Page 11 of Hold the Pickle
I flip on the light in the bathroom. This smaller space smells of Nadia, a scent I didn’t expect to already know.
My hair is wild and my eyes are bloodshot. That’s terrifying.
I’m relieved to see there’s a shower curtain up. I expected Nadia to do something pastel and feminine, but it’s clear with cartoon images of cats all over it. Maybe she does rescue kittens.
I set my toiletry bag by the sink and return to the duffle to fetch one of my two towels plus something to sleep in.
Shower, then shut-eye.
The water is hot and plentiful, even if my cheap shampoo obliterates the smell of Nadia. I dry off and change into a T-shirt and shorts.
I consider my bag with a toothbrush and toiletries. I’ll leave them in my zipper pouch for now. I shove it in the cabinet under the sink.
Nadia can have the shelves behind the mirror. She’s bound to have more things than I do.
Right as I turn out the light, I sense a movement in the main room.
She can’t be here. It’s too early, plus there’s no place that isn’t obvious. There’s only one big space plus the bathroom.
Still, I say, “Nadia?”
No answer.
It’s dim in the main room with the lights out and the windows covered. I’m tired and probably seeing things. The place is unfamiliar.
The bed calls to me. I almost lie on it when I realize I shouldn’t take over her pretty bedding.
I open the black trash bag that holds the old comforter I used on Jerry’s floor for the last two weeks. It’s black with the colorful figures of four Transformer figures emblazoned on both sides.
Jerry gave me real hell about it, but it’s one of the few things I have from childhood. Mom would lug it around in a trash bag like this to make sure I was always warm and comfortable wherever we landed.
It’s big enough to cover Nadia’s ruffled number. As it lands over the expanse of the bed, I quickly follow its path.
I’ve just sunk my head against Optimus Prime when I sense another movement, a quick shadow near the floor.
Then a rustle of plastic.
I jump to my feet. A rat? This place seemed cleaner than that.
My ears tingle as I stand still to listen.
There’s nothing.
But I can sense something here.
A broom leans against the wall. My fingers tighten around the handle. I sweep beneath the bed, instantly hitting several solid objects.
I flip on the flashlight function of my phone as a light and kneel to take a look. A row of suitcases fills the space, a matching set with Louis Vuitton stamped on the sides. Figures.
I scoot them with the broom, trying to flush out what’s under there, not completely sure I want to deal with whatever it is.
Then something brushes against my forehead, soft and sweeping, like a feather. It’s on the bed now.
I imagine a squirrel or a raccoon.
But I look up, and I swear it’s a furry mountain lion staring down at me. It’s huge. It opens its mouth, but no sound comes out.
Like a horror movie.
