As she walked unseen towards the master bathroom, the smell was the strongest. There, Fritz stood in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing his teeth. She wrapped one of her tentacles around his head, squeezing the air out of him. His eyes closed, and he fell over, hit his head against the bathtub as he dropped to the floor. A bruise formed where his head had hit the tub.
About ten minutes later, his wife, Ingrid called out, “Fritz. Are you alright?” Hearing no answer, she walked towards the bathroom, and looked in the door. “Fritz!” she screamed, seeing her husband on the floor, breathing shallow, ragged breaths. She put her hands on his carotid artery; the pulse was weak and erratic. “Oh, no. Fritz, what happened to you?” Tears fell down her eyes as she panicked, alternating between tears and saying, “Fritz, please wake up…”
Poisonous snickered, and then laughed uncontrollably, as panic set in to his wife. A few moments later, Ingrid called 911, and within minutes, an ambulance came and took her husband to the Virginia Hospital Center. Ingrid sat on a bench next to Fritz, and Poisonous stood in the rear of the ambulance, presiding over the situation, unseen to all. A short while later, the doctor-in-charge that night in the Emergency Room looked at the patient, not knowing why he was unconscious. “I’m not sure why he blacked out, but I suspect it was a seizure. Induce a coma, so he doesn’t succumb to more seizures,” the doctor said. The crew quickly did as the doctor requested, and Fritz breathed on a respirator, lying on the hospital bed, eyes closed, oblivious of the world around him.
Eleven
Friday, August 15th
About a day later, Poisonous decided to pay Fritz and Ingrid a visit in the hospital. She landed in the Fritz’ room, and observed him waking up from his coma. The doctor asked him what year it was, and he answered, mentioning the previous year’s date, including the previous year’s president.
“No, honey,” said Ingrid. “That was last year. It’s now a year later, and we have a new president.”
“Really?” said Fritz. “ I’m confused.” Then he looked at Ingrid and asked, “Who are you? You look familiar, but I can’t quite place you.”
“I’m your wife,” Ingrid said, sadness in her eyes. “We’ve been married for twenty years.”
Poisonous laughed at the damage she had done to Fritz, and the sorrow his wife felt.
The doctor stood next to the bed, and said to Ingrid, “We’re not certain what caused this, but I have a strong hunch it was a stroke. He may have to undergo mental therapy, accompanied by medicine to help him recover from the damage to his memory.
After she had left the Virginia Hospital Center, she headed back to the condo. This particular day, Poisonous had no ‘appointments’ to keep, so she sat on her bed thinking of what she wanted to do. Oh yes: that pervert at the Capital Scene needed a date. She made a mental note of finding that girl today. “But this kind of stuff is getting boring. I need to meet someone whose ideology makes them want to destroy all that is not their way of thinking. Except that, unlike me, they do it in the name of religion.” The thought of Sharia Law came to her mind, and then she said, “Oh yes! Someone of that part of the Radical Islamic way of thinking who has no problem killing someone, one way or another, who doesn’t agree with their ideology. I think I know a place where I might find someone like that.” The map of Washington, D.C. pointed out the location of such a temple in the Kalorama neighborhood. I must visit this place right away.
Her human body’s Indian features could make her pass for an Arab girl, so she decided to dress like one. Using the Internet, she located such a store in Falls Church, Virginia, which catered to just such clothing. Not wanting to offend, she put on long pants, a knee length skirt, modest heels and a thick white scarf, arranged in such a way so that it could resemble a hijab.
Satisfied with her choice of outfits, she decided to take a ride in a Transportation Network Company car. She put in the information and a few minutes later, the driver pulled up in front of the condo complex.
As the TNC car came to a stop, she opened up the back door, and climbed in.
“Are you Perri?” the driver asked.
“Yes.”
“You are going to Falls Church to the Muslim Boutique?”
“Yes, and I’m sure you’re excited about the fare you’ll make.” She never looked at the driver, and in no mood for small talk, remained silent for the rest of the ride. Arriving at the boutique, she bought some proper Muslim attire, in fact two outfits, and left the shop. Noting the time to be almost three o’clock in the afternoon, she decided she’d better fly back home.
Settled into the apartment, which, at the time was empty as Evie was at work, she put the clothes on hangers and in her closet, and turned her attention to finding a young girl suitable for the guy at the Capital Scene. Putting her olfactory instincts on high alert, she flew out of the apartment,
