“Excuse me,” I said, stepping over the spilled broth. “I made a promise to murder the next person that knocked on a door, a simple promise and nothing more. And there they are, knocking and rapping and tapping and it’s time to see what the fuck for.”
12
I stormed toward the door, trying not to have a mental breakdown. In my mind, I’d created a beautiful, flawless plan to counter the knocking. You see, the door swung inward, so whoever pounded on it probably expected it to fold away from them. Well, I decided I would kick it off its hinges, outward, to surprise the person driving me insane. In their shocked state, I would pull the Beretta from my waistband and mark off two rounds from my inventory.
Rearing back and finding a solid base on my left foot, I used a front kick and drove my right heel near the keyhole where the door was the weakest. All of my strength went into that stomping motion, along with a leonine scream. The heavy wood stopped me cold, sending a jolt of pain up my leg and into my knee. Actually, in total transparency, I lost my balance and hopped backward on one leg, barely avoiding an embarrassing fall. At least I didn’t fart again.
Not that I kept score, either, but to help with those of you who are—that’s zero points for me on attempted kicks, and two points for the bad guys that I have tried to kick. Maybe I should’ve practiced my martial arts a little more often, instead of drinking beer and watching sad movies. Fine! I’ll admit it. And eating ice cream. But only the kind with crunchies in it—like coffee chips or mint chips… I’ll even settle for cookie dough every now and again. No rocky road, though, and definitely no single flavors like vanilla or chocolate. I might be a killer, but I’m no serial killer.
On a happier note, I succeeded in responding to the tap, tap, tapping with a single knock of my own, most likely intimidating whoever waited on the other side—the knocking had silenced. I glanced back at Xander and Annie to make sure they hadn’t witnessed the door not breaking apart. I would hate for them to think even less of me than they already did.
“What are you two clowns looking at?” I asked. “I’m just nervous. This never happens to me. I swear. It’s the cabin—Xander, tell her about me and cabins. And I might have eaten too much stew. Just give me a minute, okay? I’ll figure this out.”
“Why don’t you just… this sounds ridiculous, I know, but why don’t you just… open it?” Xander asked.
“Because that’s exactly what they expect me to do.” Exhausted of Xander, I returned my attention to the door, reaching out with my bad right hand and gripping the knob. With my left hand, I wrapped my arm around my waist and held the Beretta. In one motion, I pulled open the door and drew the gun. “Prepare to die, nerd!” I screamed at… nothing.
No perpetrator stood outside. The bright afternoon sky had aged, growing dim with a few gray clouds covering the sun. A cold wind brushed through the tree branches and swept across my face. The river, a few dozen yards away, streamed over the rocks and on its way to Sacramento.
I attempted to tap into my newfound powers and scan the area for magical forces. Maybe someone stood invisible off to the side, or they had shape-shifted into a bird now perching on a branch, or they had used a distance spell to thump on the door and get someone to open it to expose themselves. That thought made me uneasy, as I stood a step outside the cabin. The power that had crested within me earlier had fallen into a trough. I could no more perceive any magic-wielders than I could see a shark beneath the dark surface of a stormy sea.
I know that’s a lot of ocean metaphors, but I’m thinking about heading out on a beach vacation, actually—when all the dust has settled. Something all-inclusive, either to Mexico or the Bahamas. What do you think?
I glanced back to Xander and shrugged. “I don’t see anything out—”
The cold kiss of a gun barrel pressing against my temple cut me off. The metal held tight against my head, keeping my chin situated over my shoulder, facing Xander and Annie. A firm, cold hand disarmed me of my weapon.
“Get back in the cabin,” a grizzled voice said.
“Are you some kind of witch—like the Blair Witch? Please, don’t kill me. I have so much to live for—I haven’t even finished the last season of Friends. Do Ross and Rachel get back together?” I mocked sobbing, my shoulders trembling. “They were just on a break. I don’t understand why they could never work it out.”
“Get in the cabin,” the guttural voice said again, slow and steady, “or I’ll shoot you.”
I wanted to test that threat, figuring if he, maybe she—the voice was very gender vague—wanted to shoot, they would have pulled the trigger by now.
“Some people call me stubborn, others just call me stupid. Most of my friends call me Joey, but that’s neither here nor there. The point is that I have a hard time following orders when there’s a gun shoved to the side of my head. More so when I’m prevented from seeing the idiot who’s threatening me. So, if you want me in the cabin, you’ll have to ask a little nicer than that.”
In the time it usually took me to unclasp a bra… no, that’s a terrible example.
Hold on.
Okay, I got it.
In the time it took me to fall asleep during one of Xander’s stories, the man slid the barrel off the side of my head and fired a round into the cabin, creating a pinprick of sunlight through the opposite wall. He hugged the metal back against my
