Lunatic's Game

by Margaret Lashley

  “Your favorite teddy bear. A pet bunny. Whatever makes you feel safe and at peace.”

  “It sure isn’t pus face.” I grimaced in disgust at the hideous image.

  “Practice, Drex. It works. And if you’re seeing what I think you might be seeing out there, you’re going to need this as your first line of defense.”

  “What?” I nearly choked. “What do you think I’m seeing?”

  “You’re seeing what you most fear, Drex. The guy who shot you. An escaped convict from Starke. A head taken over by tumors.”

  “Geez! You’re right! So what’s the first line of defense?”

  “Breathing.”

  “Breathing? Hello! I’ve been doing that all my life.”

  “And doing it wrong, I might add. Use your breath to calm and center yourself. I’m going to leave you here to complete the program.”

  Grayson turned and walked toward my bedroom door.

  “Wait! What’s the second line of defense? In case they get past the first?”

  Grayson laughed. “These are just images. They can’t harm you. They’ll come up and disappear automatically. When the program’s done, it’ll shut off. Your challenge is to find your calm center before each new image emerges.”

  I scowled. “Where are you going?”

  Grayson cocked his head at me. “You said I could borrow your car.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You didn’t say I needed to tell you where I was going. I promise to take good care of it. And I’ll be back before dawn. I’ll even fill the tank.”

  I started to get up.

  “Don’t move. If you pull out an electrode, you’ll have to start over.”

  “Ugh. How many times have you done this yourself?”

  “More times than I can remember.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Yes.” Grayson grabbed his fedora off the bureau. “But don’t worry. You’re not alone. Your Grandma Selma’s standing by your bedside. She says, ‘Hi.’”

  I turned to look. No one was there. And before I could say another word, Grayson was gone.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  WHETHER IT WAS THE power of suggestion or Grandma Selma really was by my side, I thought I smelled White Shoulders, her signature perfume. Unsettled, I stuck with my task, and tried out different “happy places” until I found one that seemed to work somewhat consistently, no matter what vile images Grayson’s horrible training program threw at me.

  After exhausting its repertoire of bloated corpses, devilish beings, and alien autopsies, the program ended. The screen on Grayson’s computer went blue, and a yellow smiley face emoji popped up. Under it flashed the words, “Have a Nice Day!” The computer beeped and shut itself off.

  I sat up and checked the clock. It was 8:36 p.m. Grayson had left me alone with his computer, and he wouldn’t be back for hours.

  Perfect time to brush up on my computer skills ....

  I hit the power button. The laptop’s screen blinked to life. A flashing message on the display read, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Startled, I jerked my hand away from the screen. My face grew hot. I cautiously reached over and whacked the power button. The computer shut down again. I closed it, carried it over to the bureau, and set it down.

  “No, computer,” I said aloud, in case it was somehow recording me. “I’m not sure I want to do this. I’m not sure at all.”

  AFTER SCRUBBING THE electrode paste from my stubbly scalp, I took a shower, pulled on some sweatpants and a T-shirt, and brushed my teeth. After all those gory test images, I was too wired to sleep. I couldn’t even concentrate enough to follow the plot of Matlock. I switched off the TV and slumped onto the couch.

  I missed Grandma Selma. She’d been the only person I could count on to give me a woman’s perspective in the man’s world we lived in. She’d passed away two years before my father. I’d lost my mother way before that—first to bourbon, then to parts unknown with Mr. Applewhite. With no one else springing to mind for a friendly chat, I called Beth-Ann.

  “I still don’t know if Grayson is a genius or a psycho,” I said when she picked up.

  “Don’t tell me you went out on another date with him.”

  “No. And it wasn’t a date. He hooked me up to electrodes.”

  “Ooooh. Kinky,” Beth-Ann teased. “What else did he do?”

  “Argh! It wasn’t like that. He was measuring my alpha waves. He’s into all this yoga and kundalini crap.”

  “It’s not crap, Bobbie.”

  “You’re into it, too? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Around here, people already think I’m weird enough.”

  I blew out a breath. “Beth-Ann, I need to know if this guy’s for real, or if he’s some kind of nut job. Have you got any helpful hints on how to do that?”

  “Isn’t there something in your detective handbook?”

  “It doesn’t cover Mothman kooks.”

  “Then google Grayson. Check out his Facebook profile.”

  “I don’t want to be a busybody, Beth-Ann. This town’s got enough of them already.”

  “Oh. So that’s why you wanted to become a private investigator. So you could stay out of other peoples’ business. Now I get it.”

  “Ugh. You’re right. But there’s so much more to being a P.I. than I thought.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like this. I mean, how can you tell the good guys from the bad guys?”

  “Uh ... you never saw that problem coming?”

  My gut sunk four inches. “I’m an idiot.”

  “No, you’re not, Bobbie. You’re just naïve when it comes to men. Give me his full name and everything you’ve got on him, and I’ll do the search. That way, you can keep your hands clean.”

  “Thanks, Beth-Ann. You’re a lifesaver.”

  Beth-Ann laughed. “I hope you don’t mean that literally.”

  Geez. So do I.

  I WAS COZIED UP ON the couch with a vodka cocktail. Okay, it was a glass of vodka. But it was a small glass. It was nearly midnight, and Grayson still hadn’t returned. I’d switched the TV back on half an hour ago. A beautiful woman in a cocktail dress and diamond earrings was busy convincing me to buy a contraption that could clean my drapes and give me a facial.

  But not at the same time.

  I was reaching for my cellphone to order the blasted thing when the landline for Robert’s Mechanics rang. It was exactly midnight. I picked up the receiver, thinking it might be Grayson with a flat or something.

  “Hello?”

  “Beep beep beep.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

  Yikes! Now the robots are after me!

  “Who are you?” I demanded. I was pretty sure the faltering squeak in my voice did nothing to persuade these robots that I meant business.

  “Beep beep beep.”

  “What do you want?” I hissed, barely able to squeeze the words from my tight lungs.

  A mechanical voice buzzed over the line. “Bring a large pepperoni pizza to 387 Obsidian Road. Pronto.”

  Air whooshed back into my lungs.

  “Earl, you’re fired,” I screeched.

  I heard him howl with laughter as I clicked off the phone. I flopped back onto the couch, totally pissed. Then a thought made my back straighten.

  Crap! I forgot to check on Vanderhoff today!

  I couldn’t now. It was too late. And Grayson had my car. I’d have to wait until morning. I sighed and turned my attention back to the TV. Just my luck. I’d missed the limited-time offer to order one VaccuFacial and get a second one free.

  I scowled and clicked the “off” button on the TV remote. I hauled myself off the couch and padded down the hall to my bedroom. Pulling back the curtains, I stared out at the thin slice of silvery moon, wondering where Grayson was. I didn’t want to be a nag by calling him. He was a grown man, after all.

  As I pulled down the bedcovers, I remembered I’d left Grandma’
s afghan in Grayson’s apartment. Crap. I couldn’t go get it now. Not without invading his privacy. I climbed into bed and lay down. A beam of moonlight shone in my eye. I’d forgotten to close the curtains.

  Great.

  I hauled myself out of bed, grabbed a handful of curtain and totally freaked.

  Two glowing, red orbs hovered inches from the windowpane. I closed my eyes and shook my head to clear it. I took a deep, calming breath.

  It’s just my imagination.

  I opened my eyes.

  The glowing red orbs were still there.

  But now they weren’t orbs.

  They were eyes.

  Burning, ember-like eyes—on a hideous, hairy, insect-like face!

  As a blood-curdling scream escaped my mouth, I noticed something on its back. It was a cape. No. It was Grandma Selma’s afghan.

  Holy crap! That bloody beast has been inside my house!

  My knees gave out.

  I crumpled to the floor.

  The safe little world I once knew went bye-bye.

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Wednesday

  I WAS IN A TUG OF WAR with Mothman over Grandma Selma’s afghan. Through my bedroom window, I slapped his ugly insect face with a flyswatter and grabbed the corner of the blanket. I gave it a huge tug, but bug-man held on with his spindly, claw-like hands.

  He wasn’t letting go. Well, neither was I.

  I dug my heels into the shag carpet and tugged for all I was worth. But a countering, swift yank by Mothman sent me flying out the second-story window. I dangled in midair!

  As I hung onto the tail-end of Grandma Selma’s blanket for dear life, Mothman buzzed above the pathetically small metropolis of Point Paradise, trying to shake me.

  I saw the roof over my parent’s garage ... the flashing light at the intersection of nowhere and oblivion ... the sagging awning of the Stop & Shoppe. As we flew over Cherry Manor, I spotted old lady Vanderhoff’s house. I took my chance and let go of Grandma’s afghan. I tumbled, butt-first, into old lady Vanderhoff’s swimming pool.

  She heard my cannonball splash and came running out of the house. Vanderhoff was naked except for a pair of red, lace panties and that green avocado mask. My poor eyes didn’t know where to look.

  “You’re going to electrocute yourself!” she yelled, and handed me a mirror. My bald head was covered in tentacle-like electrodes.

  “Drex!” she said. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Wait a minute. This has to be a dream. Mrs. Vanderhoff always called me Bobbie. Never Drex.

  I snorted myself awake. I was on the floor of my bedroom, my face stuck to the pages of a Good Housekeeping magazine. A beam of morning sun filtered its way through the dust circling in the air. I blinked and waited for my eyes to adjust. When they did, I nearly peed my pants.

  Mothman was standing right over me.

  My brain and body came alive like Frankenstein getting a jolt from a small nuclear power plant.

  I screamed, scooted backward across the floor on my butt, and kicked at the creature like an upturned donkey.

  “I know I have morning breath,” Mothman said, “but I think that’s a bit of an overreaction.”

  I blinked again, then blushed. “Grayson! What are you doing in my bedroom?”

  “Checking on you. Your front door was open, so I came in. Why are you on the floor?” He wagged a finger at me. “Don’t tell me you got into the vodka again.”

  “Shut up! Where were you last night?”

  “Excuse me? I wasn’t aware I owed you an explanation. Or are you my warden now?”

  “You should’ve been here!” I screeched, on the verge of angry tears. “Mothman was here last night! He tried to get in my bedroom window!”

  “What? Damn! Did you get a good look at it?”

  “Yes,” I grumbled. “And I’m okay, in case you’re interested.”

  Grayson grimaced. “Oh. Yes. Good. I’m glad.” He smiled at me for a moment, then said, “So? What did it look like?”

  “Like a moth ... man. Sort of.” I hesitated as I tried to read Grayson’s expression. He had the best poker face I’d ever seen. “And he—” I began, then changed my mind.

  “He what?”

  “He....” I stopped and shook my head. “No. You’ll laugh at me.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “He stole Grandma Selma’s afghan.”

  Grayson’s effort to suppress a grin was valiant, I’d give him that. He nearly swallowed his lips.

  “This afghan,” he asked with one raised eyebrow, “it wasn’t made of wool, was it?”

  “You’re such a jerk!” I picked up a pillow from the floor and threw it at him.

  “Come on, Drex. I’m just trying to get you to lighten up.”

  “How can you joke about this of all things?”

  “Because it helps. Especially when you know the things I know.”

  I stared at him, red-faced, unable to decide if I was angry, scared, or mortified with embarrassment. “What do you know?”

  Grayson bent down and offered me a hand. “How about I fix the coffee this morning? You get cleaned up. And when you’re ready, we can talk.”

  IF I’D LEARNED ONE thing in life, it was that caffeine could solve a myriad of problems. Abject terror, however, wasn’t one of them. On that score, Grayson was no help, either.

  “Hope you don’t mind. I put some clothes in the wash,” he said as I hobbled into the kitchen. My knees were still wobbly from my Mothman encounters, both real and imagined.

  “Sure. No worries.” I made myself a cup of coffee. “Why in the world would Mothman be after me?” I moaned, and took a giant gulp.

  Grayson was sitting at the round oak table. He glanced over at the portrait of Jesus my parents had hanging on the wall. “God doesn’t send you anything that you’re not ready for, Drex. That which does not kill us makes us stronger.”

  I sneered. “Thank you, oh great Pez dispenser full of stupid clichés.”

  “Come on, Drex. You didn’t get a degree in Art Appreciation to end up managing a grease pit in the middle of nowhere. You’re ready for something bigger. You’ve admitted as much to me more than once. So, here it is, your big break, and you act all surprised. Hurt, even. I’m telling you now, you might as well embrace the situation like you personally ordered it, and dive in. Because you did. And you can.”

  Anger flared up inside me. “You think I ordered this? Are you talking about Mothman, or you? Right now, if I had to choose, I’d pick Mothman. He’s a whole hell of a lot less irritating.”

  Grayson smirked. “Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.”

  “Pez hack,” I spat.

  Grayson shot me a grin I wanted to erase with an Uzi. “When the student is ready, the teacher appears, Drex. And I do believe it’s time for another lesson for the unruly pupil.”

  I glared at him, then rolled my eyes. What other choice did I have? “I need more coffee first,” I growled.

  Grayson nodded. “Then pour yourself a gallon and come with me.”

  GRAYSON’S LATEST “LESSON” had me kicking around outside in the cold mist of morning, checking the ground under my bedroom window for evidence of the peeping Mothman from last night.

  “What are we looking for?” I groused. “There’s no footprints. I told you, the thing was flying.”

  “Look for hairs. Detritus. Anything that looks out of place.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like that.”

  Grayson pointed upward to the boughs of a small crepe myrtle tree. Hanging about ten feet off the ground was a piece of yarn.

  “Grandma’s afghan! See? I didn’t imagine it!”

  “Hold your horses. It’s a piece of yarn in a tree, Drex. It could’ve gotten there a hundred different ways. You could have put it there. For all I know, you threw the blanket out the window last night in the middle of some weird, somnambulistic dream.”

  “Dirty mind!”

  “That means slee
pwalking, gutter girl.”

  I scowled, folded my arms across my chest, and festered in self-recrimination while Grayson found a hook-shaped stick and used it to bend the branch downward to retrieve the evidence. He stuck the foot-long piece of blue yarn in a plastic baggie. Then, to my surprise, he held the baggie open, stuck his nose in, and sniffed.

  What a sicko.

  “It’s wool, all right,” Grayson said. “I can smell the difference.”

  I marched over to him and grabbed for the baggie. “Give me that!”

  “No can do.” He raised the baggie up and out of my reach. “I need to test it for DNA. Does it look like it might have come from your granny’s blanket?”

  “Possibly,” I grumbled. “It’s a bunch of colors. Now what?”

  Grayson didn’t answer. He was looking right at me, but his eyes were far away. I hoped he was pondering a solution to this whole crazy mess. Or at least his way out of town.

  “Interesting,” he said at last.

  “Interesting? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  “I thought maybe this was all a coincidence. But now, well, let’s just say I’ve never been a big believer in coincidences.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “What’s your safe space, Drex? You know, from the test yesterday. What do you envision to keep the monsters at bay?”

  My back stiffened. “None of your business.”

  “I disagree. I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important.”

  I envisioned myself balled up in my grandma’s lap, sucking my thumb. My cheeks flared with heat. “It’s personal.”

  “Fine.” Grayson blew out an aggravated breath. “I think I know, anyway. I’d like to test you again. To hone your skills some more.”

  “You might think you know me, Grayson, but you don’t know sh—” My phone rang. It was Paulson. “I better get this.”

  I turned my back to Grayson. “Hello? Paulson? Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t get by Vanderhoff’s yesterday. I was—”

  “Save it, Bobbie,” Paulson said curtly. “There’s no need for you to give me a case update. Vanderhoff’s dead.”