Annie lay in bed and looked at the ceiling, plastic glow-in-the-dark stars glued to its surface. The stars didn’t glow anymore, but they still sat there—stuck on and forgotten about. The room was hot but her Momma didn’t believe in turning on the air conditioning ‘til at least June. There was a slight breeze from the open window, and she turned her body so that more of it hit her skin. The trailer creaked and settled, and after a few minutes, her eyes closed.
Two hours later, Ralph Michael Atkins walked silently down the side of the trailer, the dead ground quiet beneath his feet. He reached the open window and waited, still, listening to the sounds of the fields surrounding him. Then he bent; setting the stool on the ground, he climbed on to it, the additional height allowing him to lean his torso directly into the window. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the long silver flashlight he had stuck there. Leaning forward, he switched it on, moving the beam through the girl’s room, illuminating clothes, a plastic drawer set and the bed. He slowed the light’s movement, playing it over pale legs, over pink cloth, until it finally rested on a face, pale and slack with sleep, yellow hair framing it against the white sheets.
Something was bright, hurting her eyes. She squinted, moving a hand and the light disappeared, and then reappeared. Then it was gone, and she opened her eyes to darkness. Out of the darkness, she heard a voice.
“Annie.”
“Yes?” She sat up, confused.
“It’s Uncle Michael. Come to the window.”
She yawned, sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes, her limbs uncooperative. Why was he here? In the middle of the night? At her window? She padded to the opening, the plastic blinds pulled up by her mother last night, the small window barely accommodating Uncle Michael’s big size. “What?” she whispered.
“I have another present for you—out in the car. Aunt Becky is holding him still for you. Be quiet sweetie, and go unlock the front door. Meet me on the front steps. Don’t wake your mommy, she’ll make me take it back.”
Every part of Annie was instantly awake, trembling with excitement. “Is it a kitten?
You know I’ve been wanting a kitty—”
“Shhh!” The sound was harsh, mad, and she quickly stopped talking, the next words stuck in her throat. “Go to the front. Be extra quiet and wait on the step.” She nodded quietly and turned, tiptoeing out of her room and past her parents’ closed bedroom door.
Michael breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her pink-clad body sitting on the step, arms wrapped around her little knees. He was close, so close. He held out his hand and she stood, rushing forward and grabbing it, her small hand slipping into his. They turned as one, walking past her bike, turned over in the dirt, and on to his car, which sat at the outside corner of their lot, dark and silent in the night.
She realized something was wrong earlier than he had expected. She had believed him when he said that Becky had the kitten down the road, holding it in her car. She had gotten in, fastened the seatbelt and leaned forward expectantly—scanning the fields and approaching roads for Becky’s van. But now, six miles down the road, she was silent, her questions less frequent, and her face tighter.
“How long before we get there, Uncle Michael?”
“About fifteen minutes sweetie. I forgot, Becky decided to take the kitten to our house instead. She’s got it there, giving it some milk.”
“But what about my mommy and daddy seeing it? Aren’t I going to get to keep it at my house?”
He reached over, rubbing her knee. “Of course, Annie. We’re just going to make a quick stop at my house first.”
CHAPTER 36
I wait at the door until I hear the elevator open, Jeremy step on, and the car’s movement downward. Then I open the door and grab the large cardboard box marked ‘fragile.’ Lightbulbs for my cam spotlights. I carry the box in; swinging the door shut with my foot, I look down at the top of it, at the foreign object stuffed halfway into the pocket of the label.
It is a card, the envelope pink, and the words on the front painstakingly neat—”To The Girl Who Lives in Apt 6E.” I smile at the title, understanding the meaning behind it, its reference to my many aliases. I open the unsealed flap, sliding out the plain white card. Inside, the message is short, block writing in blue ink: I don’t know what’s going on with you, with your whole ‘I don’t talk to people, I kill them’ act. But I know what’s going on with me, and that’s that I can’t get you out of my mind. Please let me in.
Sincerely, Jeremy
I read it twice before setting it on the desk in front of me. I sit and stare at it, thinking. Then I pick up the phone and call Derek.
He answers on the second ring. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I can’t call a friend to chat?”
“We’re not friends, and we don’t have an appointment. You never call without an appointment.”
“Are you busy?” I feel a flash of jealousy, quick and green, but then it’s gone..
“No. What’s up?” I hear a creak and envision him leaning back in his chair, relaxing.
“Nothing. I mean, something happened, and I need advice.”
“Another episode?”
“No—nothing about that. It’s Jeremy … you know the guy who—”
“You’ve had one human interaction in three years, I know who you’re talking about. What happened?”
“He left me a note. Outside. With my package.” I read him the note, trying not to add inflections that probably don’t exist. When I finish, there is silence—silence that stretches out so long that I find myself fidgeting.
“What do you want from me, Deanna?”
“I want you to tell me what to do! I don’t know how to handle this shit.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I—I don’t know what I want. I just need you to tell me what to do.”