Nikki's Secret

by William Malmborg

  18

  Eventually Toby tired of her pets and jumped down from her lap so he could go clean himself in the middle of the floor. Once that occurred Amy decided it was time to check on the lease William had told her about. She also wanted to talk to him, mostly because the silence was too much for her. Awkward even, which was somewhat funny given the situation.

  Are you expecting him to just start telling you about his day and his writing and his life experiences?

  No.

  Then what do you expect?

  She expected nothing, unless she asked him questions, yet even so, she still found the silence awkward. This was common though. Silent moments between her and another person had always been a source for discomfort. It worsened if the person was someone she was in a relationship with. Silent moments between her and Professor Moore had been torture, and almost always led to her making a fool of herself because she couldn’t help but say something. At first, he had probably thought this was cute, but then, after a while, it had undoubtedly started to bug him.

  “I’m going to go look at that lease you told me about,” Amy said while standing. “If you try anything while I’m down there you’ll be sorry.” She lifted the kitchen knife to emphasize her warning, and relished the fear she saw in his eyes.

  “You might need a pin,” Bill said.

  “What?”

  “To open her stairway door.” He shifted himself a bit so that he was now on his side and curled into somewhat of a fetal position. “Sometimes she locks it.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  “It’s easy though, all you do is stick the pin in the small hole on the knob and push. Lock will pop right out.”

  Sounds like he has done this before, Amy noted. He really is a creep.

  William shifted again and then asked, “You don’t mind if I sit against the wall, do you? The carpet smells. I didn’t get a chance to vacuum it before you showed up.”

  Amy considered this, her mind going over all the possible reasons he might want to be sitting rather than lying down, but couldn’t really pinpoint any danger in it, and said, “Go ahead.”

  “Thanks.” With that he shifted himself around until he was up against the wall next to the bathroom door and then struggled himself up into a sitting position.

  Sweat dripped from his forehead.

  “Do you have a pin?” Amy asked.

  “Actually, a toothpick works just as well,” William said. “I have some in the kitchen. Second cupboard next to the window.”

  Amy nodded and went to the cupboard. Sure enough, there was a box of toothpicks. She grabbed one and then went to what she assumed was the stairway door. It wasn’t locked.

  “Remember what I said,” she warned.

  He nodded.

  The stairs squealed as she descended, each one seeming to protest the weight she put upon it, and then she was at Kimberly’s door.

  I wonder how many times she has come up here to suck his dick, she asked herself. Hearing a person coming up the steps is probably enough to give him an erection these days.

  She smiled at the thought and then wondered if he would be able to get it up later once she instructed Kimberly to fuck him. It was something she hadn’t really thought about earlier, but now the concern was there. If not –

  A new sound echoed from up above.

  She twisted and watched as the door to the writer’s apartment closed.

  What the --

  Oh, shit!

  She started back up, her hurried steps masking the sound of the lock clicking into place.

  The knob would not turn.

  She hurried down and tried the door at the bottom, but it too was locked.

  Toothpick!

  She stuck it in the small hole on the door, but despite what he had told her, the lock did not pop open.

  Shit!

  She went back up to the top and stuck the toothpick in that one, her mind knowing what the results would be, yet not admitting it until she failed to open it as well.

  NO! NO! NO!

  She slammed herself against the door.

  The entire frame shook.

  She did it again, her hope being that enough blows would eventually break something within it, the old wood unable to withstand the repeated impacts.

  If it doesn’t . . .

  She didn’t allow her mind to continue with the thought, though this didn’t stop her from knowing what the outcome of being trapped in this stairway would be.

  She slammed herself into the door again, her body wincing with the pain it caused; and then again, her ear listening but failing to hear the sound of wood splintering.

  Frustrated, she stabbed the knife into the door, an angry cry escaping her lips.

  The blade sunk about half an inch into the wood.

  She wrenched it free and watched as a chunk came out with it.

  She stabbed again and made another nice gouge.

  You’ll never cut a hole big enough to reach through.

  But maybe . . .

  Yes!

  There was a gap. It wasn’t as big as the one outside on the garage door had been, but with a couple cuts, she could probably fix that.

  Knowing it would work, but also knowing she had to do it before he freed himself and got to a phone -- does he have a house phone? -- she began cutting away at the edge of the door where the inner door latch connected with the frame.

  19

  It worked! I can’t believe it worked!

  Using his shoulder after quietly getting to his feet, Bill had managed to close the stairway door, his eyes having first watched to make sure Amy was all the way at the bottom before attempting to spring the trap. He had then simply flicked the lock switch, his right thumb and index finger managing to maneuver around it and twist it seconds before she reached the top.

  Had he failed, which had been a huge possibility given how hobbled he was by the duct tape, she would have killed him. Of this, he was certain.

  And she still will if you don’t get free.

  Though it was a pretty solid door, Bill knew there was a good possibility that she would be able to get through it at some point, so waiting around for Kimberly to come home was out of the question. He had to free himself and then find a phone to call the police, who, hopefully, would arrive while she was still trapped. If not . . .

  The entire second floor shook as Amy threw herself against the door, an odd, unintelligible statement reaching his ears. The words ‘fuck’ and ‘kill’ were there, of that he was certain, but everything else was jumbled.

  A second blow landed, this one less forceful that the first and only shaking the frame.

  Bill was halfway to the kitchen when this one occurred, his bound feet forcing him to shuffle his way across the carpet inch by inch all while his mind was screaming at him to MOVE.

  No more body slams against the door echoed, which meant one of two things. Either she had given up, or she was attempting something new. He figured the second option was the more likely of the two. The question was what was she doing now and how effective would it be?

  What if Kimberly’s door isn’t even locked?

  What if –

  He pushed the thoughts from his mind while pulling a small, yet sharp knife from the drawer near the window, his fingers trying to maneuver it into a position that would make it possible to cut away at the tape around his wrists.

  Nothing seemed to work.

  A rattle at the inner stairway door echoed, alleviating his fears that Kimberly’s door was unlocked, yet doing nothing to calm the fear the she was making progress in getting back into his apartment.

  Gotta get free.

  The knife slipped from his fingers and bounced across the floor.

  “Fuck!”

  He reached into the drawer to grab another, this one being a thinner, more flexible blade, but it to was impossible to maneuver around in such a way for him to cut at the tape and eventually joined the other knife on the floor.

  Wh
at he needed was a fixed edge, one that he could hook and tear at the tape with.

  The stairway door rattled again, and this time it sounded different, almost as if it had more room within its frame to move.

  He looked around, eyes desperate to find something that would help him. Something close so that he wouldn’t have to shuffle all the way --

  YES! his mind cried.

  The cabinet beneath the sink had a handle with a point-like tip; one that he was sure would puncture the tape if he applied enough pressure. All he had to do was get down on his knees and hook his wrists over it.

  The door rattled again, followed by a frustrated scream.

  Using the corner between the wall and the fridge, Bill lowered himself to his knees and then shuffled his way to the cabinet. Once in position he twisted his head around so that he could see what he was doing and carefully lowered his wrists so that the tape between them came to a rest on top of the point.

  He pushed down.

  At first, the tape resisted, the fabric-like weave stretching a bit, but not tearing, and then all at once the point popped through. Unfortunately, it was just a hole, not a tear, and given the strength of the tape, he couldn’t pull at the handle to rip through the space between the hole and the edge, because it simply started to pull the handle off the cabinet.

  Lifting his wrists free, he positioned the point between the hole and the edge and pushed down again.

  Like before, the tape stretched before a hole opened up, only this time the hole turned into a tear as the strands between the edge and the first hole could no longer withstand the pressure.

  With that he began twisting his wrists back and forth, each one pulling in a different direction than the other one was in hopes of tearing the tape.

  It worked.

  His hands were free!

  He grabbed one of the knives and went to cut at his ankles.

  In the other room, he heard the latch on the door pop, followed by a crash as the door was thrown open.

  SHIT!

  Legs free, he started cutting at the tape around his knees.

  Amy dashed by the kitchen doorway cutout, body heading toward the apartment door.

  She then reappeared, eyes probably having caught a glimpse of him but not fully registering the sight in time to stop herself in the actual doorway.

  Bill pulled his knees apart and then quickly got to his feet, knife in hand. The blade was just over two inches long. The one she held was about twelve inches.

  20

  Just kill him and be done with it, Amy said to herself, her mind and body fed up and exhausted from everything that had already happened. It isn’t worth all this trouble.

  Yes it is, another part of her mind said. At least, it will be.

  The second inner statement was correct, and no matter how much the other side protested she knew she had to do everything she could to keep him alive.

  But if he forces the issues . . .

  In the end, if she was forced to kill him, she could still salvage things. She could still –

  Without warning, he came at her.

  21

  Switching the knife to his left hand, Bill charged toward Amy, his right hand grabbing and swinging a skillet that he had set on the stove to dry.

  22

  Having first focused on the knife, Amy didn’t have time to react to the skillet he had grabbed and screamed as the solid metal surface connected with her right hand, the pain unlike anything she had ever felt before.

  23

  Knocking the knife from her hand, Bill brought the skillet back around and hit her in side of the face. It wasn’t a solid blow like the first had been, but it was enough to scramble her senses and drop her to the kitchen floor.

  Get the knife.

  It was sitting in the sink, the skillet having sent it skipping across the counter and into the first of the two basins.

  He reached for it . . .

  . . . and then screamed with a mix of surprise and pain as Amy stabbed him in the lower back.

  24

  Work picked up a bit during the last hour of her shift, which was good because it forced her to focus on things to the point where she simply couldn’t think about anything but the customers. Tips were good too for a change, which helped block out some of the dismal moments that had taken place earlier. It didn’t erase them completely, though. Nothing ever did. Add in the probability they would call and complain, which was like lighting a fuse with an unknown length that would blow up near her during an unexpected moment, and chances were she would have a meeting with her supervisor in the near future. Right now, however, things were good, and that was all that mattered.

  Eight o’clock arrived.

  Outside, Kimberly looked around to see if Bill was keeping watch, but didn’t see him, and headed to her car, which, thankfully, didn’t have anything waiting for her.

  A tiny debate began, one that concerned her dinner choices. Having gotten a decent amount of tips, she considered grabbing something rather than making something, but then realized there wasn’t really anything appealing in the local drive through market. She also didn’t relish the idea of going in anywhere to sit down and eat, not when she just wanted to go home, change out of her uniform, and relax.

  Could always try that Ren’s place Bill pointed out the other day.

  The only problem was that she didn’t have a menu or their number.

  Bill probably does.

  Thinking this she opened her phone and called him, her hope being maybe he might be hungry and could place an order for the two of them.

  He might even offer to pay.

  The phone on his end rang a few times and then went to voicemail.

  Maybe he will call back.

  She waited a few minutes, but no return call was made, so she said screw it and started heading home. It wasn’t until she was turning from Barber Green onto Peace Road that she remembered she could have gotten one of the five-dollar ready pizzas from the Little Caesars that was within walking distance of the Steak and Shake.

  Then again, she had a couple five dollar frozen pizzas in her freezer, and, chances were, they tasted a lot better.

  Plus the Chinese food was still an option, and if she asked nicely, maybe Bill would go pick it up for them – unless they delivered which would be even better.

  Not long after that, Kimberly was maneuvering the car into the driveway, her foot momentarily pushing the brake pedal as her eyes caught sight of a box waiting on the front steps.

  Just the stuff Mark was forced to send.

  Realizing this, she sighed and continued into the garage, parked, and headed toward the side door.

  Inside she headed into her bedroom to change, her right hand flipping on lights as she made a path from the kitchen to the master bedroom. From there she headed around through the family room toward the front door, but rather than grabbing the boxes from out front, she turned toward the inner stairway door and opened it so she could go up and see if Bill had the Ren’s menu and wanted anything.

  Bill’s door was open.

  Puzzled, she took a few steps up the stairs, but then stopped and called out.

  No response.

  She took another step and asked, “Bill, you okay?”

  Nothing.

  Something wasn’t right.

  Unless he is on one of his walks.

  That would explain why the car was still there.

  But why was the door open?

  Was that something that happened from time to time in this old house?

  Or maybe something was wrong with the internet connection and he wanted to –

  Movement!

  First a shadow on the wall, and then Toby appeared, a meow leaving his tiny lips once he saw her.

  “Hey, Toby,” she said. “Is everything okay up – “

  Blood.

  It was all over Toby’s face.

  No!

  Memories of waking up on the bathroom floor after the misc
arriage and seeing Misty licking up the blood that had oozed out of her onto the white tiles arrived.

  As usual, her attempts to hold back the unwanted thoughts failed, especially the ones where she kicked Misty.

  Overwhelmed, she sank down onto the steps.

  Toby came down and joined her, his bloodied cheek rubbing against her knee in one of his odd little greetings.

  Seeing and feeling this brought everything back into focus. Something was wrong. The blood on Toby’s face was proof of this. She needed too –

  Up above the floor squeaked.

  A large shadow then appeared on the wall.

  Kimberly grabbed Toby and started to stand just as the girl appeared in the doorway. Like Toby, blood covered part of her face. Rather than focus on this, however, Kimberly’s eyes were drawn down to her hand, which held a large carving knife.

  “We’ve been waiting for you,” the girl said. “Why don’t you come up and join us.”

  Rather than reply, Kimberly took a step backward, and then another, her feet carefully planting themselves, so that her footing would be good if she had to suddenly haul ass.

  “No?” the girl (Amy?) asked. “It’ll be easier if you just come up.”

  “I don’t think so,” Kimberly said, voice a bit shaky.

  “Oh, but Bill would really like your company,” she said and took a step onto the stairs. “He isn’t doing so well, by the way, and could use a friend right now.”

  Empathy toward Bill arrived, but it wasn’t enough for her to simply give in. Not when she knew this girl was crazy. Nope.

  The girl took another step toward her.