I cut through the living room and kitchen. Go through the screen door to the unfenced backyard…
And come to an abrupt stop.
What the fuck…?
In the center of the yard is a life-sized mannequin with hair as dark as mine. It’s got black pants on, which are still damp from the morning rain. And at least ten arrows are sticking out of its crotch.
I walk toward it slowly, wondering if it’s some kind of a booby trap. But no, it’s just a mannequin. The arrows, however, are real. I squint at the ground. Is that a blood splatter? The red stains are sort of diluted from the rain, but I can spot the faint color.
Holy shit—voodoo! I didn’t know Texans did that. I thought it was a Louisiana thing.
I’m almost tempted to reach out, run my finger over it and sniff, just to see if it has that metallic scent. But then…maybe not. It could be the blood of an HIV-positive chicken. You never know.
I’m not really superstitious, but at the same time, I have to think that I’ve found the cause of my BPS. Contrary to my depraved bad-boy image, I keep myself healthy. I don’t do drugs, and I don’t smoke or ingest anything that could damage my body. I want a long career, and unhealthy people don’t last.
Unnerved and angry, I slowly back away from the man-doll. A dog lets out a bark from several feet behind me, and I jump.
A man in his late fifties or so is approaching with a boxer. He waves at me. “Howdy!”
“Hi,” I say, then wave with the non-cow-holding hand. No need to traumatize the man.
“You Becca’s husband?”
“Yeah. Devlin. Nice to meet you.” I manage a smile as he walks toward me, as though holding a demented cow in front of a mangled mannequin is an everyday thing in this town.
“Matthias. You can call me Matty. And this here’s Lady. Just thought we’d come over and say hello.”
“Hey, Lady.” I scratch the dog behind her ears, and she makes a soft sound of bliss.
“We live right over there. My wife and I.” He gestures at the house behind Becca’s. “Heard a lot about you in the Society.”
“The Society?” This little town has something that can be labeled “the Society”?
“Yeah. It’s the neighborhood Facebook group. You should join up. It’s a lot of fun.”
“I’ll think about that,” I say, although I have no desire to do so. I’m not staying here long enough to bother.
“By the way.” He clears his throat, his cheeks getting slightly pink. “You mind signing an autograph for my daughter? She’s a huge fan. She would’ve been hiding out in the bushes somewhere to meet you if it weren’t for the fact that she has to be in Austin for college.”
“Sure,” I say, appreciating that this daughter isn’t in town to stalk me. I’m surprised the stalking hasn’t started, but then, maybe people in small towns don’t harass celebrities that much. If so, it’ll be a welcome change.
“Much obliged.” Then his gaze flicks to the mannequin. “Wow. Becca’s put more arrows into that thing, huh?”
More arrows?
“She’s quite the archer.”
Seems so. She only hit the crotch! “Seems like it. So, you two out for a walk?”
“Yep. Me ’n’ Lady have different routes we take, depending. But she’s fond of Becca. We were just coming by when I saw you.”
“Uh-huh. Hey, would you know when Becca got that…mannequin?” I need to know if there’s a connection between that doll and my condition. It’s possible she left me her thong and in exchange took a lock of my hair or something that she could use for some voodoo spell.
“You mean the target dummy?”
“Yeah.” I had a groupie once who tried to collect my nail clippings. Said she was going to put them into a small vial with some of her blood because that would “bind” us. The only thing that would have happened was the blood congealing around my nail clippings, but she didn’t believe my explanation because it didn’t match the fortune-teller who sold her the vial.
“Hmm…” Matty looks off into the distance. “Round about the time she came back from that art show thing in New York, I’d say.”