Nikki's Secret Read online

  The fact that she replied at all is a sign that she probably isn’t behind this, he silently noted.

  The hesitation didn’t disappear and lasted so long that the phone screen turned black. A simple press of an arrow key brightened it once again. He then hit SEND.

  WHAT? was Nicole’s reply.

  SOMEONE SET UP A PROFILE USING THE PICTURES WE TOOK AND IS SENDING GUYS TO THE HOUSE. ANY IDEA WHO IT COULD BE? WE WERE THE ONLY ONES THAT KNEW ABOUT WHAT I WAS DOING.

  I DON’T KNOW, Nicole sent back. BUT IT ISN’T ME IF THAT IS WHAT YOU ARE IMPLYING.

  OK, Bill typed, mind unsure whether or not to believe her. Then, ANY IDEA WHO IT COULD BE?

  NO.

  WHAT ABOUT YOUR ROOMMATE? The two had once discussed the possibility of taking pictures with the roommate as an added lure, but in the end Nicole had never been able to convince the girl to go ahead with it. Even the suggestion of wearing sunglasses and a wig so that her identity wouldn’t be known had been vetoed. The girl just had not been interested.

  I DOUBT IT.

  AN ANGRY BOYFRIEND?

  ARE YOU KIDDING?

  NO! Then, after a few minutes passed, he added, THIS IS PRETTY SERIOUS. PLEASE TRY TO THINK OF WHO IT COULD BE.

  Nothing.

  Bill waited and waited, his hand holding the phone so he would feel the buzz, even when he walked in to use the bathroom, but Nicole never replied.

  Frustrated, he went to the window and stared out at the road. Nothing was going on out there. Several different cars were sitting empty, but that was typical for the area given that most of the houses had been divided into apartments and had more renters with vehicles than driveway space. Why no one was ever out and about was a mystery to him, but one that he figured had something to do with the fact that most of the people were college students, and thus they had odd schedules. Then again, the ones who weren’t college students, the ones who had families, were rarely out, their kids always kept indoors for some reason. He often had wondered about this, but figured maybe it had something to do with all the perceived threats the media instilled in parents these days.

  Or maybe it’s the graveyard?

  Bill walked to the back window while thinking this and looked out between the two houses that butted up against the backyard. Beyond them, on the opposite side of the street, was the graveyard, one that stretched further than the eye could see from the road it stood against. Last year on Halloween, while waiting for the series premier of The Walking Dead, he had strolled along the fence that partially enclosed the graveyard, his mind trying, but failing, to get a spooky vibe from it. Nothing it seemed could freak him these days, his decade long immersion into the horror genre having completely desensitized him to fear.

  Time drifted away while he stared, his eyes no longer seeing anything beyond the window. Instead, he was looking into his thoughts, his inner eye replaying various moments from his life.

  The phone buzzed.

  He looked at the message that read: SORRY, BUT I DON’T THINK THIS IS COMING FROM MY END.

  He sighed.

  If not from her end then from where?

  Who would start messing with the girl down there and why?

  No answer arrived.

  A new question did though. Maybe it had nothing to do with the girl downstairs. Unfortunately this still left him with the questions of who and why.

  What would the purpose of sending guys to the house be? And the pictures? Who took those and what was the reason for leaving them?

  He considered the possibility that the two weren’t connected and coincidentally happened upon the same day.

  Readers would never buy it, he told himself. In real life, however, things like this did happen.

  Of course thinking this just added a second who and why to the question, and once again he had no way of putting a face or reason to them.

  Wait, she just went through a breakup. He knew this because he often heard her talking on the phone, the floor / ceiling that separated the two of them doing little to buffer the sounds each one made.

  And if the guy she broke up with was the same guy who came over and fucked her silly that one night, then he obviously knew where she lived.

  Memories of that night and the different sounds he had heard while his ear was pressed to the floor filled his head. Images of what he imagined Kimberly looked like when in such moments of sexual ecstasy appeared as well.

  Urges within himself began to develop while thinking about this, ones that he somehow pushed away. Thoughts on the guy and whether or not he would start to torment her with pictures didn’t disappear, however, and for several minutes he played around with the ideas as if it were a storyline, his mind trying to figure out how likely it was. One thing he couldn’t do was attach the boyfriend to the new Nikki profile and the guy who had showed up because of the address he was given. Nope. The odds that the angry boyfriend would find the profile he had created and then recreate it so that he could use it against his ex-girlfriend were just too great.

  Unfortunately, this brought him back around to the idea that whoever had created that profile had known the original profile was linked to this address. How someone could figure that out was a mystery, as was the motive behind their actions. It just didn’t make any sense to him.

  Frustration arrived.

  He didn’t know what to do. Hell, he didn’t even know if there was anything he could do.

  Such a thought would not shut off his mind, however. Nothing would.

  12

  Why are you teasing me? Why do you keep sending me to that house when it isn’t really you who lives there?

  Mark stared at the two sentences, finger hesitating over the SEND button, the anger he felt toward this Nikki girl almost getting the better of him. He then got control of himself and deleted the message, his mind glad he hadn’t simply hit SEND once the two sentences had been typed.

  Be cool, he told himself. Play along and try to figure out something about this person so you can share it with the girl at the house.

  Future moments of pride for helping the poor girl put an end to whatever torment she was experiencing filled his head.

  She’ll be so very thankful for what you did, he told himself. You’ll be her hero.

  Yeah, keep dreaming.

  Still, trying to learn a thing or two about the real person behind the NIU Nikki profile would be better than just typing up a few sentences calling her out, especially when those sentences would probably just cause her to stop talking to him.

  Play along. Tease her just like she teased you.

  But how?

  Being easily teased by girls like this didn’t mean he was good at giving it back.

  He also knew that lying to her about how wonderful the sex was that they shared might not be the best idea because if she had been watching she would know he hadn’t gotten beyond the front door.

  Maybe you should just report it to the administrators and be done with it?

  The trouble was he knew the administrators would want to keep a girl profile like Nikki’s around. Even if this wasn’t a paid site that used women like that to lure in men and get them to pay for a membership, it still was a site that earned income through advertisers (he assumed) and therefore they would want to keep as many women on as possible. His complaints would be viewed as nothing more than a disgruntled male who couldn’t get the pussy he wanted.

  And in the end, even if he did manage to get her kicked off, she’d probably just start up a new profile somewhere else, one that he wouldn’t be able to help the girl at the house with. Dating sites were not in short supply when it came to the Internet. Hell, new ones seemed to pop up everyday.

  What to say? What to say? What to say?

  He thought about this for a long time, his mind so focused that he never left the email page he was on to browse other girls in the area, which was unusual for him.

  Then again, why browse for girls who would probably never respond to him when he kept p
icturing one in his head, one who needed his help and might possibly fall head over heels for him if he managed to save her.

  A scene of her answering the door and instantly pulling him inside by his belt buckle arrived, her lips quickly locking upon his before the door was even shut, her hands working to remove all the different layers of fabric that stood between them.

  You wish, he silently said with a shake of the head. Even if you do help her she’ll never --

  An idea arrived and killed the thought.

  His fingers began typing:

  Many thanks for giving me a second chance and once again I’m sorry about bringing the flowers the other night. What can I say, I’m a bit old fashioned. I have now realized the error of my ways and am looking forward to the blowjob and sex you have promised me. Please let me know if anything changes in the location we agreed to meet in. If not, I will see you at The Junction for dinner tomorrow night and –

  He stopped typing, a thought occurring.

  If she isn’t a ‘bring me flowers’ type of girl then why would you be taking her out to dinner beforehand?

  He then reminded himself that he wasn’t actually trying to convince Nikki that the girl he had seen was Nikki. She obviously already knew the truth of that situation. Instead, he was trying to convince her that he believed the girl at the house was she, and that she had agreed to see him again.

  And, being a normal girl, she wants to go to dinner first.

  But, would you have bought that after the whole flower thing? If so, Nikki might find that odd and grow suspicious.

  Keep it simple.

  He did and allowed the email to end with: Please let me know if anything changes in location. See you soon, Mark.

  Hesitation arrived again, but didn’t last very long.

  He hit SEND.

  Satisfaction followed.

  Then concern.

  You should have just walked away from all this.

  You should have recognized the fact that Nikki was still a fake and moved on.

  Of course if he had done that he would never have been able to talk to the girl today, and while he knew that probably wouldn’t end the way he hoped (his mind flashed to an image of her pulling him down onto the bed, her shirt now removed and the beautiful nipples he had seen poking through the thin fabric this morning finally exposed and ready for his touch), it would still feel good to help her.

  If you really are helping her.

  The thoughts of sex with her were pushed away by an image of him showing her what he had uncovered on this Nikki girl, information that he had spent countless sleepless nights trying to achieve, only to realize she had figured it out several days earlier. Not just figured it out, but figured it out, put a stop to it, and moved on, her lips asking, ‘Nikki? Nikki who? Oh that! Were you still poking around? Wow! My bad, I should have told you it was all over.’ The thought brought up a memory of playing Ghost in the Graveyard when he was younger and realizing that everyone had gone home while he was hiding.

  Images of the concern he had seen on the girl’s face when she answered the door pushed the Ghost in the Graveyard memories away, and also put a damper on the idea that she wouldn’t be appreciative of his help.

  Maybe she won’t go so far as to have sex with you, he admitted, but that still doesn’t mean your work won’t be appreciated.

  Plus, despite how much he wanted that sex, he also didn’t want to be known as a guy who would only help a girl if such an outcome were promised. No. Even if he was the only one that knew the motive for his actions, or lack of actions if he refused to help, it would be enough to view himself in a negative light for the rest of his life.

  You’re stuck.

  You have no choice but to help her.

  13

  Even though it was a Friday night, working her evening shift at Steak and Shake didn’t seem as crazy as other nights had been. The reason for this was simple: more employees. The only downside was her exhaustion, which most likely stemmed from her decision to sleep on the couch. Having done that seemed silly to her now, but then the fear she had felt at the time was far from her mind. Later, once it was time to go to bed again, she was sure some of that sensation would return. Or would it? Having set up a profile and then sending NIU Nikki a message before heading to work made her feel almost as if she were taking control over the situation. The question was would it accomplish anything? Would she really get a response that helped her put an end to whatever it was this person was trying to achieve, or would it prove to be a useless endeavor?

  Thinking about this and wondering whether or not she had gotten a response caused her to watch the clock a bit as the end of her shift drew near. This, coupled with her exhaustion, resulted in an order mix-up for a young girl who was eating alone at one of the small tables near the window. Thankfully, the girl didn’t make a big deal out of it, though the same couldn’t be said about the other customer. He wasn’t in her section though so she didn’t get the brunt of his disgruntlement. Max, who was waiting that table, also didn’t say anything to her, though she did apologize to him once the two were back near the expo counter.

  “Blah, when you’ve been waiting tables as long as I have stuff like that doesn’t even register. His food was like, what, three minutes late? If that’s the biggest problem he faces today then I wish I had his life.”

  He added a wave of dismissal to the statement and grabbed a plate that was ready to go out.

  Kimberly watched him for a moment and then, realizing the food she needed would be a couple minutes still, headed back out in the dining area to check on her tables. With the exception of two drink refills, everyone was doing okay. Drinks replenished, she headed back to the expo counter to grab the food that was up. While there, Max, who was working on a shake, said, “Might want to bus some of those tables in your section. Believe it or not they say dirty tables will reduce tipping in the surrounding area regardless of how good the service is.”

  “Given the tips I’ve been getting I don’t think they could go any lower,” Kimberly said, food tray ready to be hoisted up. “In fact, any lower and I’d be paying them.”

  Max laughed.

  Tray balanced, Kimberly brought the food to the waiting table – a family of four -- and then headed over to the first table that needed cleaning, eyes zeroing in on the folded dollar bills that were waiting.

  She didn’t pick them up.

  She didn’t clean the table either.

  Instead, she fought back a startled gasp as her eyes settled upon a picture of herself sitting beneath the bills, and then scanned the restaurant.

  No one was paying any attention to her.

  She looked back at the picture. Someone had snapped it as she stepped out of her car before her shift, the cars location in the parking lot and her Steak and Shake uniform making the moment easy to identify. Equally easy to identify was the word SLUT scribbled all over in red marker.

  Don’t freak out, she told herself and then nearly shouted as Max came up behind her and asked if everything was okay.

  “What do you mean?” she demanded, hand slipping the picture into her large apron pocket.

  “You were standing here for like a minute staring at the table,” he said.

  “Oh, just drifted off I guess.” She snatched up her tip. “Had a rough night.”

  “Ah, well, it happens I guess,” he said. “Want some help with these?”

  “Nah, I got it.” To prove this she quickly gathered up all the garbage from the table and dumped it. She then moved onto the next table and did the same, relief that nothing had been left beneath the three-dollar tip filling her mind. The same was true with the third table: nothing but a tip and garbage.

  Max watched for a moment, eyes following her to the second table, and then moved back to his section and his customers. Once there Kimberly started to wonder about him and his suggestion that she go bus her tables.

  Was it because he wanted you to find the picture, or had he been generally
concerned about the potential for low tips?

  More questions followed, questions that she couldn’t answer, questions on why he would choose to torment her.

  And why would he pose as a girl to do this?

  He seemed too nice and straightforward to do something like that.

  But then that’s what everyone says when they learn someone is truly a psycho.

  “Excuse me,” a voice said.

  Kimberly turned and saw the girl whose order she had mixed up earlier staring at her. “Yes?” she asked.

  “I’m ready for my check, now,” the girl said.

  “Oh, okay.” Kimberly began rummaging through her apron for it, her hand bumping the photograph several times while searching for the elusive slip of paper that she had printed up twenty minutes earlier in anticipation of the girl’s request. Little had she known the tiny girl, whose body looked as if it had never even come within range of anything fattening, let alone eaten anything, would down every last bite of her cheeseburger and fries, and then take her time and finish the entire shake. “Here you go, and again, I’m sorry for the mix up earlier.”

  “No problem,” she said and then pulled out two fives. “Can I just give this to you?”

  “Um . . . sure,” she said. “Let me go get some change.”

  “Nah, keep it.”

  “You sure?” That’s almost a six-dollar tip!

  “Yep, maybe you can split it with that other guy since the fat guy that complained didn’t leave anything.” She shrugged. “I feel bad about that.”

  Kimberly didn’t know what to say.

  The girl smiled and then left.

  Once gone Kimberly realized she should have asked the girl if she had seen someone leave the picture on the table. Given her observation of the tip-less table earlier there was a chance she would have noticed other things as well. Then again, several people had watched the mini confrontation that had taken place with the disgruntled customer who had not been shy about voicing his opinion of Max’s waiter skills, or the establishment, so that everyone within could hear.

  Having not asked, Kimberly was stuck with her own observations of the people who had been in the restaurant, which did little to help her pinpoint a possible suspect – other than Max, though, the more she thought about that the more far-fetched it seemed. Making this attempt even more frustrating was that she couldn’t even picture the people who had been sitting at the table where the picture had been left, their faces all a blur to her.