Page 3 of Out of My Flocking Mind

I went through the rocks that separated the thin strip of land between our places, the houses so close I could have reached out and touched both at the same time. From this spot, I was sure that there were no cars. It meant if she wasn’t alone, the person had either walked or arrived with her.

Maybe this was an online hookup gone wrong? Or gone very right if it was just a bit of roleplaying. If that was the case, the bitch deserved an award.

I knocked on her front door, but no answer came. No lights turning on, no rustle of clothing as two caught people tried to dress before answering. Instead, about fifteen seconds later, another scream, this one worse than the last.

I moved to the side of the door, to a cracked open window on the ground floor. I pushed on the screen, then lifted it, sliding it out of the groove that held it.

I’d snuck out enough times as a teenager to know exactly how to get a screen free. I pushed the window open further, the lack of a squeak telling me she was on point with her maintenance. The metal of the window frame dug into my hands as I gripped it, then hefted myself through the narrow space.

I’d never seen the inside of her home, and I had to admit, the woman knew how to perfectly recreate the stifling feeling of a housekeeping magazine. Not a single pillow appeared out of place, all of them with that silly center crease and none of it implying anyone ever actually used the room.

The layout mirrored my own, just like all the places in the community. Funny how something almost identical in structure could look and feel so different.

Another scream, this one weaker, cut off my little internal tirade and got me moving. I went up the stairs at a run, trying to breathe softly despite the exertion. At the top of the stairs rested the hallway, and the door to the master bedroom sat open with only darkness beyond.

I tiptoed down the hallway, fear beating against me as hard as my heart. Once I reached the doorway, I tried to stare through the darkness, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust and take in the room.

Only to find the bed empty, and instead, my neighbor’s body on the floor. No one else was beside her, and she rolled like caught in some nightmare. She had her hands clasped to the sides of her head, as though she could hold it together by way of grasp alone.

“Stop,” she whispered, curling into the fetal position, the soft word full of pain.

Was she having some sort of mental breakdown? And here I figured I’d be the one between us to go through that. I thought about calling my friend and sometimes counselor, Ignis, and asking her what to do. However, this was probably outside of her wheelhouse.

I went to take a step inside the room, to go to her side, when an unfamiliar voice stopped me.

“Why fight? It’ll only hurt you more.” Along with the masculine voice, a shadow moved inside the room. It shifted away from the wall and toward my neighbor, then crouched beside her. “I’ll take every last thought you have, savor them all, get drunk on them. The more you try to hide any of it, the harder I’ll yank, and the more damage’ll get done.”

My neighbor stared up at him, her eyes wide in horror, and there went the last of my patience.

I spotted a very fancy and expensive-looking lamp on the table in the hallway, which seemed large and heavy enough to be useful. I wrapped my fingers around it and pulled the cord from the wall, the sound hidden by the whimpers of my neighbor.

I didn’t bother masking my steps anymore, not when I was this close. I lifted the lamp, holding it over my shoulder for more power. If I was going to hit someone, I planned to do it right. It was like shooting someone—if I had to do it, I’d make sure they stayed down.

Nothing was more dangerous than a wounded opponent.

I swung the lamp, aiming for the man’s head. One good crack and he’d go down hard.

Except, before it hit, he twisted, so fast it startled me. The lamp didn’t strike him, and it took me a moment to figure out why. He’d wrapped his hand around my wrist, his grip so tight it hurt, and the lamp slipped from my fingers, shattering against the floor.

He stood, forcing me to look up at him despite not making out any of his face in the darkness. It seemed almost familiar, but I didn’t know why, the room so dim that I couldn’t identify any specific details.

He tilted his head, as though confused by me. “You’re different,” he said, his voice low and rough and somewhere between interest and accusation.

“People usually call me special, but they don’t mean it as a compliment,” I answered, the lame joke all my brain could come up with.

He caught my chin with his free hand, holding me still, and I only had a moment to fear before an intense pain echoed through my head as though someone had driven a spike through my temples and the world faded out around me.

* * * *

I woke with the world an absolute mess around me. It seemed disjointed and my body both hurt and hung, almost weightless.

Was this a dream?

No, not enough hot naked men to be a dream of mine…

“Your brain’s different.” I recognized the voice as belonging to the man from my neighbor’s house. However, when I twisted, I couldn’t find him in the surrounding darkness. “Why? What are you?”

“I’m just me,” I answered, buying time. “What are you looking for, and maybe I can help?”

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