Page 20 of Hunter's Hidden Camera
Possessed
Iflush the toilet and watch my vomit disappear. But the smell remains. I open the cabinet underneath the sink and grab a can of air freshener. I spray. Now it smells like fresh linens mixed with vomit. Honestly, I think it’s worse.
Did I actually see what I thought I saw when I was watching that footage from my spy cam? Were my eyes playing tricks on me? Or did I just misinterpret what I was seeing?
After washing my hands and rinsing my mouth with mouthwash, I go back into my room and sit at my laptop. I’m about to review the footage from earlier today again, but:
BANG, BANG, BANG!
Oscar is still knocking on my front door. I have to get rid of him.
I run downstairs and open the door.
“Damn, son, you deaf?” asks Oscar. “What’s taking you so long? You jerking off because of your blue balls?”
“No,” I say. “I got sick all of a sudden. I threw up. Must’ve been something I ate.”
Oscar leans to his left a little. “What happened to your head?”
For the first time tonight, Oscar notices the bandage on the side of my head, covering the wound right behind my ear. (He’s not the most observant person.)
I touch the bandage. “Oh, I hit my head against my nightstand. Anyway, dude, I can’t go out. I feel horrible.”
Oscar takes a step inside the house. “That’s all right, bro. We can hang out here.”
“No!” I block Oscar from coming in. “I mean, I need to be alone.”
“You acting strange as fuck right now,” Oscar says.
I never really get angry at anybody, but all of a sudden I explode: “Go home, Oscar!”
Oscar contorts his face a bit. He’s taken aback by my aggressiveness.
“Damn, Hunter, chill. You want me to go home, I’ll go home. But remember, you drove me here. I ain’t about to walk. It’s cold as a polar bear’s tit tonight.”
“Can you just call Victor and ask him to come get you?”
Oscar shrugs. “Yeah, I can do that. You need anything? Victor can bring it.”
“No,” I say. “See you later.”
And without saying another word, and to Oscar’s surprise, I close the door in his face. I lock the knob and turn the deadbolt.
I run back up the stairs, shut the bedroom door behind me, lock it, and sit down to watch the spy cam footage again. Here we go . . .
When Nash and Alessandra walk into Nash’s bedroom at 12:32 p.m. today, they are in the middle of a conversation. Well, actually, they are in the middle of a very intense argument. (The spy cam is motion activated, not sound activated, so it didn’t capture anything that Nash and Alessandra said before they came into the room.)
As they argue, Alessandra walks around the bedroom, looking for things that belong to her: clothes, accessories, etc. She’s gathering them all up to take them with her. Nash stands by the door, a look of utter frustration on his face.
Nash: “What are you doing?!”
Alessandra: “What does it look like I’m doing?! I’m getting my shit, and I’m leaving. You and me are done. Done!”
Nash: “Calm down.”
Alessandra: “Don’t tell me to calm down! Don’t tell me anything. You’ve lost the right to speak to me.”
Nash: “Why are you doing this? Let’s talk about it. Let’s figure it out together.”
