“You don’t think I’m going to steal that package, do you?” I arch an eyebrow.
The kid flushes. He’s done deliveries to the foundation, and he’s seen me many times, since I generally sign for Lizochka’s packages.
“Well?”
“Sorry. No, I don’t… I mean, sure.” He licks his lips nervously and gives me a handheld gadget. “Just sign here.”
I make a straight line across the screen with my finger. He places the package on my desk and scurries off.
Two minutes later, my other phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out.
–Courtney: Happy birthday!
Isn’t it interesting she’s texting right after the package arrived? Are you fishing, snitch? For all I know, she’s currently snuggling with Roy Wilks. Michigan’s not that far from Philadelphia.
–Courtney: I hope you have an amazing celebration and everything is well.
–Me: I will. Thanks for asking.
–Courtney: Did you get anything nice? Especially from the guy you met?
–Me: I did. My office is going to host a small party for me. It’s so cool. I’m also going away with my boyfriend for the weekend to celebrate. It’s going to be super romantic! Anyway, I gotta get to a meeting. Later!
I tap the side of the phone a couple of times, then add a smiling emoji and a heart emoji.
That done, I put the phone away and look at the label on the box. The return address is the same PO box that was on her other package—the one with her underwear inside. Roy Wilks is surprisingly consistent in some ways. It’s another way he taunts her, displaying his superiority. So what if she knows his mailing address? What can she do to stop him?
I take the package into the supply room and pull out a box cutter from the small nook in one of the top cabinets where Patrice keeps it.
I run the blade along the tape and open the box. Lots of packing peanuts. A colorful card with balloons that says HAPPY BIRTHDAY on the top. I flip it over.
Angelika,
You think you’re safe, but you aren’t. I’ll be coming for you.
–Roy
As threats go, this is embarrassingly third-rate. I’ll be coming for you. Such a cliché. If he’s going to come to L.A., can’t he hurry up? Hasn’t Courtney told him how happy the little fawn is? How she’s met somebody?
Sexual dysfunction or no, Roy won’t tolerate that. Angelika isn’t supposed to meet anybody, she isn’t supposed to dream of a bright future and she most definitely isn’t supposed to feel safe or happy.
She’s supposed to be miserable. She’s supposed to despair so much that Roy will begin to seem like a good option for her. He wants to control and humiliate her, and he wants her to want that.
And he’s angry that she’s too strong for him to break.
I smile.
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Then I reach inside and find a glass jar buried underneath the peanuts. There are holes poked into the metal lid.
I pull it out and rip the bubble wrap from around it. Headless roaches big enough to fly fill the jar almost to the top. Their legs are still squirming. Cockroaches can move without their heads for four…perhaps five days. So these are fresh zombie roaches. Shows dedication, but I doubt Roy caught them himself. He probably had somebody else do the work.
Decapitated insects don’t bother me, even when they’re moving. They’re harmless, and the world is full of more dangerous things.
But they would be enough to freak Angelika out. Or, honestly, most any woman.
I dump the jar back into the box, rip the label off and run it through a document shredder. Then I retape the box and locate the shipping labels that the foundation keeps for packages. The most used ones are FRAGILE or URGENT, but there are a few others as well.