Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Charlie
Unknown Number
Hey! This is Donna Jenkins’s nephew, Finn. I was wondering if you wanted to meet up next week for a beer?
This has to be a joke. My face pales as I stare at my phone. I must’ve blocked this out in my memory somehow.
Despite that text message, I’m determined not to let it interrupt my and Marnie’s Saturday ritual of pizza and Guess Who? —Hemlock Edition. In this game, we find photos of the various town locals and tape them to the face cards on the game and voila, you have the perfect game of Guess Who? Hemlock Edition. Then, we take turns describing people using the most random, obscure descriptions you can come up with.
For example, who streaked during the Fourth of July parade while waving around two popsicles?
Easy. Jerry from the bank.
With my eyes glued to my phone, I can feel Marnie’s stare burning into me.
“What the fuck is that face? Why is your forehead extra scrunched? I mean, it’s usually always scrunched, but it’s more scrunched than usual.” She’s sitting on the ground with a sleeping Vera in her lap, absentmindedly petting the snoring dog.
I shoot her my famous, unimpressed look. “I hate you.”
“That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.” She winks.
We both smile at each other. From an outsider’s perspective, you’d think we’d have the oddest relationship. Which we do, but it works for us. It’s blunt, it’s brash, but it’s us. She’s been my lifeline during this whole chapter of losing my parents, and I’m not sure where I’d be without her.
We’re both sitting on the floor with the coffee table between us. The TV is playing some random true crime documentary, and our board game is half-finished.
I get up for a glass of water before I call out, “I got an odd text message, and you’re absolutely going to lose your mind. Not that you haven’t lost it already, but you know what I mean.”
“You know, I take that as a compliment!” she yells out from the living room.
My slippers drag across the floor as I walk back into the living room and sit down in front of the coffee table.
“Remember that guy I told you about that came in a couple days ago with his blind dog?”
“Gumby? The hot professor?”
“Finn, but yes.”
Her eyes widen. “Did you cure your dry spell? Thank fuck, Charlie. I was ready to take out an ad to find someone to break your back six ways to Sunday. I was thinking of a billboard that says, ‘ Looking for someone to break backs, not hearts .’”
I sit back and blink at her in shock. “You need a damn muzzle for that mouth. But no, I didn’t. I think Finn is Mrs. Jenkins’s nephew.”
She pauses, biting her lip and cocking her head at me. I can almost see her putting it all together in that demented brain of hers.
Awareness settles across her features.“Oh my god, do you think?—”
Running my hands through my hair, I release a deep breath. “It has to be. There’s no way it can’t be him.”
I hand over my phone so she can read the message, her brows furrowing as she rereads the words on the screen for a second time. “Wait. Did Jenkins tell him who you are? It kinda sounds like he thinks you’re a dude.”
“That’s why I’m saying it’s weird! Part of me wants to tell him who I am.” I look over at Marnie, and it’s as if she’s reading my mind.
“But . . . part of you wants to be a shit disturber and play a prank.” Her mischievous grin lights up her face.
I press my lips together and try not to laugh. Yes, I’m old enough to know better, but also, it’s been a rough fucking year and dammit, I deserve to have fun.
Marnie pipes up. “Okay, you shit disturbing gremlin. You’re only allowed this juvenile prank if you tell him who you are at the end of the night. We’re mature bitches, after all.”
“Deal. Now, what do I say to him?”
Finn
It’s a cold, rainy, Saturday night. Frank and I are watching football and eating popcorn. Well, I’m watching football and eating popcorn, while Frank is listening to football and gnawing on a bone. Both of us are sprawled out on my oversized couch. We haven’t moved from our spots for most of the day, and I’m sure there are human and dog imprints on these cushions by now.
With nothing else happening, I decide to text the guy my aunt had mentioned to me a few weeks ago. I’m about to shove another handful of popcorn in my mouth when my phone chimes. He replied to me, which is surprising because I wasn’t expecting a response so soon.
Charlie
Hello, Finn. Sure, I would be happy to meet up with you for a drink. Perhaps we could get to know each other a bit beforehand?
I hum loud enough that Frank perks his ears up at me. Interesting response. Usually, I’m not much of a texter; I prefer phone or video calls over texting. Too much can get lost in translation when you text.
But here I am. Alone on a Saturday night with my dog, texting a stranger to cure some boredom.
I shove the handful of popcorn in my mouth and chew as I type out a short reply.
That sounds fine to me.
Charlie
Great. First question: Imagine you’re in a horror movie. In what order would you be killed?
I stop mid-chew as I read the message again. What in the Nightmare on Elm Street is happening here? And what kind of people is my aunt associating herself with? Deep down, I know this guy is fucking with me, but that being the first question right out of the gate? He could’ve warmed me up by asking about literally anything not related to murder.
Great question. I’d like to think I’d survive until the end and then appear in the sequel.
Charlie
How self-assured of you to assume that. Next question: What does “redrum” mean to you?
Munching on another handful of popcorn, I pause and my brows drop, reading the message. What is “redrum”? Is it some kind of drink? I do a quick search . . . this guy is definitely fucking with me.
Murder.
Charlie
Good boy. Next question: How do you feel about chainsaws, specifically in Texas?
Huh? Good boy? Strange.
My head shakes in disbelief. This whole text exchange is bizarre and I’m wondering how many horror movie references are up his sleeve.
Pretty ambivalent.
Charlie
Interesting. Do you like saws?
No.
Charlie
Thought so. You seem more like a knife guy anyway. Final question: You’re driving to your life’s final destination, do you think you could cheat death?
Setting aside my phone, I take my glasses off and press my palms into my eyes.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Charlie
I haven’t laughed this hard in almost a year. Tears are streaming out of my eyes, and Marnie and I are wheezing like seals on the living room floor—sniffling and crying because we are laughing so hard. Sweet sweater vest-wearing Finn must be terrified or confused.
Probably both. Which is understandable.
I’m shocked he hasn’t blocked my number.
Laughing like this feels freeing. My chest feels lighter than it has in a long time, and just for a moment, I feel like I can take a deep breath.
Tonight, I feel glimmers of happiness that haven’t been there in a long time. It feels so good to have fun and laugh so hard that my stomach muscles are spasming.
I can just imagine Finn’s face, those blue eyes narrowing as he runs his hands through his hair in confusion—it’s great. He either knows someone is messing with him, or is on the phone with the sheriff’s department right now. Marnie looks at me, and I know it’s time to confess my real identity since he hasn’t replied to my last text.
Hey, Finn. So, funny story, this is Charlie. Plant shop girl. I didn’t know Mrs. Jenkins was your aunt. What a small world! I guess I’m showing you around Hemlock?
Ten minutes pass with no reply, so I decide to send a follow-up text with Marnie looking directly over my shoulder.
The girl with the golf club? Your dog knocked over some of my plants?
“Such an odd choice of weapon,” Marnie remarks as she sips her margarita.
“You have no room to talk. You keep an icepick next to your bed,” I scoff.
“Yeah? Your point?” Her blue eyes roll before finishing off her margarita in three gulps.
Our conversation is interrupted by a notification from Finn.
Finn
Sorry, I don’t know anyone named Charlie. I think you may have your Finns mixed up?
My stomach plummets, and I feel the back of my neck begin to sweat.
Is this not Finn? The guy who walked into my store?
I look over, and Marnie’s eyes are as wide as saucers as she pets Vera.
“Oof. That’s embarrassing,” she says, giving a sorry grimace.
“You think?” I deadpan, my voice heavy with sarcasm.
Leave it to me to prank a poor, unsuspecting guy on his first week in a new town. Even I know better than that.
Feeling like a certified asshole, I hastily come up with a plan to help extract my foot from my mouth. A quick apology and offer to meet up with him—short and sweet.
I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve known better than to play a silly prank, I thought you were someone else. But yes, I would be happy to meet up next week. What day and time work for you?
Finn
How about Monday, 7:30 p.m. at Freddie’s?
Perfect. See you then.
I throw my phone across the floor as my face burns with embarrassment. How am I going to face this guy on Monday?
Vera strolls over to me and flops over, belly up. She clearly senses my embarrassment and is providing her only available emotional support—belly rubs. While I rub Vera’s belly, Marnie is snickering, and I feel like crawling into a hole. I just need to get Monday over with since I’m ninety-nine percent sure Finn 2.0 already hates me.
Even though I dislike the majority of the population, I hate when people hate me .
Finn
There’s an excited flutter in my stomach as I read the last message Charlie sent.
Who knew that shy, soft-spoken Charlie was a troublemaker? That little spark of fire she showed tonight only makes me more intrigued by her.
The mature thing to do would have been to tell her she had the right person, but after those horror movie, murder-esque questions, I had to play her game.
She’s clever, I’ll give her that.
I can’t ignore the nervous excitement coursing through my body at the thought of seeing her on Monday. I’ve been tired all day today, but suddenly, after this text exchange, I’ve found more energy than I know what to do with this late.
That's when an idea hits me. I sit up on the couch and glance at my table full of plants—the plants that I have yet to find homes for because I have thirteen of them. Frank is sound asleep at my feet, and I carefully slip out of the blanket I was under. After I tuck the blanket around Frank to keep him warm, I make my way over to the table. Each pot is labeled with the plant’s name and comes with corresponding care instructions that I’ll file away.
I take my Plant Daddy duties very seriously.
About an hour later, I’m able to water them all and give them new homes in various places in my living room and kitchen. The majority live on my built-in bookshelves, next to my books, and the miscellaneous trinkets that my mom and sister have gifted me over the years. Even though I have to sacrifice some space for books to make room for the plants, it’s worth it.
As I pad around the house, feeling calmer and less energized, I turn off all the lights and double-check that the doors are locked (especially after that murderous conversation. Yikes. ). Frank’s still asleep on the couch, and I give him a quick whistle so he knows to follow me upstairs.
After brushing my teeth, I find Frank patiently sitting at the foot of my king-sized bed. The poor guy had one too many falls trying to jump onto the bed, so he knows that if he waits, I’ll help him. Gently, I pick him up and place him on the soft, blue blanket that’s just for him. With a few sniffs and a couple of twirls, he curls into himself like a furry donut and lets out a content groan.
When I crawl under the covers and turn my bedside lamp off, I roll over onto my back and stare up at the ceiling in complete darkness. My mind drifts to Charlie and my heart races as I think about what will happen come Monday.
There’s excitement with a sprinkle of apprehension.
I can’t wait to see her . . . even if she finds seven more ways to kill me.