32. Red Capes & Red Flags
CHAPTER 32
RED CAPES & RED FLAGS
MARGAUX
T he anonymous message comes in out of the blue, cutting through my day with unsettling precision:
ANON:
I hear you’re dating Timmy O’Malley.
I have some information about him that may concern you.
My stomach tightens. I stare at the message, my pulse quickening. Who the hell is this? And how do they know about Timmy? My fingers hover over my phone before I type out a response.
Me:
Who is this?
ANON:
Consider me a friend. Are you interested in what I have to say?
Me:
Um, I guess?
ANON:
Several women have reported that he is prone to flying into a rage, and behaves recklessly and dangerously.
Some, but not all of this is triggered by alcohol and drug use.
He has a pattern of abusing women.
The message lands like a punch to the gut. A pattern of abuse? The words make my skin crawl.
I hesitate, debating whether to keep this conversation going, but curiosity wins out.
ANON:
I’m really worried for the next girl.
A shiver runs through me. That would be me. I’m the next girl.
Me:
Oh wow. Do you have any specifics?
ANON:
Not at this time, that I’m able to share.
I can confirm we know him well enough to know he drives a shitty work truck and has an annoying roommate.
There was some speculation that he was homeless and slept in his truck, but he does live at a place with his annoying friend.
I sit back, absorbing the information. The details line up, though I’m not sure about the homeless part. It wouldn’t surprise me, but it doesn’t quite add up with what I know.
Me:
I see. Anything else?
ANON:
He owns an unusually large collection of hats, for some reason. Including a really stupid oversized woven coconut hat that he won’t stop talking about.
He also wears a Superman cape for attention.
Whenever he wears the coconut hat—especially when accompanied by the cape—he takes on a crazy persona, like some type of demented superhero, and he runs around doing even worse things than usual.
I stare at the screen, my jaw tightening. The hats, the coconut one, the behavior… even the Superman cape. It’s uncanny.
Whoever this is, they know him. They know him well. Not that he hides any of these things from the general public.
I sigh.
What an embarrassing set of messages to receive about your fiancé.
Me:
Well, thank you for telling me all of this.
ANON:
Keep safe. He’s not safe to be around.
I sit frozen for a moment, my thoughts spinning. The mention of his strange clothing choices catches in my mind like a splinter. It’s not just an odd habit of Timmy’s—it’s something other people have noticed.
Something that apparently ties into a much darker pattern of behavior.
It feels uncomfortable to be receiving messages from an anonymous person, though. My mind flashes back to a guy I dated who used to send me horrible anonymous messages from a fake Facebook profile.
It turned out he was a complete psycho, and a non-recovered drug addict. I kicked him out when I found him injecting Adderall into his veins with a syringe in my apartment bathroom.
The feelings associated with that situation come rushing back, adding to the ridiculousness.
Later in the day, I’m sitting with Timmy in the living room, still trying to decide whether to tell him about the messages. My instinct screams not to—that being too transparent with him might be dangerous.
I’ve never kept secrets in a relationship before—it feels foreign, unsettling. But something in my gut tells me that honesty, in this case, might be a loaded gun.
As if on cue, Timmy starts pulling items from the closet like a magician with an endless supply of tricks. Out comes a red piece of fabric. My stomach lurches as I immediately recognize it. He unfolds it dramatically.
“And I remembered to bring this from Matty’s,” he announces with pride. “My Superman cape!”
He shakes it out with a flourish, revealing the bright yellow ‘S’ in the center. Grinning, he ties it around his neck, the ends draping over his bare shoulders.
He’s wearing only board shorts and his deer claw necklace—and now the cape. The sight would be comical if it weren’t for the eerie reminder of what the anonymous message said earlier, and how he behaves when wearing this bizarre ensemble.
“I love wearing this!” he says, doing a little dance around the room. “It makes me feel like the king of the world!”
I force a smile, my mind racing. The free-spirited side of him, though odd, has always drawn me in—there’s a certain charm in his enthusiasm for life that makes me feel more adventurous and less inhibited.
But now I can’t help but view it through a different lens.
This isn’t just whimsy.
It’s part of something deeper, something darker.
If all of the messenger’s claims are accurate—and this ridiculous cape proves they know Timmy—what else might be true?
My heart pounds as I watch him spin in his cape, oblivious to my turmoil. He’s so childlike in this moment, clearly seeking attention. I know if I give it to him, we might actually have a fun, peaceful day. But the anonymous warnings buzz in my brain like a swarm of bees, their sting impossible to ignore.
What do I do with all of this? What am I supposed to believe?
For now, I push it down, shoving my doubts into the corner of my mind. The truth feels like something I can’t afford to confront, not yet. So I clap my hands and laugh, playing along, because the alternative feels too overwhelming to face.