Agoraphobia and Ecstasy Ch. 11-20

Mira nodded, her lips pursed tightly. I could see she would be a handful. Having her here was like having Nan close to me all over again, but with a lot more pain, and still missing her all at once. Hopefully the Molly would take the edge off at least. I poured the wine and ordered the pizza with the app on my phone. Mira made a cup of tea, something she did regularly when we used to do this. She said tea helped the high last longer, but I never believed her.

When the pizza guy rocked up, he mentioned not having gotten a tip the last time he was here, and Mira tried to chase him off, but knowing me I had actually made that blunder. I offered him a large tip and got rid of him. My insides were cooking and I was starving.

"Pepperoni and sausage?" Mira turned her nose up. "I like taco pizza." Her smirk reminded me of the code we used to have. Taco--code for a woman's nether region. She wanted me, but I didn't know if it was the Molly or the fact that we used to have something.

Mira skipped the pizza. She downed her glass of wine and landed on her knees in front of me as I scooped up a slice of pie. The cheese was so hot it burnt my tongue but the thick crust gave me something to muffle the moans that she drew from my lips as her hand slid between my thighs, her fingers searching.

She was both pleasure and pain. Ecstasy and agony. A thrill of excitement and the dread of terror. Mira was dangerous, more dangerous than Siphon, or Henry Watts. Her fingers stole my innocence and dripped with it as she brought them to her lips to suck them clean. My pizza flopped to the coffee table and all I could think as her tongue trailed across my knee and up my inner thigh was that I was glad the E would make sure I didn't remember a thing. Mira would leave town, and I could go back to a life where my biggest threat was a bartender who knew I didn't do relationships.

15

After more than a week of sifting through garbage on the dark web I had a plan laid out and already enacted. My PI had been sitting on the club for six nights watching the bartender better known as Siphon come and go. I'd asked Dr. Fox more questions during my session, but she had been more than aloof, probably because of my prying eyes the last time we were together. I knew better than to mix business with pleasure; she'd just left the perfect view down her top, and I'm only human. I didn't bring it up, but it was obviously the reason she was less than forthcoming with any more information on the case.

I also didn't bring up the fact that I had been given the environmental assignment, yet I had failed to even open the documents and had less than a week left to finish the story. After hearing from my PI that the bartender hadn't left the club with anyone, or even done much besides a single trip to the grocery store early in the morning and one seeming dinner date one evening, I decided I needed to take it up a notch with him.

I'd sent Neil back to the drug dealer's house to spy on him, with a hefty payment in mind for him should he come through. I had it on good knowledge that he was a huge Giant's fan, and with preseason about to start and season tickets belonging to the Tribune, I figured it was a great way to rope him into helping me even with the difficult tasks. This time, he had to get into the house and get the stack of photos that were pinned to the corkboard.

Gary had called me three times that morning, but I'd ignored the calls. It wasn't like he had GPS on me so he would never know I was home and just ignoring him. I really didn't want the environmental piece, not when this story about the disappearances could really help me break into the real world of journalism.

A ding at the doorbell announced the package my phone notifications had warned me would be delivered. I set my cup of cinnamon tea to the side and shuffled to the door, opening it to find the delivery man bounding back up the steps of his truck and the package resting on the doormat. Had they no decency? Didn't they know porch pirates may be following their truck just waiting for someone to not pick up their package so it could be lifted?

With a huff of a sigh, I snagged the large box and ducked back inside with my treasure tucked under one arm, being certain to deadbolt the door after I shut it. One can never be too safe.

The box wasn't exceptionally heavy, but it was a bit awkward, and I struggled to carry it all the way to the bar where I could open it. A childlike anticipation bubbled up inside my chest as I slit the tape and pried open the box flaps. Beneath those flaps lay another box, this one much more colorful with vibrant pictures of rodents being wrangled by cages. Each one stuffed with bait that would be so appealing to the critters they couldn't resist.

I slid the inner box out, setting it on my bar and tossing the plain brown shipping box to the floor. Eagerly I cut open the smaller box and slid the metal cage out onto the cold bar surface, a few stray pieces of paper and a foam wrapper dropped to the floor as I did. Detailed instructions were inside the cage, though I wasn't quite sure how to get them out without getting my hand trapped inside the metal, so the first thing I did was search the internet for how to open the cage. Once that was done, I headed to my jar of mixed nuts to bait the thing.

My nemesis would fall. The damn squirrel had no right haunting my back patio and stealing my bird feed, shitting on my patio chair--even if I did never sit on it, or even go near it for that matter. The patio was mine and like a territorial predator I would defend my space against all enemies human or animalistic. I started for the back door, cage in hand, fully baited, when my computer's ringtone began to chime at me again, Gary's face flashing on the screen. Glaring at the computer, I continued to the door and opened it but only enough to slide the trap out and pull my hand back in.

The computer screamed at me like the angry Karen I knew was on the other end of the line, at least based upon our last several conversations and Gary's reluctance to stand up to Sheffield regarding how nosy Barbra had been lately. I had no interest in dealing with her, and so I clicked "ignore" as soon as I got back to my computer, settling down in my chair, hoping to watch as my little furry foe took the bait and met his demise. Only a second later my phone chimed again, this time a text message from Gary.

Gary - 9:47 AM: Kenji, the jig's up. Sheffield wants your article by 10am or you're off the story.

I rolled my eyes at the message just as my phone dinged again and another came through

Gary 9:48 AM: Why aren't you answering the phone you better be out on the job

Flicking the switch on the side of my phone to vibrate only, I tossed it onto my desk, and it landed face down. I didn't care who they gave the damn environmental story to, I didn't want it. Not when this story I was sitting on was about to blow up right in front of everyone. The police had no clue what I was tracking, but I was certain it had something to do with either the bartender, or the drug dealer. One of them had to be involved or know who was.

Studying the trap outside my back door, I began to run through all the facts I knew to be true. The bartender, Siphon, was always staring at Daphne in every picture of her at the bar. He lived nearby, so he had opportunity to harm at least one of the victims. If he was obsessed with Daphne, he might be the type to hurt her--okay, scratch that--too much speculation. But he did have opportunity. All I had to do was figure out if he had means and motive.

Kevin, aka Myung Jr., was a drug and arms dealer, and he had at least one photo of Daphne in his home, and I'd seen him with her acting chummy. No real means or opportunity that I could pin down, but if she had threatened to turn him in for his obvious current drug dealings, he would have motive--though again that was speculation.

Still, Dr. Fox was certain the man who had disappeared from the van was the very same man she'd been with that night and that was far too coincidental to not look into things. I understood her desire for secrecy too, and I would respect that so long as I didn't feel she was in immediate danger.

Movement out the back window caught my eye, and I watched the hairy beast creeping across the top edge of my privacy fence. His little paws deftly balancing on the thin boards, he scurried toward my chair and the trap, though I didn't think I'd be lucky enough to trap him the first day it was out. I was certain we'd do this little dance several times for a few days before he finally succumbed, but I imagined this was how a hunter felt as he sat in the woods waiting for the prey to come close enough to shoot. I mean, if I was a hunter and the damn rodent was my prey.

My phone began to vibrate, and I almost ignored it, but knowing Gary would never call my phone--only my computer--I turned it over and found it was someone even more annoying. Carter, the senior reporter under Barbra. I wondered what she could possibly want--unless maybe Sheffield gave her the nature piece, though I didn't really care about that anyway. She could have the stupid piece. I was staking my career on the disappearances story, and I didn't want the environmental story.

Reluctantly, I slid my thumb across the screen and lifted my phone to my ear. "Kenji here."

"Carter here. I need you to forward me any notes or anything you have on the wildlife story. I need to bust ass on it. You really missed out, dude. Sheffield will never give you a story like this again." Carter's whiny voice grated on my nerves.

"I'm not sure what to tell you, Carter. I don't have anything to give you. I didn't even open the original email. I have bigger fish to fry." I picked up my mechanical pencil and tapped its easer on my desk, hoping she would just hang up.

"Sheffield will have your ass, man."

"Yeah, well that's my problem. You need anything else?" My tapping became more like hammering. I imagined each thwack of the eraser on the desk to be a droplet of water dripping between Carter's eyes like Chinese water torture.

"Yeah, no, I guess that's all. Your funeral, buddy."

I heard the click on the other end of the line before I could react. I would have much preferred to be the one ending the call, but I'd moved too slow. Carter really steamed my britches. I wished just once I could show the "big wigs" that I was every bit as capable at doing this job, even with my mental health issues, as Carter or Reese. And just because I thought a story was ridiculous and a waste of time didn't mean I wasn't capable of doing the job well.

Before I even laid my phone down on the desk, it vibrated in my hand again, and without thinking I swiped right and screeched into the phone, "What, Carter! What do you want now."

"Woah, woah, man. It's me, Neil. You gotta see what I got. That woman from the picture, she is in tons of these pictures, and what's even worse is she is seen leaving the club with a different person in each picture. This is crazy. Is she the community bike? Is that why I'm following this guy? You're a pimp and she's your lady?" Neil's voice sounded shaky, and I could hear the radio playing in the background as he apparently drove toward my house.

"Community bike?"

"You know a hooker? Everyone's had a ride..."

"No, Neil," I snapped. "I'm not a pimp. I am a journalist, and that woman who you so easily label a hooker is my therapist, and she is a source for this story I'm trying to break. So if you could refrain from being so brash with your comments, I'll be waiting for you to get here to give me the pictures. Do you have any more information you'd like to share with me?"

"Geesh, man. You don't have to harsh my mellow, you know. I'm trying to help you. And yes, I have two more things. That Kevin guy you talked about...he has a weird name for being Korean, don't you think? Shouldn't his name sound more like when you drop pots and pans down the steps. You know, ping, pang, bong...some shit like that?"

"Neil! Haven't your parents taught you anything about political correctness or racism?"

"Yeah, so anyway, I waited until he left the house, and I knew his dad had already split and so the house was empty, because the mom left yesterday in a taxi, so I assumed she was going on a trip of some kind. Anyway, so Kevin left with a big burly guy in a black caddy, the kind with the shiny rims and stereo that bumps. Anyway, the guy was trouble, and Kevin was carrying one of those cases, which he shoved in the guy's trunk. I think it was the guns, man because I didn't see them when I went in the house."

Neil shouted some obscenities at someone and honked his horn which I could hear through the phone and coming from the street in front of my house. Knowing he was close I walked to the door and watched through the peep hole waiting for him to pull up.

"So the second thing was, when do I get the tickets because I want to ask my girl to the game on Sunday, but she's not eighteen like me so she has to ask her parents, and we need time to get that done so..."

Neil's voice trailed off as he climbed out of his shoebox of a car and slammed the door. He pocketed his phone as he strolled up the driveway with something in his hand. I glared at him for his insolence and calling my Daphne--I mean, Dr. Fox, a hooker. Never had I been more offended by anyone in my life, and Jessica was an expert at saying hurtful things right up to her deathbed. The minute he bound up my steps I swung the door open.

"Here," I said, thrusting my hand out. The tickets had been burning a hole in my breast pocket and all I wanted was the pictures.

"Thanks, man. I can do another job for you if you want soon. I want the September twelfth game if you can do it. They play the Philly Eagles and I want in on that action. My boys are Eagles fans. I'm sure one of them can go... oh and by the way, do you think I can take drinks in the stadium? They won't serve me alcohol there, so I want to bring my own."

Rolling my eyes at Neil, I backed into my house, photos in hand, and shut the door without answering him. I leafed through them, appalled at the sight of my Daphne with so many different people. I was sure there was a perfectly logical explanation for everything, but I would have to ask her about it and that would be a little uncomfortable, especially since I'd muddied the waters already with my searching eyes, prying her top open and drinking in her beauty like I were in the desert and she were a glass of water.

I stopped on one particular photo, a picture of her with the missing man, I'd forgotten his name already, but there she was, leading him out of the club. I didn't know how Kevin had gotten the photo, but it was in his house, in his bedroom, which meant he was following Daphne the very same night she had been with a victim of the mysterious disappearances.

16

My head throbbed. It felt like the blood inside my veins was pounding on my brain trying to escape. Each heartbeat made my entire body jolt with pain, the sound of it so intense I thought I was back at that AJR concert I went to last fall. I clasped my hands over my head and felt a large swollen knot on the left side of my skull. Pain shot down my neck and into my shoulder as I moved, alerting me to something seriously wrong. That was when I realized most of the banging wasn't actually my head; it was someone pounding on my front door.

I blinked my eyes several times, trying to get them to adjust to the light, and I rose slowly, feeling every bone in my body ache. My muscles were stiff, and I felt dirt under my fingernails. I moved slowly, keeping my balance by bracing myself on the back of my formal sofa in my front room. The banging didn't stop, and soon I heard the arrogant voice of my neighbor Jaymee prattling on about flowers or something between banging sessions.

My mind went to the vase on my island and the laughter I'd had at Jaymee's expense with Mira. It was the last thing I remembered clearly enough to say with any certainty that I'd done the past 24 hours.

When my eyes adjusted, I looked down at myself, realizing I was wearing someone else's yoga pants and a strange, oversized Led Zepplin T-shirt--bright yellow to boot. I looked horrible in yellow. And as I passed the decorative mirror on my front room wall, I saw my hair was disheveled and dirt was smudged on my cheeks, a testament to whatever wild things I had done before falling asleep on the sofa. I wanted to sit down and try to remember what had happened last night but the insistent racket from outside needed to stop--now. And I needed a shower. It felt like my panties were stuck to me, my vagina feeling like it'd had a basketball blown up inside it.

Jerking the door open, I caught Jaymee by surprise. "What!" I snapped, rubbing my eyes. The sun coming up over the row of houses adjacent mine was blinding and caused the pain in my head to intensify dramatically. Through squinting eyes I could see her face contort and her eyes turn to weapons.

"I knew it!" Jaymee practically spat on me as she hissed out her words. "That girlfriend of yours trashed my garden and you had to have helped her. Have you seen the mess? I worked for four years to get that garden ready for this competition, and I will be damned if I will let some no-good dike come in and ruin my hard work. I could just kill her!"

"I have no clue what you're talking about, Jaymee. I'm not a lesbian and I don't have a girlfriend. And I don't appreciate you using degrading or derogatory language on my property." Was she talking about Mira? Had she seen us on the driveway talking? Her eyes narrowed to slits and I felt my heartrate increase. Flashes of Victor's face overtop of me seared my conscience causing outright panick to rise up my chest and snake around my throat. I didn't know what sort of strange side effect I was having but I wanted it to end. PTSD triggers didn't happen when I had arguments with my neighbors. Not like this.

"I saw you last night with a woman. Don't try to hide it. And I saw her carrying one of my flowers when you two walked past my fence. Now there are no flowers at all left in my garden and the committee is coming in twenty minutes."

If I wasn't mistaken, I would have sworn I saw tears in her eyes, but then, I believed the woman to be a complete sociopath, so I wasn't sure I was correct. And given my profession if anyone could diagnose someone as such, it would be someone like me. I stared at her blankly while her bottom lip quivered for a moment before shrugging my shoulders. She produced a single tear and several deep pouting sounds, huffing and flaring her nostrils as if she wanted me to give in to her tantrum, but I didn't even remember what had happened the previous night, so I wasn't sure what to tell her. Besides the fact that the blood inside my arteries was trying to escape by way of osmosis into my brain tissue, causing my skull to balloon out and explode, and I was certain she would be upset if I exploded and got blood on her pretty gardening outfit.

In an instant her weepy, childish tantrum morphed into a rage I'd never seen from her. Her eyes bugged out like a woman with grave's disease, and her face turned three shades of red as she bared her teeth like a lion fending off a foe. She picked up the potted geranium on my front porch, lifted it over her head, and slammed it to the ground with a single swift motion, shattering the pot. I gasped in shock, but stood there still, glaring at her with confusion and my own rumblings of wrath churning in my gut like a jacuzzi tub.

"That the fuck was that for!" I demanded, feeling the weight of every single word I spoke as the pulsing in my head grew worse, my blood pressure shooting up. The nerve of some people. This early in the morning and she had the nerve to even knock on my door let alone smash my shit! I could have given her a solid throat punch.