Page 85 of Demo
I’m sitting on the front stoop thinking how fitting it is that it’s a hazy, foggy morning—to match my mood—when Dee’s car comes screaming into the parking lot. A wooden stick or handle is sticking out from the back passenger side window.
Her door swings open and she jumps out, landing in a fighting stance, eyes wide. She looks like a rabid animal. “Where are they? What’s happening? Have you heard anything?”
I stare at her, then she relaxes her stance. “I have a lot more questions but none of them seem all that important in this exact moment,” she says, making her way around the car.
“Thank you so much for coming,” I start, but she flails a hand in the air to silence me.
“Later,” she says. She opens the back passenger side door and pulls out a rake. An old as shit, rusted metal claw attached to a long, wooden, splintering handle. It’s not a big, wide rake you would use to collect leaves. It’s a short, stubby one with fingers curled under to till soil.
She holds it close to her body as she swivels around to face me, then pushes the rake at me, nodding and gesturing toward the house as I take it in my hands. Like she’s telling me to take the lead.
I look at the item in my hands then back up at her, with God only knows what written all over my face. “The fuck am I supposed to do with this, Dee?!” I ask through so many other questions swirling within my brain. “Brush the intruder’s hair?
“Look,” she says, unamused. “I saw it in the garage as I got in the car. I would have preferred a pitchfork, but I didn’t see one. And the chainsaw has to be plugged in, and I don’t know if you have an outlet in the hallway …”
She’s serious. She’s dead serious. And she’s still talking, but I can’t hear anything through the emotions running through my mind. I lurch forward and sling an arm around her neck, pulling her into an awkward hug with the rake weapon lodged between us.
“Thanks for coming,” I say into her hair.
“Yeah, yeah,” she says, patting me on the back.
We separate and head up the stairs like we’re firefighters, and I’m holding a live hose ready to shoot water, and she’s right behind to sturdy me. We take each step up carefully, cautiously, and then a giggle escapes me.
How on earth I am laughing right now is beyond me.
Dee is also giggling, but gives me a shove to keep it moving. We get to the door and stop. I see Dee bite down on her bottom lip, then look around the hallway, like I did when I arrived.
“What do you think?” I ask her quietly.
“Why don’t I hear that freaking dog of yours barking?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I reply solemnly. “The door was left ajar, so he may have escaped.”
“Shit,” she whispers back. “I don’t know. Maybe we should wait.”
“Wait for what?” I ask.
“Well, I may have called Monty on my way over.”
“Dee!”
“Well,” she puts her hands up, “he was there with you last night so maybe he has some insight. And I’m a little out of my league here.” She gestures toward the rake. “I mean, clearly.”
“You know what, this is stupid. I’m going in,” I say, and before Dee can protest, I push the door all the way open with the rake and yell into the dark room. “Police! Come out with your hands up!”
Dee rolls her eyes at me. “Seriously?”
I shrug. Then we inch our way in.
“Oh, shit,” I hear Dee say behind me. “The place has been ransacked.”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “No, actually, it hasn’t. This is just the way I live now.”
I look around at the apartment, which is exactly as I left it. Dirty dishes in the sink. Dirty laundry on the floor. Coffee table covered with old takeout food containers. Everything is in its place.
We make our way into the bedroom and find the bed unmade, dresser drawers half-open, and I can see a wet towel on the floor near the closed bathroom door. Yep, still looks about right.
Then I hear whimpering and realize Kennedy is shut in the bathroom.
