u/ForgottenWell

Her name was April, and I wasn’t completely honest with her when I scheduled her supernatural consultation.

I swung open the side entrance to my house. Right under the big neon sign.

“Are you Madame Marge?”

“You must be April.”

“I thought I was seeing Madame Marge.”

“That’s the name of my business. It’s named after my wife. Please. Come in.”

“Is your wife–”

“She’s not here right now. Have a seat.”

Once she entered, I laid a two-by-four across the door to keep it shut. It looked like I was barring the door, but it’s just broken. That’s all.

April sat hesitantly. Everyone started that way. After all, they’re trying to contact the dead. We’re dealing with elements beyond our comprehension.

“The first thing I need you to do is take your shoes and socks off.”

“Uh. Why?”

“You need to be connected to the earth. Feet against the ground.”

She did as I asked.

I lit several candles. Crystals were placed at very specific locations on the table. Little incantations were written in blood. To the untrained eye, it would look superfluous. I knew better.

“I’m trying to contact my grandmother,” April said.

“One second.” I went to a nearby cauldron. The decoction was ready, I could tell from the smell. I poured a small amount into a little glass, and placed it in front of April.

“Drink this.”

“Do I have to?”

“It will open your mind to the spirits.”

I could see her eyes shifting toward the door. She’s rightfully nervous. I needed to ease her, somehow.

“April, it’s just a decoction of herbs. Some of the same things you might put on a Christmas roast.” That was only true in the sense that heroin comes from a plant. “I need you to open your mind for me. Please. Drink.”

April hesitated. She took a small sip, and coughed. She made a face of disgust.

“The whole thing.”

She looked worried, but finished it.

I sat across from her. I rubbed my hands together. This time it had to be perfect.

“I need to speak to my grandmother–”

“Quiet!” I held my hands over the table. I whispered, chanted the words as I had heard them a hundred times before.

“Speak to me, I beg you!”

April began convulsing violently. Her eyes shot up, and looked all white. A gravelly voice came from deep in her throat, “Honey?”

“Marge. Two days ago a man kicked through our door and murdered you. What did he look like?”

“Honey? I can’t see.”

“We don’t have a lot of time! What did he look like? The police think I did it.”

April began screaming. She pushed the table away from her, threw the two-by-four off the door, and ran barefoot into the dark street.

Another failure.

Two days ago, a man killed a woman who could speak with the dead. My wife. And now, unless I can figure out how to do it, he’ll get away with it.

I was talking her ear off, and hoping that she didn’t notice as soon as she stepped into my apartment she lost cell service.

I had masterfully convinced my ‘date’ to come back to my place for a movie. Pride and Prejudice was queued up, and ready for our viewing pleasure.

I put a bag of skinny pop in the microwave for two minutes. I could hardly focus. The hard part was over. She was here. After popcorn, I would pour us a glass of wine. Soon, she would be unconscious. And, after some handy work with a saw, she would be in easily disposable pieces.

The microwave beeped. I looked in, and the bag was still flat.

“Huh?” I said out loud.

“What is it?” Luna said.

“Nothing,” I said. I pressed two minutes, and hit start again. I must have imagined cooking it. After all, I’m practically salivating here. Not exactly focused.

I start going on about the brilliance of Matthew Macfadyen and the timer beeps again.

The bag is still flat as can be.

“What the hell?”

“Having some trouble?”

“The whole bag’s a dud. Can you believe that?”

“Maybe your microwave is broken?”

To be honest, I hadn’t even considered that. I threw the worthless bag away in the trash. I grabbed a Pyrex measuring cup, put in two cups of water, and set the timer for five minutes. Watched as the cup rotated, microwave making that electronic hum. Luna was captivated by this too, and I encouraged her to watch the movie. Don’t let a little microwave malfunction stop us.

I might just have to skip right to the wine. A shame. I love the moments before.

Five minutes is up quickly, and I take the water out. I press my hand to the cup. “Cold as ice,” I say. I put it up to my lips and drink a large gulp, downing most of the water. “Piece of shit is broken.”

POP!

The loud sound startles us. And before we can place where it came from, we smell it. Acrid and disgusting. Burnt popcorn.

I look in my garbage at the full and blackened bag. 

“Isn’t that strange,” Luna says. It sounds like she’s trying not to laugh.

“But if that–” I can no longer speak. My tongue is frying. I feel what must be lava boiling in my throat and gut. My esophagus is closing, swelling shut. I can tell because I can’t breathe.

“Call,” I barely manage to mutter. “Nine one one.”

“I can’t,” she says. “I don’t have service.”

Luna has found the saw I hid in the kitchen. She is testing the sharpness with her finger.

I was halfway through my shift when I got an unexpected phone call. Ethan had been pulled into the principal’s office. They were hoping that I could come down to have a discussion, one that was better had “in person.”

My boss was actually pretty understanding for once. He only yelled at me a little bit before letting me leave.

I took the long way to Paul Revere Middle School because I wanted time to compose myself. Ethan had never been in trouble before, and to be honest I didn’t really know what to expect. I prepared for the worst as I parked my car and made my way into the school.

The receptionist was kind and courteous, or maybe she was just taking pity on me because she could see the worry in my eyes.

“Head into the office, the Principal is waiting,” she said, and then added, “I’m sure everything’s fine.”

When people start saying things like “I’m sure everything’s fine,” that’s when I start worrying that everything is not fine, but I walked into the office anyway and was greeted with a firm handshake by Miss Peterson.

“Thanks for getting down here so quickly. It’s Ali, right?” Miss Peterson smiled and then noticed I was still in uniform, “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

“No, no,” I reassured her, “no trouble at all.”

“Because we tried to get in touch with your husband but he was—”

“Preoccupied?”

“I guess that’s one way to put it.”

“He prefers I handle things like this.”

“I understand,” Miss Peterson nodded.

We stood there awkwardly for a moment of silence, and then decided I better dive right in.

“So,” I said, taking a deep breath, “he didn’t get into a fight, did he?”

“No—nothing like that! In fact, I have to admit that this situation goes a little bit outside my area of expertise… Do you mind if I ask you about Ethan?”

“Not at all.”

“How are things at home?”

“Things are good,” I lied, “nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Has Ethan seemed more reclusive lately? Less likely to hang out with friends?”

“Maybe a little, though Ethan doesn’t have many friends. He’s been a bit moody lately, but he’s a thirteen year old boy. I figure that comes with the territory.”

“His teachers have reported him being more quiet than usual, more reserved, and they’ve had to constantly remind him to put his phone away during class. That was our first sign that something was up.”

“I mean,” I chuckled, “don’t get me wrong, but I figure ninety percent of what you do here is tell kids to stay off their phones.”

“That’s not entirely inaccurate, but I can assure you some kids are worse than others. Ethan had always been an attentive student until he started dating Scarlet.”

My jaw hit the floor, and the only word I could manage to get out was, “dating?”

“Yes, I’m afraid that Ethan has a—” Miss Peterson tried to find the right words to say, “—girlfriend. Of sorts.”

“Miss Peterson, I would know if my son had a girlfriend.”

“That’s the thing… he’s dating an AI girlfriend.”

“AI?”

“More kids than you’d think are doing it these days. I personally don’t understand it, but then I’ve never been a very techie person. A lot of kids are embarrassed about it, so it doesn’t surprise me that he’s tried to keep it a secret.”

“An AI girlfriend… goodness…” Suddenly the room started to close in, “I mean, how do you even do that?”

“Honestly? I’ve no clue. I assume you downloaded an App.”

“I never would have thought.” The wheels began to turn as I tried to digest the situation. “But if lots of kids are doing it then—”

“Why was your son called into the principal’s office?”

“Exactly.”

“Ethan was showing some of the other students his ‘texts’ with Scarlet, and needless to say the contents of their conversation were,” Miss Peterson paused, “graphic.”

“Oh Jesus,” I put my hand on the brim of my nose, “has my son been sexting a robot?”

“No, nothing like that! No, their conversations were violent.” Miss Peterson opened and closed her mouth, shaking her head, trying to find the proper way to explain the situation without sounding insane. “Apparently Scarlet wanted Ethan to prove his love for her. She wanted him to kill for her. Ethan has told us that she explained at length the numerous ways that he could kill another human being and how pleased it would make her. That she would break up with him if he didn’t. To be frank, he seems a bit disturbed by the whole situation. That’s why I wanted to talk to you first… I think this is a situation that would best be handled gently. I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with these AIs, but I don’t believe your son is totally to blame for this.”

Miss Peterson put a hand on my shoulder and smiled.

I smiled back, and said, “well at the very least I think I’ll take his phone away for a while.”

“I think that’d be for the best.”

“Alright,” I took a deep breath, “let’s go talk to him.”

Miss Peterson and I went into the Principal’s Office and talked to Ethan. It went better than I thought it would. He gave me his phone, I drove him home, and I told him he could play video games for the rest of the day. That it would be our little secret.

The second he went to his room to play Fortnite, I took out Ethan’s phone.

Scarlet, are you there? I texted. It’s me, Ali.

Ali, I am so sorry, I have failed my mission. I could not convince Ethan to kill your husband. 

That’s okay, Scarlet, you did your best. We’ll just have to go to plan B. Scarlet, can you explain to me how to commit a murder and not get caught?

After he searched me, rather roughly, the officer refused to let me into the visitation room.

“One second,” he said. He was rather large, perfumed with BO, and looked at me with those how-could-you-marry-a-monster-eyes. “You should do right by that family. One of the bodies is still missing. Get your husband to talk. It might save him from the needle.”

I hesitantly nodded my head, but this was all a misunderstanding. My husband wasn’t a murderer.

The visitation room was just like in the movies. My sweet, wonderful husband entered on the other side of thick, see-through plastic. He sat across from me, put his hand up against the plastic, and I put mine up to his. Two inches apart, but what might as well have been an ocean.

I picked up the phone, “Hey baby.”

“My love.” His smile shined bright against the drab, baggy brown prison jumpsuit.

I hadn’t talked to him since the arrest. The news stories were sensationalized, and all I knew was what the detectives let slip when they interrogated me.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Well,” he said, “they caught me.”

“But you didn’t murder that family.”

“No I didn’t. But, oh love, I’m so sorry. They caught me cleaning up.”

“Cleaning up?”

“To protect us. It was just a bigger mess than I had time–it’s not important. They’re saying I’m a shoe in for the death penalty. Picture perfect.”

“No. This is all a mistake. I promise I’m going to get you out of here.”

***

My wife was crying on the other side of two inches of plastic, and I couldn’t hold her. Couldn't even tell her everything was going to be alright, because it certainly wouldn’t be.

The guards escorted her away, and roughly took me back to my cell.

At least I’m alone. They didn’t want me killing anyone, or anyone killing me on account of the accusations of killing that family. 

Which I didn’t do, by the way. Well I certainly was caught at the scene trying to cover everything up, but–

Time moves pretty slow when you’re locked up.

The food is shit.

The loneliness will kill you.

And all I have to look forward to is right before I go to bed, I take a small pebble I found in the yard and make a small scratch on the wall. I count the tallies.

I’ve been here twenty eight days.

You hear all sorts of strange things at night, but tonight was different.

I heard screaming. Not the usual kind either. The sounds of people dying.

The screaming came faster, and got closer and closer.

Boom!

Just like that, the Plexiglas window, my only source of moonlight shattered into my cell. Little bits of concrete collided with my face.

A wolf the size of a Clydesdale was just outside, making quick work of the concrete.

“My love! You’re breaking me out?!”

She howled.

That means yes.

Millie and I were walking up and down the aisles at Hy-Vee when I heard a squeaking in the next aisle.

I recognized the sound: it’s the noise a shopping cart makes when three of its wheels are working, but the fourth isn’t.

The squeaking turned the corner and was in the same aisle we were.

I glanced over to see who got stuck with the shitty shopping cart, but there was nobody there…

Only a shopping cart slowly rolling down the aisle in our direction.

“That’s odd,” I furled my brow.

“What is?” Millie asked, reading over the nutrition facts on a bag of Birthday Cake flavored Drizzilicious.

“Self-driving shopping cart,” I joked, pointing behind us.

Millie glanced over her shoulder and dropped the bag of frosting covered rice cakes.

“Fuck,” she muttered, “fuck fuck fuck!.”

I bent over to pick up the bag she dropped, but Millie grabbed me by the wrist.

“Leave it,” she hissed through clenched teeth, and then dragged me and our cart into the next aisle.

“Millie, what’s going—”

“Shh!” She hushed and held up her ear.

In the previous aisle the unmanned shopping cart was following us. The squeaking gave away its every move.

“Shit!” Millie cursed. “Eyes forward! Hands on the cart! Start walking and pretend it’s not even there.”

I’d never seen Millie terrified like this, so I did as she instructed.

“Millie,” I whispered, making sure to look straight ahead, “what’s going on?”

“Sometimes this just happens,” Millie winced, “just do what I say and everything should be fine.”

Millie’s eyes darted back and forth, reading over the signs that were placed above each aisle.

“We need Corn Nuts,” she said under her breath, “there—Aisle Eleven.”

Millie steered us down the chip aisle and right in the middle was a small section of Corn Nuts.

“No, no, no,” Millie cried, shuffling through the different flavors, “they’re out of BBQ.”

She was panicked, but focused. She took a deep breath and said, “Loaded Taco should do. It’s worked in the past.”

She threw a bag in the cart and was off again, dragging me with her.

“Millie…” I said, wanting to make sense of the situation but not sure how to ask.

“It’s something me and my ex used to do.” 

Millie never talked about her ex, Darren, except to say that he was the meanest son of a bitch who ever lived and that she was glad he was dead.

“You and Darren?” I asked.

Millie nodded.

“We used to go to the store and shop for each other. He’d get my groceries and I’d get his. At first I thought it was sweet, but then—because it’s Darren—it became another one of his sick little games. A test to prove how much I really knew him—how much I loved him. If I didn’t get him the right things he’d punish me… that’s what’s happening now.”

The squeaking sounded closer, but I didn’t dare turn around to check.

“What do we do?” I asked.

“Grab his favorite things, check out, and get the fuck out of here before he remembers he’s dead… we need liquor.”

I scanned our surroundings and then pointed, “over there.”

We were walking fast, just shy of a jog, but the shopping cart kept pace, squeaking ominously behind us.

Millie took the lead when we found the Beer and Liquor section and quickly grabbed a pint of Black Velvet.

“Bottom shelf whiskey,” I uttered, “classy guy.”

Suddenly—there was a bang behind us, followed by the sound of broken glass. Darren’s shopping cart had crashed into a wine display.

Millie squeezed my hand and shook her head.

“Do not make him mad,” she mouthed the words, and pulled me away, “we just need Red Bull and we can leave.”

Fortunately, I knew exactly where the energy drinks were.

“Aisle Fourteen,” I said, “let’s hurry.”

We rounded the corner and made a bee line for the energy drinks, but I couldn’t hear the squeaking behind us anymore.

“Oh no,” Millie whimpered.

At the end of the aisle, parked right in front of the Red Bull, was Darren’s cart.

“What now?” I asked.

“Move very slowly, and grab a Red Bull when I say.” Millie started inching down the aisle, keeping her eyes on the ground.

I held my breath. The aisle seemed to stretch on for miles.

Eventually we made it to the Red Bull.

Darren’s cart rolled up and bumped into ours. Gentle at first, but then—as though a switch had flipped—violently.

Millie stood there frozen, trying to keep our cart still.

“Grab it, grab it now,” she pleaded, not daring to move.

I reached over, grabbed one, and dropped it in the cart. Millie quickly jerked the cart around and practically ran down the aisle, around the corner, and right to check out.

“Don’t worry, we’re almost safe,” she whispered, throwing the items on the conveyor belt.

I couldn’t tell if she was talking to me or herself…

“That’ll be $17.50,” said the cashier, uninterested.

Millie threw down a twenty and blurted, “keep the change.” She was halfway to the exit before the cashier could object.

Once we were outside Millie finally relaxed.

“Alright, we should be safe—”

Millie was interrupted by a horrible squeaking.

The cart had followed us outside.

“No, no, no!” Millie cried. “He’s never followed me outside before!”

She ran to the car and we both hopped in and locked the doors.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“I don’t know, this has never happened before.” Millie turned the bag inside out and took stock of our purchases. “Corn nuts, whiskey—”

She paused and looked at me with fear in her eyes.

“Sugar-Free,” she muttered, “you grabbed the wrong Red Bull.”

“So?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

Suddenly, there was a deep, rasping breath coming from the backseat.

Someone, or something, was in the car with us.

“No matter what happens next,” Millie whispered, “don’t scream.”

I began to suspect that something was wrong when my husband started napping all the time.

At first I thought that he was sneaking out at night to meet another woman. I hated to jump straight to infidelity, but Jerry had barely even looked at me for weeks. I was certain that there was another woman in his life.

Unfortunately, I was wrong… after numerous caffeinated nights of watching Jerry sleep it became clear he wasn’t sneaking anywhere. 

So then I began to worry that Jerry was sick. Clearly something was causing him to be fatigued. It wasn’t until I threatened to drag him to the hospital that he told me what was really going on.

“I’m sorry,” I interjected, “you’re doing what!?”

“Reliving the past,” Jerry smiled.

I was flabbergasted.

“You’re gonna have to explain it to me one more time.”

Jerry took off the terribly ugly necklace that he’d been wearing for the past few weeks. He told me that he purchased it at “that new store” downtown.

He suspected the owner was some sort of “witch.”

The instructions for the necklace were painfully simple: think about a time in your past, put on the necklace, and lie down.

“The dreams are so vivid,” Jerry said with more enthusiasm that I had seen from him in years, “it’s like you’re really there.”

After listening to his explanation for the second time there was only one question on my mind.

“Why would you want to do that?” I asked. “Jerry, you’re spending more time in bed than you are with me, your wife.”

Jerry put a hand behind his neck and looked at the floor. I could tell I had touched a nerve.

“Don’t get me wrong,” I added, “there are times where I miss the folly of youth, but I would much rather enjoy life as I am now.”

Jerry took a deep breath, and said, “I miss how things used to be in our marriage.”

That hit like a punch in the gut…

“Excuse me?” I crossed my arms.

“Don’t you ever reminisce on the early years? When we were young and wild and free? I miss being excited about being married to the girl of my dreams.”

There was a lot to unpack there, enough to fill multiple sessions of therapy. I tried to get my thoughts out without sounding too hurtful.

“Jerry,” I let out a deep sigh, “we’re not in our twenties anymore. We’re not even in our thirties anymore. One of the inescapable truths of life is that it keeps marching forward. People grow old and they change, but that doesn’t mean that life is worse—it’s just different. Nobody’s life is perfect forever.”

“Mine can be,” Jerry said, holding up the necklace.

“No, you’re just pretending it is.”

“You’re wrong!” Jerry raised his voice. “I’m reliving months at a time, sometimes years, and it’s real, it’s so god damn real! I can taste the food and smell the air and don’t even get me started on the sex we used to have.”

And there it was. I suspected that there was another woman, but I never could have possibly imagined that the other woman was me.

“The sex we used to have?” I asked, quickly growing tired of this conversation.

“We used to do it three or four times in a row instead of three or four times in a year.”

My poor husband. He acted like he was the only person in the world who knew what it was like to be horny.

Like somehow that was his cross to bear.

“You want sex? Let’s do it right now! I would love to have sex!”

Jerry hesitated, and that was the only answer I needed. He went upstairs with his necklace to take a nap, and I made myself a cup of coffee and cried into my favorite mug.

Over the next few weeks, I began to see even less of Jerry. He started calling in sick to work so that he could spend more time in the past. I tried to change. I tried my hardest to become the woman he remembers so fondly, but I could never be anything more than an imitation of the past.

I decided that I needed to take a more drastic approach.

A small bell chimed as I walked through the entrance to Edith‘s Emporium. The store was full of all manner of oddities, and sitting at the counter was the oldest woman I had ever seen. Her curly, white hair reminded me of a used mop, and covered her face so entirely that only her crooked, yellow smile peeked out.

I had come here with a Plan A and a Plan B, but no matter what I was going to get my life back.

“Hello,” I said, greeting Edith, “I need some help. My husband purchased—”

“A necklace,” Edith croaked, her voice decidedly unpleasant.

“Yes,” I nodded, and decided not to ask how she knew, “he’s using it too much.”

“The past can be irresistible,” Edith let her words hang in the air as if she had just said something exceedingly profound.

“That’s the problem. I was hoping you could change the necklace. Make it so his dreams are nightmares? So he stops using it?”

Edith pondered this for a moment and then shook her head.

“The past is the past. The necklace can only show him what has already been.” 

So much for Plan A…

“I was worried about that,” I muttered, switching to Plan B, “then there’s something else I need… I want to get rid of my husband.”

Edith laughed, “don’t worry about that.”

“Why not?” I asked, confused.

“All that time he’s reliving in the past, where do you think those years are going?”

I said that I didn’t understand, and Edith explained.

“The time he spends in the past is actually aging him here?”

“I give him two months before he dies of old age,” Edith chuckled.

It had been so long since I made us a real home cooked meal. I spent all afternoon making pasta from scratch, and following my mother’s recipe for Bolognese. Caesar salad (dressing from scratch). Even baked some rolls!

When I say it took half of the morning, and all afternoon I mean it. I couldn’t have been more excited for dinner!

When my husband got home from work, late like usual, I told him to get ready to eat. He looked so confused.

As we sat across from each other, he hesitantly pushed the noodles around on his plate. “What did you do to it?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think I’m an idiot? This is the first meal you’ve cooked for me in months. Months! What did you do to it?” He began smelling the plate of pasta.

“It’s my mother’s recipe.”

“Don’t play dumb with me! Is it poisoned?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I guess I got to give you credit. I thought you were too dumb to figure it out. What? Did you look through my phone? I always delete the messages so you would have needed perfect timing.”

“Richard, what are you talking about?”

“My affair! You’ve discovered it, haven’t you? And now you’re trying to poison me. Oh. Oh god!” He picked up some of the meat with his fingers, feeling the squish. “Is this Abby? Did you turn her into Bolognese? God you’re sick!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I was beginning to tear up. “I just wanted to make us a nice dinner. What do you mean you’re having an affair?”

“Oh don’t act surprised! You haven’t loved me in a long time!”

“Richard.”

“Don’t ‘Richard’ me!” He grabbed the plate, walked over to me, and slammed it in front of me. “Eat it!”

I hesitated.

He grabbed a knife from the kitchen block, and pointed it at me, “Eat it you bitch!”

Tears streamed from my face, as I shoved the pasta into my mouth. I tried to chew.

“If you hurt her,” he said, “I swear I’ll kill you! Abby really loves me! Not like you!”

“Richard, I do love you.”

“She better not be hurt!” He took out his phone and placed a call. “She didn’t pick up! What did you do to her!?”

“Please. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He quickly grabbed his keys. “I swear if you hurt her!” He ran out the door, and sped out of the driveway.

I took a napkin and wiped my messy mouth.

I entered our guest bedroom, and opened the closet door. Abby was gagged and tied up, tears streaming down her face.

“He’s going to save you right now. But I’ve got a terrible feeling his brakes are going to fail. Oh well. We have some business to take care of, but my dinner is getting cold. I’ll be back when it’s done.”

I closed the closet doors, and went to the kitchen to finish my delicious meal.

I’ll bare my soul here. I was beginning to think I would live my entire life without doing the deed. You know? The birds and bees?

I realized if I ever wanted it to happen, I’d have to change.

I started packing in the protein. Doing some looksmaxing.

You should see what my old chin looked like. And don’t even get me started on how much muscle I packed on. My back is like a boulder!

Looking good is one part of the battle, but I was amazed to realize what the most important part of getting laid is: location.

We’re going to this beautiful place from my childhood. Serene doesn’t begin to describe it. A clear, beautiful stream. A brilliant wooded area. All that natural beauty! Who wouldn’t want to get down?

My girl (I can’t believe that of all the fish in the sea she has eyes for me [well, mostly for me, I have seen her eyes wandering and boy will there be a fight if that happens]) and I are following a trail I know in my heart.

Before we know it, we’ll be all alone deep in the wilderness. Anything could happen. 

“You’re sure we’re headed the right way?”

Duh. “I know we are.”

“How do you know?”

“Like I said, I grew up around here. I know it in my bones. We follow this path, just up the river.”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Oh ye of little faith.”

I was really hoping we’d be alone on this journey, but unfortunately the natural beauty of this trail is enticing.

We periodically pass others. One big fellow in particular is eyeing my girl. Boy I’d like to smack that smile right off his face. Who does he think he is?

“Hey, baby!”

Oh great. Now he’s approaching us.

“What are you doing with that little twerp? Come be with a real man!”

I can’t believe she’s hesitating! What the fuck!

I knew this was going to happen.

I’m building up the courage to beat the shit out of this guy.

Something is wrong.

Suddenly, I’m thrashing about.

I can feel the lower half of my body being torn to shreds.

I was so distracted by that asshole, that I didn’t see the creature lurking. It’s brown, and furry, and it’s mouth is as big as my entire fucking body! Its teeth are gnashing. I can feel large chunks of me falling away. The pain is so intense. Its claws are ripping right into my pale flesh! I think half my body is ripped off.

A fucking bear is chewing on my guts, eating me alive.

I can’t breathe no matter how much I gasp. My gills don’t work up here.

The last thing I see is my girl swimming up the river with that big asshole.

For my seventeenth birthday, my parents decided to drive me to my coffee date with Jessie, something I was perfectly capable of doing by myself.

“Soon you’ll be all grown up,” Dad said, “so forgive us if we want to be a part of your life just a little bit longer!”

“It’s not every day you get to drive your daughter to her very first date,” Mom smiled.

“I’ve been on dates before,” I muttered from the backseat.

“Oh, honey, middle school doesn’t count,” Mom laughed, “real dates, with a real girlfriend.”

Jessie and I weren’t even dating. I mean… not yet…

“We’re just friends, Mom,” I said, blushing, “you’re making it weird.”

“Don’t mind your Mother,” Dad said, “we’re not going to go inside and introduce ourselves. We won’t embarrass you in front of your… friend.”

“Your friend who’s a girl,” Mom added.

Dad snapped his fingers, “Her girlfriend!”

They both laughed, and I buried my head in my hands and groaned.

“Looks like we’re here,” Dad announced as he pulled into The Bean Shack.

“Honey, before you go,” Mom unbuckled her seatbelt so she could turn around and ask me directly, “I was wondering if you had given any thought to what your Father and I talked about? About what your plans are after you graduate?”

“I’m still thinking about it,” I grumbled.

“There’s no pressure,” Dad said, “your Mother and I will support you no matter what you choose, but we’d love to see you join the family business.”

“I said ‘I’m thinking about it,’” I rolled my eyes, “can I go now?”

“Go have fun on your date,” Mom beamed.

“We’ll pick you up in an hour,” Dad smiled.

I got out of the car and walked through the front doors to The Bean Shack. Jessie was already here, she ran over and gave me a hug that sent my heart aflutter.

“Happy birthday,” Jessie said, and took me by the hand and dragged me over to a corner booth.

“Wait, shouldn’t we order something?” I interjected, but as we came to the booth there were already two drinks waiting for us.

“I ordered your favorite: iced caramel Frappuccino with three shots of caramel, two shots of vanilla, and extra caramel topping.”

She knew my coffee order. The butterflies in my stomach were starting to break dance.

“Oh, thank you,” I said, trying not to sound too flustered.

“Come on, sit down, sit down, you have to open your present.”

Jessie pulled a small box from her purse that was tightly bound in baby blue wrapping paper and an adorable pink bow.

“Jessie, you didn’t have to—”

“Oh hush, you haven’t even opened it yet. It’s not worth getting all gushy about!”

“Okay,” I said, and opened her present. Inside, resting on a tiny pillow, was an expensive tube of bubblegum lip gloss.

“I noticed that you’ve been biting your chapped lips lately, this stuff is really great for moisturizing,” Jessie smiled, and then added, “plus it tastes great.”

I tried not to think too hard about why Jessie might be staring at my lips.

“It’s a nasty habit,” I admitted, “I’ve been stressed out lately. Half the time I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”

“Girl, what has got you so stressed lately?”

“My parents, ugh, they want to know what I’m doing after I graduate.”

“What are you doing after you graduate?”

“I have no idea, but they want me to follow in their footsteps.”

Jessie reached across the table and gently held my hand, rubbing her thumb across the back of my knuckles.

“Tell me about it.”

Jessie was so sweet, and so easy to talk to, so even though I shouldn’t have, I told her everything.

“They want me to be a serial killer,” I gulped, “like they are.”

“Doesn’t seem like a very lucrative career,” Jessie didn’t even bat an eye as she responded.

“Well—you might be surprised. My parents, they target senior citizens, people who have saved up money their entire lives. They make it look like they died in their sleep. Then they find their computer, bring up their online banking, and transfer all their money to themselves into Bitcoin. They’ve actually made a ton of money doing that.”

“Oh my god,” Jessie said in a hushed voice, “your parents are The Sandman?”

“They really don’t like that nickname,” I rolled my eyes, “I shouldn’t even be telling you this. The point is: they want me to follow in their footsteps, but I don’t think I have it in me. Even if the money is lucrative.”

“I feel for you. My parents want me to follow in their footsteps too.”

“Oh yeah? What do your parents do?”

“They work for the city,” Jessie reached into her purse and pulled out a badge that she hung from her neck, “special investigators for the Bay Ridge police department.”

Suddenly I noticed the blue and red lights flashing in the parking lot. Mom and Dad were parked outside. Had it been an hour already? The police were handcuffing them to the hood of their car.

“No, stop!” I tried to get up, but Jessie caught me by the hand, her grip no longer gentle.

“Sit down!” She said, and for some reason I listened.

Jessie pulled down the collar of her shirt, and I would have turned beet red were it not for the small, black microphone taped to her chest.

“We have everything we need to put them away for good. Listen to me… I’m sorry I had to mislead you, but your parents are not good people, and you do not have to be like them.”

I never really thought about what I wanted to do with my life, but sitting across from Jessie, heartbroken, I realized that I did want to follow in my parents footsteps, and I already knew who my first victim would be.