The Complex Read Online Free PDF

her, but she knows what he has in mind, and she is not interested. And it’s not because he’s black, or ugly. Indeed, he’s quite handsome for a man his age. But Grady Hicks could be Robert Redford or Sidney Poitier and she still wouldn’t be interested. She hasn’t been interested in anyone since Mr. Carlucci, God rest his soul, went to be with the Lord ten years ago next May.
    Mrs. Carlucci begins and ends every day down on her knees at the foot of the bed, hands clasped in fervent prayer to God and the Holy Mother, hoping that she will be reunited with Mr. Carlucci soon.
    And that when she is, someone will watch over her cats.
    She doesn’t know which neighbor is making all this noise, but it sounds like somebody is being murdered. King, who has been perched at the kitchen window, leaps down and darts for the bedroom, his fur standing straight up. Queenie and Princess follow his lead, perhaps sensing his alarm. Hannibal remains sprawled out on the sofa in the living room, but his ears are up and his eyes are alert.
    Frowning, Mrs. Carlucci goes to the kitchen window and peeks outside. Her eyes widen in stunned disbelief. There are naked people running across the parking lot towards Stephanie’s apartment. Naked people! This is the biggest instance of nonsense Mrs. Carlucci has ever experienced, in all her years living at Pine Village. They seem quite agitated about something. Then she realizes that not only are they nude, but many of them seem to be carrying weapons. As she watches, one of them pauses in the middle of the parking lot and pulls the starter cord on a gas-powered weed whacker. The engine chortles, then sputters. Lips curled back in a snarl, the naked man tries again. This time, the weed whacker roars to life, belching tiny puffs of blue-gray smoke from its exhaust. Its wielder joins the throng of other naked people, all of whom seem to be heading for Stephanie’s front door.
    Reeling, Mrs. Carlucci backs away from the window. Her hands are tingling and her lips feel numb. There is a heaviness in her chest, and she wonders if she is having a heart attack. Her first thought is to turn to the four food dishes and large water bowl on the floor next to the refrigerator, and make sure that there is enough food and water for the cats. Who knows how long it will take someone to find her? She doesn’t want Princess, Queenie, King, and Hannibal to starve in the meantime.
    She hears Stephanie scream next door, but the sound is curiously muted. So, too, are the noises the crowd is making outside. After a moment, Mrs. Carlucci realizes this is because her ears are ringing. Her skin feels flush, and the tingling in her hands increases, running up her arms and into her shoulders. Her hand flutters to her chest. She feels her pulse, thrumming beneath her skin. Has it ever felt so strong or so rapid? Mrs. Carlucci doesn’t think so.
    Something soft brushes against her leg, just below the hem of her dress, and Mrs. Carlucci squawks with fright. She reaches for the wall to keep from falling. Glancing down, she sees Hannibal. The cat looks alert and angry. His muscles are taut beneath his fur. He glances up at her, and the ringing in her ears subsides.
    “Hannibal,” she gasps, “you fool cat! You nearly tripped me.”
    Mrs. Carlucci leans against the wall, catching her breath. Slowly, the tingling in her arms and face begins to subside. Not a heart attack, she decides. More likely just panic. With caution, she reaches down and scratches the cat on top of his head, right between his ears. This usually elicits a deep purr from Hannibal, but now, he barely seems to notice. His attention is focused on the wall—on the other side of which is Stephanie’s apartment.
    Moving slowly, because her legs feel weak and she doesn’t trust them, Mrs. Carlucci shuffles toward the phone mounted on the wall between the kitchen and the living room. She doesn’t own a cell phone, and has never even used one. She’s familiar with