Page 24 of My Girl
A different voice enters:Come on,Rae whispers.I deserve more than a camera.
I spin around, different aisles melting together, chunks of metal and plastic swirling into nothingness.
A spark simmers inside of me.
The gardening section.
I stop right before the sliding doors to the outdoor patio, my vision scanning over the shelves.
Pesticides. Ant killer. Rodent traps. And poison.
The exterior is simple. A black bottle with a white skull on the front.Keep out of reach of children,the label reads. I snicker; the thought amuses me. They even use a cartoon caricature to illustrate the potential carnage.May cause death.
Death. Not murder.
Poison is too easy. I like knowing thatIinflicted the damage, and poison doesn’t do that. The chemicals do the work for you.
Would someone—a new killer, a woman—enjoy something subtle like poison?
“Is that what you need?” I ask out loud.
I wait for a moment, the squeaks of cart wheels and shuffling products filling my ears. I even close my eyes, waiting to hear Rae’s voice.
Nothing happens.
Fuck it.
I stuff the poison bottle in my cart, then head to the cashier stands. Each camera box is a brick in my hands, a wall I’m building around her. A fortress meant to bury her in her own secrets. My ears pound with blood.
You want to save her,my mother says.Don’t you?
“Rat problem?” the cashier asks, stirring me out of those thoughts. She continues to babble; I don’t hear a word.
I remember holding a dead rat in the basement.
What is wrong with you?my mother had said.What are you doing with that? Put it?—
I snapped it in half, its bones crunching in the darkness. She gasped.
Just waiting for you,I had said.
I pay in cash, then stop at a drive-thru for breakfast. I eat the egg sandwich in two bites, then gulp the coffee. It scalds my throat.
“Shit!” I yell. I shove the cardboard cup into the holder in my console and toss the top out the window. “Goddamn it.”
Rae will have something in her fridge to fix it. I head back to her apartment.
Since she’s at work, her bedroom window is dark, the blinds closed.
With my coffee, cameras, poison, and new key in hand, I head up the stairs and tuck her spare key back under her doormat. My new key glides into the lock easily.
Inside her apartment, garlic and butter linger in the air from last night’s dinner. Her floral perfume faintly sifts through the food smells.
I set my bags on the counter, then open her fridge. A peppermint mocha creamer is in the back. I don’t care for peppermint, but it’s better than boiling hot coffee. I pour some into my cup, then take a sip.
A surge of adrenaline runs through me. Rae will never know that I was here, drinking her coffee creamer. Maybe I’ll even eat her food.
My eyes are drawn to the corners of the room.
