Chapter 11 Possessed
Possessed
Iflush the toilet and watch my vomit disappear. But the smell remains. I open the cabinet underneath the sink and grab a can of air freshener. I spray. Now it smells like fresh linens mixed with vomit. Honestly, I think it’s worse.
Did I actually see what I thought I saw when I was watching that footage from my spy cam? Were my eyes playing tricks on me? Or did I just misinterpret what I was seeing?
After washing my hands and rinsing my mouth with mouthwash, I go back into my room and sit at my laptop. I’m about to review the footage from earlier today again, but:
BANG, BANG, BANG!
Oscar is still knocking on my front door. I have to get rid of him.
I run downstairs and open the door.
“Damn, son, you deaf?” asks Oscar. “What’s taking you so long? You jerking off because of your blue balls?”
“No,” I say. “I got sick all of a sudden. I threw up. Must’ve been something I ate.”
Oscar leans to his left a little. “What happened to your head?”
For the first time tonight, Oscar notices the bandage on the side of my head, covering the wound right behind my ear. (He’s not the most observant person.)
I touch the bandage. “Oh, I hit my head against my nightstand. Anyway, dude, I can’t go out. I feel horrible.”
Oscar takes a step inside the house. “That’s all right, bro. We can hang out here.”
“No!” I block Oscar from coming in. “I mean, I need to be alone.”
“You acting strange as fuck right now,” Oscar says.
I never really get angry at anybody, but all of a sudden I explode: “Go home, Oscar!”
Oscar contorts his face a bit. He’s taken aback by my aggressiveness.
“Damn, Hunter, chill. You want me to go home, I’ll go home. But remember, you drove me here. I ain’t about to walk. It’s cold as a polar bear’s tit tonight.”
“Can you just call Victor and ask him to come get you?”
Oscar shrugs. “Yeah, I can do that. You need anything? Victor can bring it.”
“No,” I say. “See you later.”
And without saying another word, and to Oscar’s surprise, I close the door in his face. I lock the knob and turn the deadbolt.
I run back up the stairs, shut the bedroom door behind me, lock it, and sit down to watch the spy cam footage again. Here we go . . .
When Nash and Alessandra walk into Nash’s bedroom at 12:32 p.m. today, they are in the middle of a conversation.
Well, actually, they are in the middle of a very intense argument.
(The spy cam is motion activated, not sound activated, so it didn’t capture anything that Nash and Alessandra said before they came into the room.)
As they argue, Alessandra walks around the bedroom, looking for things that belong to her: clothes, accessories, etc. She’s gathering them all up to take them with her. Nash stands by the door, a look of utter frustration on his face.
Nash: “What are you doing?!”
Alessandra: “What does it look like I’m doing?! I’m getting my shit, and I’m leaving. You and me are done. Done!”
Nash: “Calm down.”
Alessandra: “Don’t tell me to calm down! Don’t tell me anything. You’ve lost the right to speak to me.”
Nash: “Why are you doing this? Let’s talk about it. Let’s figure it out together.”
Alessandra: “There’s nothing to figure out. Now leave me alone, so I can be on my way.”
Nash: “Baby.”
Alessandra: “You’re a fucking liar, Nash!”
Nash: “I’m not lying!”
Alessandra: “Oh, really? Fuck you. Do you think I’m blind? I know what I saw. You know what I saw. Don’t deny it.”
Nash: “I’m not denying it. I saw it too. I’m as shocked as you are. That’s why I’m trying to figure out what happened.”
Alessandra: “What is there to figure out? You recorded yourself masturbating in the shower and uploaded the videos to a porn site.”
Nash: “I told you I didn’t do that.”
Alessandra: “Oh, what, the porn fairy did it?”
Nash: “I told you: somebody must’ve hid a camera in my bathroom and—“
Alessandra: “Oh, yeah, right, Nash. Then why isn’t there a camera in there? Did it disappear all of a sudden?”
Nash: “Whoever installed it must’ve taken it down.”
Alessandra: “Oh, how convenient.”
Nash: “You have to believe me.”
Alessandra: “Your videos on that porn site isn’t even the worst part of it all. All these gay guys are watching you jerk off, and then they post comments on your videos, and you reply back to them. And the conversations you have with them are disgusting.”
Nash: “That’s not me. It’s not my profile.”
Alessandra: “They send you money, and you’re writing things like, ‘Oh, I can’t wait to meet you in real life, Daddy. I’m gonna fuck you good.’ Have you gone through with it? Have you met any of these guys in person?”
Nash: “No! I’m not the one replying to the comments. And I’m not gay. Jesus Christ, Alessandra.”
Alessandra: “At first, I didn’t want to believe it.
I told my brother he was crazy, accusing you of uploading videos and making me look at some porn site as evidence.
But he remembered your bathroom from all the times he’s been at this house, when I was in high school and he was in middle school and the only way my parents would let me come over here was if I let him tag along.
He knew your bathroom, and even though your face is blurred he knew it was you. He always had a crush on you.”
Nash: “Don’t you think it’s a little coincidental that your brother found those videos of me?”
Alessandra: “What do you mean?”
Nash: “I mean, maybe it was him. Maybe he was the one who hid the camera in my bathroom. Like you said, he’s always had a crush on me.”
Alessandra: “How dare you. Accusing my brother. You’re just pissed that he’s the one who stumbled across your videos and told me about it.
Plus, he hasn’t been in this house in years.
When would he have ever secretly installed a spy cam?
Will you just admit that you recorded yourself and posted those videos?
And okay, maybe you’re not gay, but at least admit that you were flirting with all those gay guys because you were trying to get more money from them or something. ”
Nash: “None of that is true. But if it wasn’t your brother, then it was someone. It could’ve been anybody. A maintenance man who came to fix something in the house. One of my brother’s stupid friends, trying to make a buck . . . Wait a minute. What if it is my brother?”
Alessandra: “Hunter?”
Nash: “He could’ve easily installed a spy cam. That explains all the money he has. I mean, he bought a car, has all these nice clothes, is eating out all the time.”
Alessandra: “It’s the apps he made.”
Nash: “What if the money didn’t come from apps? I mean, I’ve never seen any of these apps. I’ve never cared enough. Also, Hunter is a little off. I’ve caught him a few times creeping around my room, looking in my drawers.”
Alessandra: “This is low, Nash. Trying to blame your brother? Hunter is like the sweetest guy. And you’re telling me he’s some kind of porn mogul? The mastermind behind this whole operation? Please.”
Nash: “It’s him. It’s gotta be him. I’ll get him to admit it. And then you’ll see.”
Alessandra: “Nice try. But it’s over. I’m leaving now.”
Nash: “Just wait one second.”
Alessandra: “No.”
Nash: “Wait!”
Alessandra: “Fine!”
Nash pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. This is when he dials me and I don’t pick up.
Nash: “Goddammit, Hunter!”
He dials again.
Nash: “Fucking Hunter!”
This is when he sends me that series of texts:
—“Where are you?!”
—“Pick up!”
—“Hunter!”
—“Answer me!”
—“Bruh!”
Alessandra: “Nice try, Nash.”
Nash: “Don’t go!”
Alessandra: “Get out of my way!”
Nash: “I didn’t post those videos!”
Alessandra: “Move!”
Nash: “I’m not chatting with gay dudes!”
Alessandra: “I said move!”
Nash: “I’m not gay!”
Alessandra shoves Nash. And because he wasn’t expecting it, he stumbles back and hits the wall.
Nash: “What the fuck are you doing?!”
Alessandra: “Leaving!”
Alessandra tries to walk out the door, all of her things gathered in her arms in front of her. Nash grabs hold of her wrist. She tries to yank it away from him. He yanks back, causing her to drop everything onto the floor.
Nash: “You’re gonna stay here until we talk to Hunter!”
Alessandra: “Let go of me!”
Alessandra tries to walk out of the room again, but Nash holds on tight. She suddenly knees him in the balls. He screams, lets go of her, and falls to his knees.
Alessandra bends down to pick up her things. Nash grabs her ankle and pulls. She loses her balance and falls forward, her forehead slamming into the doorknob. She lands on her side, blood now trickling from a cut on her forehead.
By instinct, she extends her right leg, kicking Nash, the bottom of her sneaker smashing into his face. He releases a gust of air.
Nash’s eyes are closed at this point. He climbs onto Alessandra, pins her down on her back, and then grips both his hands around her neck. He tightens.
Alessandra’s eyes widen. She takes hold of Nash’s arms. She kicks her legs. She struggles, she struggles, she struggles.
With his eyes still closed, Nash looks like a man possessed. He’s been taken over by something inside him. Anger? Fear? Darkness?
He literally squeezes the life out of Alessandra. Her arms drop to her sides. Her legs stop moving. She’s completely still.
Nash slowly opens his eyes, while loosening his grip. He looks at Alessandra’s dead face. Then, an expression of immense worry seizes him. He realizes what he’s done. But it’s too late. It’s too late.