Twelve - A Fresh Start

“Do you want ham or turkey?” Diane called out from the kitchen. She hadn’t been shopping, so all she could provide were sandwiches and soup.

“Turkey, thanks. I’m going to shower now, if that’s okay.”

“Fine. Just fine,” Diane said, grateful for the quiet. Whenever Denby was in the room, her hair stood on end, and the conversation was intense. It was a lot of work to entertain him, and she wondered if she had enough energy for such a high maintenance friend.

Diane busied herself slicing turkey, spreading mayo and mustard on whole wheat bread, and building the sandwiches. Finally, she cut the first sandwich diagonally, and put it on a plate. She shuddered a little, remembering the last time she was in her kitchen making sandwiches. Bob had come up behind her and hugged her. She could almost smell his Kouros cologne, and the memory felt too chillingly real.

Diane picked up the knife to cut the second sandwich, and she felt gentle hands on her shoulders. She turned to confront Denby and chide him for his perverse sense of humor and timing. When she realized she didn’t feel the aluminum cast or tape that should have been on Denby’s left hand, Diane froze in place, realizing the smell of Kouros was real, and that its spicy aroma was what had brought on her grotesque memory in the first place.

“Querida, I have missed you,” Bob whispered hoarsely in her ear, over her left shoulder.

Bob grabbed her shoulders firmly and spun her around to face him. He looked down to see the knife in her hand, just in time to dodge out of the way as she lunged at him. He grabbed her wrist, pinched hard and twisted, and the knife clattered to the floor. Instantly, she regretted her initial attraction to his muscularity. At a moment like this, she would have preferred that he were an accountant.

“Bob! What the hell are you doing in here?” Diane shouted as loudly as possible, “How did you get in here?”

Bob grabbed Diane’s wrists and held them both behind her in his left hand. He clapped his right hand over her mouth.

“Shut up, puta!” Bob snarled. His sweet, considerate personality was completely gone. In its place was an angry mercenary, his eyes black and dilated, soulless like a shark’s eyes. Bob’s booming baritone shook the windows. “All I need from you is where I can find Harry. Maybe I’ll let you live if you don’t give me too much trouble.” He lifted his hand slightly so Diane could speak.

“I don’t…”