perpetrator has a minion!

Minion the Fluffy

Chicago, Illinois.
July 19.
9:41 PM.

The door opens and slams abruptly. She sits up in bed and sets her book aside, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Michael? Is that you?”

No answer. Footsteps coming down the hall.

“Michael?”

The footsteps near the door and she stands frozen by the bed.

“Mi—“

He walks into the room and kisses her on the forehead, taking his earbuds out.

“Hey, honey. Sorry, I went on a run and forgot to tell you that I’d be out late.”

She clutches her chest, cheeks reddening.

“Jesus, Michael, you scared me.”

He scoffs. “What, did you think I was coming in here to get you? Like the boogeyman?”

“Something like that,” she murmurs.

“Oh, I forgot my keys on the counter.” He walks back out of the room. She stands in the middle of the room and shakes her head.

When she hears the thump her head snaps up and her eyes narrow.

“That’s not funny, Michael.”

She walks out of the room and into the hallway. She doesn’t turn on the light.

And that’s when I get her. I laugh to myself while I’m strangling her. I wonder if she still thinks it’s the boogeyman.

Before I leave I slip off their rings and drop them into my pocket.

They’ll find them in two days, maybe three, when the neighbors start smelling something unpleasant. I finger the rings in my pocket and I smile.

July 20.
12:31 AM.

The phone distorts her voice.

“Hey?”

“Hey, April. It’s the middle of the night. What’s going on?”

“Yeah. Listen, I was wondering if you were going to Andy’s party tomorrow? I think Anne is out of town and I don’t really want to go alone.”

“I’m not sure. We’ve been really busy in the clinic this week and I’m on call.”

“Come on. It’ll be fun!”

Her voice becomes muffled as she places her palm over the receiver and yells at someone in the background to bring her a vodka.

“So what’s on your thumb?”

I look down at the speck of blood on my thumbnail and wipe it off hurriedly.

“Huh? What did you just say?”

“I said, so are you gonna come? Tomorrow night?”

“Oh. Yeah, okay April. But only for you.”

“It’ll be a great time. The girls love you, you know. And I have someone I want you to meet.”

July 21.
8:12 PM.

Andy opens the door with a smile on his face and a beer in his hand. He hugs me and April with one arm and yells to the rest of the party to announce our arrival.

They yell back over the music blaring over the speakers. There are tons of sweaty bodies packed into the large apartment. The girls dance, sweat sheening their skin. The smell of people.

Two of Andy’s girlfriends – I can’t remember either of their names – run over and kiss me on the cheek, squealing.

“Oh, James, you made it!”

Ah. That one’s Claire. Late 20s, dorming, blue eyes, straight teeth, necklace from her parents means she’s rich, has a dog – fibers on crease of skirt.

“I was hoping you’d come. We had such a fun time with you last time.”

And Jamie. I think. Mid 20s. Stressful life – wrinkles around eyes more prominent than usual. Recently divorced - tan line on ring finger but no ring.

I kiss them back and they drag me onto the sofa in the living room.

“Nice to see you ladies again,” I yell over the pounding bass. The wine is on the table and Claire’s glass is empty. “Here, let me get you a drink.”

July 21.
11:23 PM.

“So what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a doctor,” I say, downing my third beer.

Jamie is facing me on the couch, legs draped over mine, cheek on her hand. I can still feel her lipstick on my cheek and her breath on my neck. “Oooh, so you save people? You keep them alive?”

I laugh and touch the rings in my pocket. “Yeah, something like that.”

Claire nestles her head into the crook of my neck. “Tell us more.”

“Well, if you want the truth and the whole truth, I’m a cardiothoracic surgeon. A heart doctor.”

“Can you fix me up, doctor?”

She’s drunk. Her eyes are cloudy and her smile is downturned at the corners sleepily. A minute later her head droops and she starts to snore. When I turn my head toward Jamie she’s asleep too. Parties are so undignified.

I look around and the crowd has thinned considerably. April is on the couch with a guy that I've never seen before. Her eyes are pink and her hair is tousled, but she's fine.

And then I hear the yelling. It’s coming from the third bedroom on the right.

I’m in the doorway in a matter of seconds and a girl – mid 20s, brown hair, slight build, single, dislikes parties by the wrinkle pattern on her shirt – is on the floor seizing.

Andy is on the floor next to her.

“Get James! He’s a doctor.”

“I’m here,” I say.

I gesture Andy out of the way and roll up my sleeves. “Move the furniture away from her. Now. How long has she been like this?”

Andy is stuttering. “I don’t know . . . 30 seconds? I don’t know, man –“

Strobe in the corner. Pupils dilated.

“Epilepsy. Stay calm. Get your phone ready.”

I turn her on her side so the saliva won’t be caught in the windpipe. I look at my watch. 58, 59, 60, 61

Her body stills.

“Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay.”

Loosen tight clothing. I loosen the scarf around her neck and take off her belt.

Andy is staring at me. The girl shivers and groans.

“Get them out of here, Andy.”

“Is Mara okay?”

“She’s fine. She has to rest. Get them out now.”

“O-okay.”

He ushers them out of the room and I lift her onto the bed.

July 22.
3:55 PM.

She comes out of the room shivering.

“I think I need to go home,” she says, looking sheepish. “I imagine I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

Andy and I are on the couch, talking, and I look at him.

“I can take her,” I say.

July 22.
4:23 PM.

“Mara, right?”

“Yes. Thank you. For taking care of me. I don’t go to parties much and then this happens. I guess I’ll just stay home for the rest of my life.”

I laugh and take the exit off the freeway. “Don’t worry. You just have to be careful. And you need to go to the doctor.”

She nods and directs me to her house. When she gets out of the car she closes the door and looks at me through the open window. Her hair is sticking up and her makeup is smeared under her eyes.

“Thank you. Really.”

I smile and scribble my number onto a piece of paper from the glove compartment. “Here. Call me if anything gets crazy.”

May 19.
3:01 AM.

The phone ring cuts through the air like a knife.

“Mara, hi.”

“Dinner again tomorrow?”

“Sure. I’m a little busy tonight. What time were you thinking?”

“Does nine sound okay? Sorry for the late notice - I just wanted to see you.”

“Of course. I’ll pick you up at 8:15.”

“I’ve got the reservation.”

I hang up the phone and squeeze the cable tighter around the neck of the man writhing beneath my knee. He stops moving.

I get up, wipe the sweat off of my forehead with a gloved hand, and sigh. He was a fighter. And his eyes gave me the creeps. They seemed familiar. They were like ice. Too vivid a blue. I shake it off and lay his body on the bed.

I poke around his room for the souvenir. Then I see it, on the nightstand – a tiny angel statue. On the bottom it says, GABRIEL. A cheap little childhood relic. Probably something from his parents. I slip it into my pocket and climb back out of the window.

When I get in the car I put it in the glove compartment along with the rings.

May 20.
8:17 PM.

She slips into the car quietly.

“Are you okay, Mara?”

“Not really.

"What’s wrong?”

“I – didn’t want to burden you,” she says, her lips trembling. “I wanted to come out and see you tonight. But they found my brother Gabe last night. Strangled. In his apartment. His,” she pauses, sobs cutting her words in half. “His girlfriend found him laying on the bed.”

Something about his eyes

“Oh my god,” I stammer. “I’m so sorry.”

I wasn’t careful enough not careful enough no no no

She looks at me with red-rimmed eyes as cold as ice. “It’s not your fault.”

I lean over to hug her. “Give your mother my condolences.”

She sobs. “I think she’d appreciate if you gave her a call yourself. Here, I’ll write down her number.”

She reaches over to the open the glove compartment to look for a piece of paper.

.

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