted to surprise him with her look, but also wanted to entice him and get a response beforehand.
She took a selfie with her dress pulled up so it showed her full thigh down to her gold shoes. The way she snapped the picture made it look like she wore nothing but the shoes. A perfect, sexy image. She took a snapshot and sent it to Dick with the caption, See you in an hour.
He answered almost instantly.
Oh baby, yes, yes you will.
She smiled, glad she had his attention and that he was indeed capable of answering a fucking text message.
At six-thirty she left and arrived at the Bourbon House a few minutes before seven. Outside it was just cool enough to force her inside to wait and her phone buzzed.
Hey you. I’m running a few minutes late. Why don’t you grab a seat at the bar? That way we won’t have to wait on a table. I’ll be there in a few. Can’t wait to see you.
“Fucking unreal,” she muttered under her breath and responded with a clipped, Ok. Fine.
The restaurant buzzed with activity, and every stool at the bar held a patron, but a few of the high tops were empty. She grabbed a seat facing the door and waited.
A few minutes later a waitress took her drink order, brought it, and she finished it. Still no sign of Dick, and no message either. What kind of games was this guy playing? She sent an angry message that Dick didn’t answer and she ordered another drink, and he still didn’t show up. She sipped from her glass and watched the door, ready to cry and puke at the same time.
In walked Brady MacGregor. She gaped in disbelief and froze to her seat. He saw her, waved, and took the barstool opposite her.
“Hey there. All alone are you?”
“What the fuck are you doing here? Are you following me again? This is ridiculous.”
“Where’s your big boyfriend? What was his name? Dick? Well, I gotta say, he did give me a nice tip.”
“This is not fucking funny, you are a psychopath.”
“But I never would’ve stood you up,” Brady said, his eyes like stone. “You look nice by the way, that idiot doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
“You know he’s going to be here in like two minutes, so why don’t you scram before he gets here and beats the shit out of you.”
“I think you got played, and we both know it, but go ahead, why don’t you call and tip him off. Tell him to hurry up.”
Anger flared on her face and she dialed him in her phone and it rang. She looked at Brady who pulled something out of his pocket and laid it on the table. Keisha stared, knowing what she was seeing, but too shocked to make sense of it. The phone vibrated across the table. With her phone to her ear, Keisha flipped over the one on the table. It said: In coming call from: Keisha followed by her phone number.
She tried to hide her fear and keep calm. “How… how do you have that?”
“You think you just met him by chance?” Brady asked. “Hell no, I hired him to see if you ghosted every guy the way you ghosted me.”
She shook her head.
“No. No way. You couldn’t have.”
“You’re right. I made that up, but that would’ve been clever. Looks like he’s the one that broke your cycle, so…” He held up the phone. “I ghosted him. For good.”
“But… but how? Why? You didn’t even know him.”
“It’s amazing what kind of information you can get off of a driver’s license,” he said. “People give me their addresses without knowing it all day long. I’ve developed a pretty good memory over the years, and every now and then one of them comes in handy.”
&nbs
p; “Where is he? Did you hurt him?”
“Relax,” Brady said. “He’s right here.”
Brady pulled a prescription bottle from the inside pocket of his jacket and showed it to her.
Ashes.
“You didn’t. That doesn’t prove anything. You’re bluffing.”
“I did. Trust me. I’m not bluffing,” he said and laid a fifty-dollar bill down on the table. “Let’s go.”
“I’m just going to scream, as loud as I can,” she said.
“No you’re not. Because then you’ll never know what happened,” he said. “Now c’mon.”
She scanned the restaurant looking for a familiar face, for anything, but came up empty.
“Fine.”
Both masked their differing emotions as they walked out arm in arm.
Out in the parking lot, Brady opened the door for her. “Where are we going?” Keisha asked.
“Back to your place. I want to see what Dick’s ashes have to say for themselves.”
“You’re fucking crazy.”
“Yeah, so are you.”
They drove to her place in silence.
16
Inside her apartment, Keisha wheeled on Brady.
“That’s not really him in that bottle, is it? This is just a sick joke.”
“Oh, no. It’s him all right, well part of him. I didn’t have time to burn his entire body yet, but this is plenty for tonight.”
“I still don’t believe you,” she said.
“Would you believe me now?”
He pulled out Dick’s phone and opened up a photo album. In it were at least ten pictures of Dick in various stages of murder and dismemberment. Like a demented child’s cartoon flipbook images flashed in front of a knife sticking out of his stomach followed by the crude amputation of all his limbs. In each photo, he had one less. She shoved the phone away.
“I killed him,” Brady said. “And this is his left arm.” He held the bottle up and shook it.
