reading

When he was a guest on The Public Library Podcast, I asked Steven Van Patten why he chose to write Killer Genius: She Kills Because She Cares. His answer made a great deal of sense to me. His insightful reply summed up this basic thought: Not many have previously seen the value in telling a saga such as this.

Like most people, Steven is inspired by his experiences. As a child who delighted in fright, he found himself dumbstruck as the movie version of one of his favorite stories was changed to allow for the demise of the character who looked like him. A path carved from a boyhood disappointment continues in this, his latest novel. It’s scary how Steven Van Patten has continued the maniacal misdoings of my favorite serial killer, Kendra Wilson, in a fashion that had me turning pages faster than I did in the first Killer Genius book in this series. His passion for forging a lane for readers of horror, suspense, and the macabre to delight in, and creating characters underrepresented in the genre is amplified in the continuation of this wicked tale. Inspiring his readers and other writers, including me, to see and add more faces in unrepresented spaces is part of what keeps me reading his work. That, coupled with his ability to shake me with both terror and laughter. His work is more than just another story, pages bound together in a book. His work is necessary and essential in creating a place on those pages where we are all seen.

“So, how long have you worked at Beastmode?” Tony asked. Janice was nervous, not about the date so much as being spotted out in public with a client from the gym. She hadn’t bothered to read the part of the employee manual that covered such things, because until she had met Tony, the idea of dating a client hadn’t entered her mind.

“I’ve been there about a year,” she answered. “It’s convenient for me with the school being a few blocks away.” She glanced around and saw only three other couples in the restaurant. She was thankful that no one looked familiar.

“You mentioned at the gym that you’re going to LIU on a full scholarship?”

She stole a quick sip from her water glass before responding. “Yes. If all goes as planned, I’ll have a Master’s Degree in sports therapy next year.”

“Working at the gym and school, that’s a tough load. Your folks must be very proud.”

A look of pride mixed with lust filled Tony’s handsome, milk-chocolate face. She prayed her own face wasn’t betraying the fact that her heart was melting. She squirmed slightly in her seat. “My folks are actually gone. Cancer took them both. Mom while I was in high school and dad last year.”

“Janice, I’m so sorry,” Tony said. As the lust in his face turned to regret, she quickly made up her mind that she wasn’t going to let the conversation go down a dark path. This was a night for exploring new possibilities, not feeling sorry for herself. The conversation needed to go in a more positive direction.

“It’s okay. I miss them, but I try to focus on doing my best to honor their memory. Make something of myself, live a good life and be happy. That’s what they wanted for me.”

“I’m sure they’re looking down with enormous pride,” Tony was beaming again. Like her, he seemed eager to not let the dinner conversation go sullen. “So, are you playing for a team, or is this an academic scholarship?”

“Academic,” she answered. “I had a really good GPA coming out of high school and LIU actually sought me out and made the offer. They keep paying and I keep taking classes. Other schools wanted me too, but I wanted to stay in Brooklyn.”

“Sounds like you were safe from ‘The Good Grades Killer’, in any event.”

Janice recollected how a few years ago, a tech-savvy serial killer began a murderous campaign, killing a white racist talk show host, a misogynist rapper and a host of random criminals, bad teachers, cops and juvenile delinquents all to scare the five boroughs of New York into revamping its educational system. “I was already out of high school during that craziness. But no, I don’t imagine ‘The Good Grades Killer’ would have come after me if I was.”

“You know, it’s all over YouTube that he might still be alive. And that he is or was a she.”

“Nah! He or she must be dead or at least retired,” Janice chuckled. “Because this city is not suffering from a shortage of stupid people. Take it from someone who regularly sits at the front desk of Beastmode Fitness and then takes the train home to Queens four nights a week.”

They laughed so hard that they didn’t see the waitress approach. “Two Nightingale Nests and a side of pineapple rice?” the server confirmed with a broad smile.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Yes,” he managed through a half-swallowed mouthful of rice. “Boring stuff. Demanding boss. But it keeps me off the streets.”

“And living in the almost unaffordable part of downtown Brooklyn. Your folks must be pretty proud.”

“When they aren’t busy trying to convince me of how they were so much happier after their divorce, sure.”

“It’s all they ever talk about, when they’re not asking about grandkids.”

“And you don’t want kids?” The thought that this might make the date uncomfortable only occurred to her after she’d asked.

“Of course, I do,” Tony answered. “Not right this moment, but yes.”

“Getting the career together, first,” she said while she slid her fork into a piece of chicken. “I get it. Of course, I imagine you often find nice ladies to practice your baby making techniques with?”

He nearly choked, then took a sip of water and regained his composure. “I’m no saint, but I’m not seeing anyone serious, if that’s what you’re asking me.”

Janice shot him a mischievous grin. “So, there’s no special someone who would get mad if I were to go home with you tonight?”

He squinted at her directness. “I can’t really speak on other people’s anger, but I would say that currently no one would have the right to be mad.”

“Very slippery.”

“By the way, my asking you that doesn’t mean you’re getting some tonight.”

“It doesn’t? What does it mean, then?”

“It means I have a 9am class and might want to sleep on your couch and spare myself the two hours of commuting just to come back to this neighborhood.”

“Let’s see if I understand this. You are inviting yourself over?”

“Great. And I have a very nice couch. I’ll order dessert to go.”

“It’s like you’re reading my mind.”

“God, I hope so.”

The music was so loud, she would have to yell to conduct the conversation. It was her least favorite thing about nightclubs. “Hello Chad, I’m Clarissa! You’re right. This is my first time here.”

His face brightened at her welcoming smile and noticeable accent. “Ah! You’re Russian!”

“I am indeed,” she said through the smile.

“So, who did you come here with?” Chad asked as the DJ shouted out drink special information and beams of light swirled around them.

“Just my brother!” She sipped her martini gingerly.

“You party with your brother?” Chad seemed disappointed, as if he’d already calculated that Clarissa’s brother being present would cut into his chances he’d have sex with her anytime soon.

“Only because we are new to America and don’t really know other people. No need to worry, he’s not overprotective.”

Her words were just enough to keep Chad interested. Clarissa took a moment to notice, then continued.

“He’s over there,” she pointed towards the cluster of booths on the furthest right side of the club.

Chad turned and saw an Adonis in his early thirties in a perfectly tailored, dark suit. Two olive-toned waitresses in skin-tight black tank tops and booty shorts had brought over an ice bucket and two bottles of high end champagne with lit sparklers flaring from the top of each bottle. The three attractive women who shared the booth with Clarissa’s brother seemed delighted at the sight of the bottles. But even as his companions cheered, clapped and seemed to purposely shake their sumptuous cleavages, his facial expression never changed. His dark eyes remained purposeful, as if the champagne were no more than a patronizing means to an end.

Chad believed he knew the end that Clarissa’s stone-faced brother was after and he wanted in.

“Would you like to join us?” Clarissa asked. “Or, are you with someone?”

“I would love to join you and…?”

“Jon. His name is Jon.”

Chad smiled. “Lead the way, beautiful lady!”

Clarissa smiled, took his hand and pulled him behind her as she made her way past the dancers and drink-seekers. Mission accomplished.

“Not much of a talker, are you, Big Guy?” In Chad’s opinion, Clarissa’s brother had spent most of their time together taking the ‘strong silent type’ thing a little too far. Chad could only assume that was why the two Spanish girls had left their drunk blonde friend with the not so verbose Russian. He had managed to bore them despite having purchased a king’s ransom in overpriced champagne. After drinking nearly an entire bottle each, the two swarthy beauties suddenly remembered that there was a salsa band on one of the higher floors of the club, excused themselves and never returned.

Jon didn’t seem bothered. In fact, he appeared content that only the blonde remained. Only, he didn’t talk to her either. As she rambled on about her day working a cosmetics counter in a MAC store, Jon barely listened. Whenever he bothered to look at her, he had the look of a man casually noticing a fly buzzing past him. Not exactly the stance of a man trying to get laid. After a while, the scenario had begun to annoy Chad, who among other things, hated ‘cockblockers’. As the four of them sat in their booth that vibrated as the DJ switched from top 40 dance music to bass heavy techno, Chad had begun to suspect the worse of Jon.

“My brother is just tired,” Clarissa excused. “And while he’s very generous, he’s not much of a drinker himself.”

Or he’s just pissed that the Spanish girls bounced and this is how he’s handling it.

“Well, if you need me to chip in on the bottles, Big Man…”

“That will not be necessary,” Jon answered flatly.

“We are personal trainers with high end clientele,” Clarissa revealed. “Money is not an issue.”

Then, what IS the fucking issue?

“We should all leave now,” Jon said.

Did I just spend all this time chatting this girl up only for her brother to pull her out of here?! Shit! He is a cockblocker!

“Yes!” Clarissa grabbed her clutch in one hand and slipped her free arm under Chad’s. “Yes, let’s all go back to our place and keep the party going!”

“Your place? You guys live together?”

“Yes, but our place is big,” Clarissa said before leaning closer to him. “Our bedrooms are very far from each other. They’ll go in his room and we will go in mine.”

“Oh. Okay. I suppose that works.”

“Good! Let’s go!”

Clarissa practically pushed Chad out of the booth and for the second time, dragged him through the crowd. As they made their way to the exit, Chad realized he was drunker than he thought. “Where’s your brother?” he heard himself ask.

“He went to get the car.”

“Where do you guys live, anyway?”

“Downtown Brooklyn,” she answered as they walked out of the door and past the large group of tall, black bouncers keeping a rowdy mob at bay in the front of the club.

How did I lose sight of the brother so fast?

Before long, a black SUV pulled up and Clarissa helped him into the backseat. He saw the back of the blonde’s head, titled slightly as she sat in the front passenger seat. Jon, stoic as ever, watched him from the rearview mirror. He tried to apologize but could feel himself blacking out. At least he was in the car, and if Clarissa was as into him as she was making herself out to be, he was about to have a really good time. But first, a nap.

Sleeping with a guy on the first date. Never did that before. He probably thinks I’m just some slut. I should just go home.

Instead of the euphoria that normally comes after a wildly passionate, multi-position sexual encounter, Janice lay in Tony’s bed feeling anxious and vulnerable. Her parents hadn’t raised her to be a one-night stand kind of girl, yet here she was, living in a one-night stand kind of world. While her parents, Cecilia and Terrence Thursby, had been a happily married couple with no infidelities between them that she knew of, they had been anomalies in their Generation X culture. Sleeping around was in fact the norm of adults back in the 1990s and early 2000s. And while psychologists all over the world would point to everything from reality TV to porn addiction to social media as the culprit, no one seemed to want to admit that the real problem is that in the core of their beings, many people were simply too selfish to commit to the kind of work that a committed relationship calls for.

Thanks to her upbringing and the idyllic example her parents had set, she was an anomaly of her generation, or at least that is how it felt. While most of her girlfriends treated sex as casually as their male counterparts treated a pickup game of basketball in a local park, she was still hoping to find something along the lines of what her parents had enjoyed. But without the elder Thursbys to cheer her on, the world had become a lonely enough place that she had finally decided that maybe her parents had given her the wrong playbook. After all, it made sense that a different generation would require different rules.

Okay, fine! I let him charm me into bed. We’ll just have to see how he acts in the morning. If he’s cold and unaffectionate, I’ll know he was just being charming at dinner so he could fuck me. On the other hand, if he’s all hearts and flowers, I’ll respond in kind. I’m sure I’m neither the first, nor the last woman to go through this.

Janice glanced over at the sleeping Tony and envied his untroubled slumber. Well, at least one of us is feeling confident about their first impression, she thought as she rolled over to her side and closed her eyes. A few seconds passed before she felt him turn towards her, snake his arm around her waist and pull her into a ‘spoon’ position. Her eyes opened.

This is encouraging.

“They’re both asleep!” Clarissa hissed in Russian. “You gave them too much.”

Jon was nearly done cutting through Chinatown and about to turn the SUV onto the Manhattan Bridge. “He talks too much. Why do you always pick these chatterboxes?”

“The same reason you picked a shallow blonde that only talks about makeup. Because this thing we do is easier when the person is annoying,” she said. “Doing this with nice people sometimes bothers me and it probably bothers you too.”

“My conscience is clear. This is America. None of them are nice. You see how they treat each other on, what’s that thing with the fighting and the botched ass surgeries? PlanetStar?”

“Now you are being silly. And one website’s Internet traffic is not indicative of an entire country any more than anything else would be.”

“What about voting for an incompetent fascist dictator who won’t feed school children?” Jon said.

“We have dictators back home too,” she countered.

Chad groaned. His heavy eyes opened to slits and then closed. “Are you talking in Russian, baby? That’s sexy.”

“I hope he’s talking to you,” Jon said with the first flash of emotion he’d displayed all night. “See, we will be able to wake him and we won’t have to carry him to the elevator. Everything is fine.”

“I suppose I overreacted.”

“It’s okay, sister. I still love you.”

“I should hope so.”

The night air had apparently revitalized Chad. “Wow! Nice place! You guys sure you don’t know the president? I’ve heard some things about Russians knowing the president.”

Chad’s enthused exclamation of wonderment was not the first time a guest gave a strong reaction to Jon and Clarissa’s apartment. Located in the Dumbo section of Brooklyn, with a view of the side of the Brooklyn Bridge that could have inspired a thousand paintings, the palatial space seemed to have more square footage than most 2010 internet startups. Clarissa smiled and glanced at her brother while he watched their guest take in the Persian rugs, antique lamps, mirrors framed in bronze and unblemished hardwood floors that adorned the living room. Twenty paces away, a spotless kitchen and dining area filled with brand new appliances, framed by cherry-stained wooden cabinets trimmed in ebony and a marble kitchen island that could have been an altar in an ancient Aztec blood ritual stood to their right.

Except for the occasional moan, one would think the blonde in Jon’s arms was dead. In any event, she did have to be carried inside and had yet to come to.

“I will take my friend in the back,” Jon had clearly tired of Chad. “The rest of the place is yours.”

Chad wasn’t thrilled with Jon either. “Hey Big Guy! Be sure she’s at least awake and consenting before you start railing her. We have laws in this country!”

Given the way the rest of the night had gone, Chad half expected Jon to turn around and at best, tell him to go fuck himself. Instead, Jon ignored him and exited down a hallway that presumably led to the bedrooms. After a moment, they heard a door slammed shut.

“Seriously, is your brother okay? I mean if she wakes up and realizes something happened she didn’t want to happen and called the cops… I mean, I don’t need to be put in the position where I am explaining anything to any cops.”

“My brother happens to be very nice. Girl is old friend. She will sleep it off and then he’ll make her breakfast. In the meantime, you and I have business.”

Clarissa held Chad’s hand as she led him down the same hallway that Jon had just disappeared into. They passed two doors on the left and one on the right before entering a final bedroom roughly half the size of the living room. Other than the bed and a single night table, the room was empty, which gave the impression that she had just moved in. Long white drapes adorned the windows and seemed to billow in a gentle breeze. Over the bed hung a replica of Ivan Aivazovsky’s painting The Ninth Wave.

Chad didn’t know the first thing about art, Russian or otherwise, but he found it striking nonetheless. “Nice painting.”

“Thank you. Take off your clothes!”

Chad was suddenly taken aback, as if suddenly not believing that he was finally going to get what he’d been all but praying for all night.

“Come on, you big, strong American bull! Show me what you’ve got!”

That was all it took to motivate Chad into stripping completely naked in a matter of seconds. “My pleasure,” he said as he kicked his clothes away and walked towards Clarissa with his semi-erect penis springing more and more to life with every step.

Clarissa had positioned herself on top of the bed, kneeling with her arched back and supple-looking buttocks facing him. On the bed, roughly a foot away from her exposed vagina lay a condom in a blue wrapper.

Never taking his gaze from his intended target, he reached down, grabbed the condom and ripped it open. After accidentally putting it on the wrong way, Chad turned the condom around, slid it on and resumed his approach, getting on the bed behind her and putting a hand on her ass. He was smiling until he felt the sharp prick in his left butt cheek.

Even with his left leg giving way, he managed to turn around to see a naked Jon standing behind him with a deadpan expression and a hypodermic needle in his hand.

“My brother. He gets jealous.” Clarissa explained.

Chad tried to punch Jon but missed considerably as he was already in the process of falling on his back. He tried to speak, but could only produce a cough filled with a pasty froth. His head felt as if it was suddenly filled with cotton, but he could hear Jon clearly enough. “Foolish man. You think I would let you fuck my sister? No one fucks my sister except me!”

Chad began to convulse, seemingly after every third heartbeat. His skin had gone cold, but he could feel Jon’s hands slip under his arms. Incapable of willing himself to make the slightest motion, he watched as Jon dragged him across the floor and propped him up in a chair to the left of the bed.

“Now you watch what a real man can do!”

Chad watched as Jon joined his sister on the bed. Clarissa was no longer bent over, but waiting with outstretched arms and pouted lips. If nothing else, Chad got to see what Clarissa really looked like when she felt true love, even if it wasn’t directed at him.

They fell into each other’s arms and she came within seconds of him entering her. He took her passionately and she matched his fervor in surrendering herself. While they never changed from the missionary position, the pace of their lovemaking did; from slow to fast, from intense ruts to gentle strokes, with kisses to the other’s shoulders and necks when they weren’t engaged in a French kiss.

For Chad, it may have felt like an eternity, but it lasted only twenty-four minutes. Chad lost count of how many times Clarissa must have climaxed. Admittedly, it may have been hard to distinguish from a full-on orgasm and general excitement, what with all the leg shaking and grasping and moaning. But there was no mistaking when Jon was done, as his head whipped up and the muscles in his back suddenly bulged to the point that they seemed to form a frowning face.

They slid from their coital position to a spooning one and lay quietly with their backs to Chad for five minutes. Then, like a man getting up from bed to do something as simple as get a glass of water or have a middle of the night piss, Jon rose from the bed and walked over to Chad. Jon’s glistening, flaccid member was inches from Chad’s face.

“I should make you suck it, you piece of shit,” Jon sneered.

“Get it over with!” Clarissa’s voice was slightly muffled by the pillow she had grasped onto in Jon’s absence.

Jon grabbed a handful of Chad’s hair in one hand and placed the other over his chin. Chad managed one final, panicked groan before his neck was snapped. As Jon let the lifeless body hit the floor with a thud, he almost didn’t hear Clarissa say, “We have to stop killing them here in the apartment.”

“We talked about doing it at work,” Jon said as he looked down at Chad’s body. “But that would require more than just the camera blocker. We need passwords.”

“Shouldn’t be that hard. I will be friendlier to the shift supervisors. I should have something by the end of the week.”

“Good idea. We could both be friendlier, I suppose.” Jon grabbed Chad by his wrist and began dragging him across the bedroom floor.

“Did you take care of the girl, already?”

“Of course,” Jon answered as he exited. “Why?”

“No reason. I was just checking.” She closed her eyes and nestled her face deep into her pillow.

Jon paused to take one last look at his beautiful sister, then pulled Chad’s body into the hallway and closed the door behind him. He could tell she wanted to sleep now.

“You fucking bastard!”

Janice Thursby had never been the type to snoop on the men she dated. Her philosophy was simple; if she had to hack into your phone and wonder about every woman you’re chatting with on social media, then you weren’t worth the trouble. She also believed that guys that cheat were bound to exhibit other character flaws that would force her to cut them off, regardless of whatever perks being with them might present.

However, Tony had been seductively close to the mark. While nowhere near the man her amazing father had been, he seemed to be different enough to be a good choice. He wasn’t a stupid white guy trying to cross ‘been with the black girl’ off his bucket list. He wasn’t a black guy insisting on the wardrobe of a major rapper while making eight dollars an hour. He came across as sensible and mentally mature for his age and worldly.

Tony’s job as an acquisitions manager for Tidal bank meant he traveled a lot. That was fine, because she had school and her job at the gym, so she didn’t exactly need a man underfoot all the time. The well-timed phone calls every morning, a plethora of text messages during the week and fun night out every other weekend was enough for her. The only problem was that, at the moment, it was painfully obvious that either she or Tony got their weekends mixed up.

“Who the fuck is in there with you, Tony!” she screamed as she banged on the door, dropping her overnight bag to her feet. “I’ll break this fucking door down, I swear to God!”

From the apartment on the left, someone shouted “Shut up!” From the right side, a boy of probably nine pressed his ear against his door. Janice could hear him say, “Ma, Tony’s in trouble!” That was followed by a sharp, “Boy, get away from that door and mind your business.”

Tony’s building was one of the new high rises that had been built during the final stages of the gentrification of Fort Greene, Brooklyn. Typical of the buildings was the cheap material that was used to make them. If any of the residents didn’t leave their television blaring it was quite possible to hear what was going on inside their apartment. In Tony’s case, the sounds of a woman moaning and demanding that Tony fuck her harder, accompanied by the all too familiar sound of Tony’s naked lower abdomen smacking repeatedly against supple ass flesh left Janice with little doubt of what was going on inside.

When the door finally opened, it was Tony’s boss, Miriam who greeted her. “Well, don’t you look nice?” Miriam purred, seeming to notice Janice’s new leather jacket. Miriam looked mildly disheveled, in her designer pantsuit, but nothing a few more minutes in a bathroom couldn’t have fixed. “I was just dropping something off.”

“I’ve been out here for ten minutes, Miriam,” Janice said. “I know what you were dropping.”

“Well, that’s too bad. He said you guys were hanging out next week, so that’s his bad. You should know, I’m not trying to steal him from you. I just got divorced, so I just need the occasional tightening up.”

“I should tighten you up!”

“Dear, let’s not forget who the rich person is,” Miriam snapped. “Your narrow, yellow ass would be in Ryker’s Island and forgotten about faster than you could say ‘Khalid Browder’ if you so much as got a strand of my weave caught in your jacket zipper. See to that scholarship of yours, that’s what you better do.”

Janice’s head started to hurt. She almost felt like crying, but refused to give Miriam the satisfaction. Miriam in turn, walked by as if Janice were a homeless person and entered the elevator that seemed to magically open as she approached it, and disappeared behind the closing doors.

Janice stood in the hallway with the ajar door staring at her. Part of her wanted to leave, just forget the whole thing and spare herself the reality show like drama that was about to unfurl. Then she remembered her favorite t-shirt, the Coney Island shirt that her dad bought her on their last outing before his chemo treatments had started three months ago was still in there. Losing Tony was fine, but she wasn’t losing that shirt.

She picked up the overnight bag and walked in. It squealed as it slowly swung open, banged against the adjacent wall and came to a stop. The familiar sight of the dimly lit hallway that led into the rest of Tony’s one bedroom apartment lay before her. She took a deep breath and took five steps. At the end of the hall was where Tony’s living room began. Sitting on a couch against the wall, surrounded by a mix of mostly bland IKEA-style furnishings, sat Tony in grey sweatpants and a red t-shirt. His brow was still moist from his previous physical exertions. His eyes found the floor as Janice entered. She glared at him, waiting for him to attempt to defend himself.

“Look, I-I’m sorry. It just happened. I figured it was a good way to get promoted,” Tony said. “Then I can keep taking you to nice places…”

“Oh, so you’re fucking your boss as a favor to me?” Janice asked. “Forgive me, for not understanding.” She turned away, opened her overnight bag and began collecting her things. It would be a decision she regretted instantly. The nearby bedroom smelled of Tony’s favorite vanilla-scented massage oil and a very satisfied vagina. For a moment, she thought she might throw up.

After two minutes of grabbing things, Tony appeared in the bedroom doorway. “Where is my shirt?”

“The Coney Island shirt, asshole!” The one my dead father left me. You know, the only man on this whole planet that was ever worth a damn.

“It’s in the hamper.”

He disappeared. She continued looking around the room, stuffing things in her bag. She was about to check the bathroom when he appeared in front of her with the shirt. Instinct took over, as she smacked him across the face so hard that his lip split open. Then she snatched the shirt out of his hand so fast he thought she’d burned him.

“Can we just…”

“Fuck you!” she said as she stuffed the shirt in her overnight bag and slammed his door behind her. There was just the hint of a sob in her throat.

She walked around teary eyed for a while, until she found herself near Fort Greene Park. Plopped down on a park bench, she looked around to make sure no one could see her before allowing herself to cry for a few minutes. Then, angry at herself for getting so upset over a man, she contemplated her next move.

In fact, it was the following weekend when she was supposed to visit Tony and spend the night. However, she had forgotten that Pamela, the morning shift site manager, had asked to switch shifts at the gym with her for the sake of a baby shower. This meant Janice would have to close the gym at 10:00pm and open the facility again at 5:00am. With her hour commute and the New York’s transit system running less than reliably over the weekends, she had been looking at the prospect of barely getting any sleep. And since Tony lived within walking distance from the gym, it made sense for her to crash at his place instead of going home. She thought she had talked to Tony about it earlier that week, but with so much on her mind, she now figured that she may not have. Otherwise, she probably would have found Tony alone in his apartment when she arrived. Instead of sitting teary-eyed on the park bench she’d probably be bent over in front of him, having the time of her life.

She closed her eyes and let relief wash over her. Relief that she had found out the truth about Tony. Relief that it wasn’t so cold outside. Relief that there was a solution to her current problem as far as her short work turnaround was concerned.

I’ll just spend the night in the gym. I have clean underwear in the bag and my Coney Island shirt. I’ll sleep in the back office. Tomorrow morning, everything will be fine.

She let out a sigh and wiped her face, then stood up and slung the strap from the overnight bag over her shoulder. Tomorrow morning, everything will be fine.

She said it over and over-- Tomorrow morning, everything will be fine-- to herself for the entire three block walk to the Beastmode Gym and stopped only long enough to punch in the security code and let herself in.

Beastmode Gym’s Fort Greene location was on the corner of Ashland and Fulton. Rumor had it that back in the 1980s it was the home of The Adelphi, a bar frequented by wannabe rappers, crack dealers and the women who loved them. That is, until rivals from nearby Fort Greene and Farragut projects ran into each other. The resulting shootout left three people dead and real estate barons swarming, their logic for buying up the bar and the surrounding properties being born from the adage ‘if the bullets start flying, it’s time to start buying. The place sat empty and dilapidated for nearly ten years after the shooting, until the residential demographics of the surrounding area moved significantly from lower and middle-class blacks and browns to middle and upper-class whites.

Then, practically overnight, Beastmode appeared, with its shiny elliptical machines and boxing classes in the 1st floor window. While many of the newer residents saw the gym as merely a convenient place to maintain their fitness, the old timers saw a herald announcing a change. Now, instead of crack dealers and drug addicts, the residents of Fort Greene would have to contend with rent high enough to make them miss the blight of drug culture. They were less likely to be mugged, but equally as unlikely to be happy.

“The struggle is real,” she said to herself as she looked around. Everything was just as she’d left it roughly 90 minutes ago. The machines and viewing screens were off as were most of the lights. The free weights were neatly stacked and the yoga mats were rolled up and standing in the furthest corner of the 1150sq. ft. facility. The only noise outside of her own breathing was a dull hum coming from the two refrigerators filled with water bottles and protein drinks. She had learned early on that despite the juvenile company logo that depicted a half-human-half-lion holding barbells in both of his clawed hands, the Beastmode brand was as corporate as they come. That meant that as the nightshift supervisor it was her responsibility to make sure the place was photoshoot ready before she left the premises. While she was not sure why, there was a certain look that the main office wanted a closed for the rest of the night Beastmode Gym to have. Which brought her to her next dilemma. She needed to clear out from the front of the gym before someone saw her in the 1st floor windows. No sense in setting herself up for the awkwardness of having a member walk by, wonder what she was doing there so late and then say something to the wrong person the next day.

Her concern over being seen by a passerby worried her way more than the gym’s security cameras. A fully digital system that erased itself every 24hours, the only reason someone would want to see them is if something terrible happened. And if something terrible happened, her being there would mean she was in for bigger problems than being fired.

Making her way past rows of weight machines and stationary bikes, she briskly entered the ladies’ locker room and stripped. She took a shower, running the water just under scalding and using a generous amount of soap. With the gym being empty, the sound she made came with a slightly unnerving echo that she forced herself to ignore for the sake of enjoying the shower. She eventually dried up and put on the sexy lace panties that would have been for Tony’s benefit before emerging out of the locker room wrapped in white towels. Then she high-stepped it to the office that she shared with Pamela. Once situated with one of the yoga mats as a makeshift bed and two large towels bound together as a pillow, she turned off the lights in her office, set the alarm on her cellphone and curled up under her desk and closed her eyes. With her emotions in disarray and her ego bruised, sleep didn’t come easy. But mercifully, after about thirty-five minutes, she managed to find just the right amount of inner peace to pull it off.

Her sleep bore no dreams, but she floated in a comfortable darkness for what felt like a few minutes. In truth, it had been a little more than two hours before she realized that she was hearing sounds. She came to slowly at first, then her eyes shot open as the sudden thought that someone was in the gym hit her like a hot flash. Anxiety filled her upper chest as she slowly reached for her phone and covered it with her hands before checking the time. It was 2:33am.