Page 19 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
“More like a two-liter bottle of Pepsi,” Officer Marv says as he undoes the lock to the cell.
I stand and slowly make my way toward the exit of the cell. “Am I bleeding?” I flash my forehead at Cole.
“No. The bleeding has stopped.”
“Wait, was I bleeding?”
“You have a cut above your eyebrow,” Cole says. “And a cut on the top of your hand where your crowbar impaled you as you fell.”
Surprised, I lift up my hand, and sure enough, it’s bandaged with white gauze. “What the hell happened?”
Marv clears his throat. “You were acting like a Peeping Tom, trespassing, and you were caught. Out of self-defense from your victim, you were hit in the head with a bottle of Pepsi where you fell to the ground and were impaled by your crowbar. You were then carted off in the back of my police car, where you dizzily rambled on about intruders. You were charged with third-degree trespassing. You will have a court hearing in the near future.”
“A court hearing?” I yelp. “Am I going to jail?”
“It would serve you right,” Cole mutters while Marv shakes his head.
“No, you’ll probably need to pay a fine. Possibly community service. Given this is your first offense and you’re in good standing with the town, the judge will go very easy on you.”
I let out a pent-up breath, becausefuck, jail? I wouldn’t survive. There’s no way. And my brothers and Cole would never let me live it down. I might look intimidating wielding an axe at the farm, but I’m not ashamed to say I’m a cinnamon roll.
“My suggestion to you: leave your new neighbor alone.” Marv then takes off, leaving me with Cole, who is shaking his head.
“I told you to leave. I told you to go home. But noooo, you just couldn’t listen. Jesus, Max.”
I nod, feeling the shame of being caught pulse through me. There’s only one thing to really say. “You were right, dear. You were right.”
Betty
I grew up in Colorado, and yet the weather in the mountains is so different.
Colder.
Windier.
More unpredictable.
The mornings are deathly chilling, especially if the wind is whipping around, which is why I find that I wear my ski mask in the mornings to avoid getting chapped skin during my runs.
I head down the street, passing the coffee shop, and look up just in time before I bump into the brick shithouse I bumped into the other day.
But this time, he’s wearing a winter hat over his head and a pair of sunglasses, his hands stuffed in his pockets with his head tilted down, like he’s trying to avoid all humans.
Smiling, I bump into his shoulder, causing him to look up and say, “Oh shit, sorry—” He pauses, and then recognition fallsover him, the smallest of smiles tugging on his lips as he leans in. “Vigilante?”
I can’t hold back my chuckle. “Harpoon stealer? I almost didn’t recognize you. Are you incognito?”
He slowly nods and then glances over his shoulder. “There has been a breach in the town cheeriness, and I’ve been forced to go undercover. Beware. If seen with me, you might go down as well.”
Hate to admit it, but I was kind of hoping I would run into him again. This nameless man, who gave me such a strange but exhilarating interaction the other day. I kept thinking about him and how easy it was to just... pretend.
Leaning forward conspiratorially, I ask, “And who is at the helm of this breach?”
He glances around, checking over his shoulders a few times before he leans in as well and whispers, “The Easter Bunny.”
I snort all over my ski mask as he continues.
“Fed up with this year-round Christmas town, he’s ready to take everyone down, me being the number one target.”
