“I’m going to take a shower. Why don’t you fix us something to eat?” I say a little louder than usual.
“Okay,” she says, pulling on her panties. “But you might want to look at the hot water heater first. The water’s been coming out kinda cold.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Vivian struts off to the kitchen. I slip out the back door and into my bike repair shop across the alley from our house. I feel my way through the dark and pull the tarp off my Harley.
I check the gas tank. I check to make sure the saddlebags are buckled good and tight. Ready to roll. I open the fuel cock, stick in the key and fire her right up. The rumble of the engine sounds five times louder in the closed-in garage and makes my bones tingle.
Leaving the bike running, I un-ass and walk to the back door. I open it a crack and look back toward the house.
BOOM!
***
It all began a couple of days before the hot water heater exploded and became what I referred to as The Big Bang. I realized I’d been wrong about the birds. But I had been right about being watched.
Just two nights ago I was up and feeding Georgia, pacing around the house with her while she sucked down the bottle, when I noticed the little green light of the smoke alarm in the living room was out. I made a mental note to change the battery in the morning.
I put Georgia back into bed next to Vivian and decided to get myself a peanut butter sandwich. I glanced up at the smoke alarm in the kitchen and its green light was out, too.
Weird. Both at the same time.
Just to make sure I wasn’t going crazy, I checked the smoke alarm in the hallway. Out. So was the one in Georgia’s room. And the one in the front hallway. Maybe I got a bad batch of nine-volts when I changed them all. Highly unlikely. Maybe I put the batteries in wrong and they’ve always been dead. Even more highly unlikely.
Maybe somebody came in after me and fucked with all the alarms. Now, that’s a crazy thought.
That made me start thinking of spy movies. Maybe there was a camera or a microphone in the smoke alarms. Maybe Vivian wasn’t who she said she was. Maybe she was an undercover FBI agent. Maybe CIA even. Or a double agent. Or even a mole for some top-secret foreign government agency. I chewed on that and my sandwich. How well did I really know her anyway? I wished I’d paid more attention to the plot of all those James Bond movies. I scoured my brain, but all I could come up with was some gold teeth and Octopussy.
I carried my sandwich and the gallon jug of milk to the laundry room. I only drank straight out of the jug when Vivian couldn’t catch me. I pulled the string hanging from the ceiling and unfolded the collapsible stairs leading to the attic.
I shoved the remains of the sandwich in my mouth and washed it all down with a giant glug of milk, then I grabbed the flashlight from the cupboard and quietly climbed up the steps. I stuck my head and shoulders through the opening and played the light beam around the attic. Right away I saw weird out-of-place stuff. Little black wires lying on top of the insulation and running down the joists. And all those little coiled up wires were leading right down to exactly where the smoke alarms were placed.
Now who was fucking paranoid?
I folded the stairs back up and took the milk back to the fridge. I wished like hell I hadn’t stopped smoking.
I went out to the front porch and sat down heavily on the steps. I put my hands on top of my knees and clenched and unclenched my fists. A mangy dog walked down the street like it had somewhere important to be. It stopped beside a dirty beige van parked across the street and lifted its hind leg on a back tire.
That van. It had showed up a few weeks ago. I’d never seen anyone move it. I’d never seen anyone go in or out of it. It was one of those vans that didn’t have any windows in the back half. Like the ones serial killers drive.
I went back inside and turned in two slow circles around
“Okay,” she says, pulling on her panties. “But you might want to look at the hot water heater first. The water’s been coming out kinda cold.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Vivian struts off to the kitchen. I slip out the back door and into my bike repair shop across the alley from our house. I feel my way through the dark and pull the tarp off my Harley.
I check the gas tank. I check to make sure the saddlebags are buckled good and tight. Ready to roll. I open the fuel cock, stick in the key and fire her right up. The rumble of the engine sounds five times louder in the closed-in garage and makes my bones tingle.
Leaving the bike running, I un-ass and walk to the back door. I open it a crack and look back toward the house.
BOOM!
***
It all began a couple of days before the hot water heater exploded and became what I referred to as The Big Bang. I realized I’d been wrong about the birds. But I had been right about being watched.
Just two nights ago I was up and feeding Georgia, pacing around the house with her while she sucked down the bottle, when I noticed the little green light of the smoke alarm in the living room was out. I made a mental note to change the battery in the morning.
I put Georgia back into bed next to Vivian and decided to get myself a peanut butter sandwich. I glanced up at the smoke alarm in the kitchen and its green light was out, too.
Weird. Both at the same time.
Just to make sure I wasn’t going crazy, I checked the smoke alarm in the hallway. Out. So was the one in Georgia’s room. And the one in the front hallway. Maybe I got a bad batch of nine-volts when I changed them all. Highly unlikely. Maybe I put the batteries in wrong and they’ve always been dead. Even more highly unlikely.
Maybe somebody came in after me and fucked with all the alarms. Now, that’s a crazy thought.
That made me start thinking of spy movies. Maybe there was a camera or a microphone in the smoke alarms. Maybe Vivian wasn’t who she said she was. Maybe she was an undercover FBI agent. Maybe CIA even. Or a double agent. Or even a mole for some top-secret foreign government agency. I chewed on that and my sandwich. How well did I really know her anyway? I wished I’d paid more attention to the plot of all those James Bond movies. I scoured my brain, but all I could come up with was some gold teeth and Octopussy.
I carried my sandwich and the gallon jug of milk to the laundry room. I only drank straight out of the jug when Vivian couldn’t catch me. I pulled the string hanging from the ceiling and unfolded the collapsible stairs leading to the attic.
I shoved the remains of the sandwich in my mouth and washed it all down with a giant glug of milk, then I grabbed the flashlight from the cupboard and quietly climbed up the steps. I stuck my head and shoulders through the opening and played the light beam around the attic. Right away I saw weird out-of-place stuff. Little black wires lying on top of the insulation and running down the joists. And all those little coiled up wires were leading right down to exactly where the smoke alarms were placed.
Now who was fucking paranoid?
I folded the stairs back up and took the milk back to the fridge. I wished like hell I hadn’t stopped smoking.
I went out to the front porch and sat down heavily on the steps. I put my hands on top of my knees and clenched and unclenched my fists. A mangy dog walked down the street like it had somewhere important to be. It stopped beside a dirty beige van parked across the street and lifted its hind leg on a back tire.
That van. It had showed up a few weeks ago. I’d never seen anyone move it. I’d never seen anyone go in or out of it. It was one of those vans that didn’t have any windows in the back half. Like the ones serial killers drive.
I went back inside and turned in two slow circles around
Similar Books
The Worst Thing I've Done
Ursula Hegi
Are You Loathsome Tonight?
Poppy Z. Brite
Sound of Heartache ("Sound of" Book 2)
Chelsea Roy
Tales of a Trail of Life
Ann Graham
What Now?
Donna Every
Creampie Dreams: Impregnation Erotica Trilogy
Aya Fukunishi
Back to Reality
Danielle Allen
Wild Magic
Jude Fisher
Night of the Nazi Zombies
Michael G. Thomas
Clandestine
Nichole van