The Nines (The Nines #1) (3 page)

“Do you think that’s the house?” I point to the corner house with the light on.

“That would make sense. It doesn’t look like anyone else on the block is home. And he did order a pizza.”

When I come to a sudden stop right in front of the lighted kitchen window Hector doesn’t have much of a choice but to stop with me.

Much of the rear of the house is obscured by the large bushes that surround the back yard. The little I can make out through the small window seems very—well—ordinary for lack of a better word. Not that much different than the kitchen in my parents’ house.

I notice Hector’s eyes darting around nervously. “We probably shouldn’t be peeping into his house.”

“I’m not peeping. I’m just observing.”

“Maybe we’d better go.”

“Do you know anything else about him?” I whisper to Hector even though there’s absolutely no one else around to hear me. Somehow I feel like I’m disturbing the silence.

He shakes his head. “Not really. Someone told me they thought he was a student, but that seems strange, doesn’t it? He’d have to take all of his classes online if he doesn’t leave the house.”

I know that some of the students who hang out in the psychology student cyber café take classes online. I make a mental note to do some digging when I get back to my dorm room.

“Let’s see what the front of the house looks like,” I suggest, and head off before Hector can stop me.

“Okay.” Even though Hector agrees, he sounds hesitant.

The front of the craftsman has nothing to distinguish it from any other house on the block, which is a little disappointing. A streetlight illuminates the front porch and yard so I can see the place is well maintained and obviously cared for. The lovely plantings make me wonder if we really do have the right house. The upkeep on the front yard gardens would require a lot of attention and for someone to spend quite a bit of time outdoors to achieve.

“You look disappointed,” Hector comments.

“It just looks so…I don’t know…normal. More like someone’s grandmother lives here rather than a mysterious masked man.”

“Did you expect to see blood dripping from the doorframe? Or maybe hear the muffled screams of his latest victim as he sliced off skin for his new human hide suit?”

“I haven’t learned anything more about him,” I say as I start for the small set of stairs leading up to the front porch. “Just that he likes to garden.”

He grabs my elbow. “What are you doing?”

“I want to see if the door is unlocked.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” His voice sounds strained.

We both stare at each other for a long moment. Then he finally releases me from his grasp. “I doubt you’re going to find anything. Who leaves their door unlocked in the twenty-first century?”

“Where I’m from no one locks their doors at night.”

“And where is this magical place where no one locks their doors?”

“Just a small town,” I say vaguely, and then chastise myself for my slip up.

“A small town where?” he pushes.

“Aren’t you just full of questions?”

“That’s what people do when they’re on a date. They ask each other questions. And some people actually give answers too. It’s how people get to know each other.”

“This isn’t a date,” I remind him.

Hector eyes me. “I think this became a date when you manipulated me into bringing you here.”

“Manipulate?” I place my hand on my chest and feign shock. “Me? Never.”

He nods. “And you’re very good at it, by the way. You look so cute and innocent with those big, brown eyes of yours. But you’re a master manipulator.”

“I didn’t mean to manipulate you, Hector. I just really wanted to know more about the masked man.”

He points to one of the numerous planter boxes lining the front porch. “Well you learned he likes petunias.”

When the front porch light snaps on Hector and I freeze.

“He knows we’re here,” I whisper.

“We need to go,” Hector whispers back.

“Are you scared?” I tease. “Worried about him making a suit out of your skin?”

Hector rolls his eyes at me. “That was Julio not me.”

“That’s enough for tonight.” As I take one last look around I try to commit my surroundings to memory. I’ll definitely be back tomorrow when it’s daylight.

“You’re already thinking about coming back, aren’t you?”

“Thinking about it? No. Definitely not.”

Hector narrows his gaze at me. “You’ve already decided?”

I raise a hand as if swearing an oath. “I promise it will be daylight.”

“Just be careful, okay?” He actually sounds concerned and I feel guilty.

“So why are you so worried about my safety?”

“Maybe because I want to take you out again.”

“This isn’t a date,” I remind him.

“On another non-date.”

Hector looks at me expectantly, but I don’t reply. When he licks his bottom lip I think he might kiss me so I quickly turn away.

“Are you ready to go back?” Hector asks. “I don’t want you to get too cold.”

I nod. “Let’s go.”

Once we arrive back at the front entrance to my dorm we both wait for a few moments, staring at each other. The awkward silence between us is a bit unnerving. 

“I really want to see you again,” he says finally.

“Sure.” I know my response sounds half-hearted, but all I can think about is getting up to my room and seeing if any of my pals in the psychology student cyber café know anything about the masked man.

Hector is now grinning from ear to ear. “Can I get your number?”

“I don’t use my cell very much,” I admit. What I don’t want to admit is that it’s because I don’t have any friends to actually text or call. My parents share one disposable cell phone that they have just for emergencies. A smart phone isn’t even in their realm of possibility.

And my brother isn’t going to call me from his jail cell. Truth be told I haven’t even seen him in person since he was arrested.

I’m truly the personification of the word
loner
.

“Can I see your phone?” Hector looks at me expectantly.

I frown. “Okay…”

As I remove the phone from my purse he says, “I’m just going to program my number into your phone. That way I’m sure you’ll have it. And I’ll program your number into mine.”

I hand my phone to him and wait for him to do whatever it is he wants to do with it.

When he hands the phone back to me I give him a polite smile. “Thanks.”

“Maybe we can go to dinner next weekend. Someplace nice. We can get steaks or something.”

I nod.

“Great. I’ll text you.” Hector gives me a quick wave before he heads back toward his dorm. I notice that he takes another quick peek back at me before he heads off into the night.

I practically run up the stairs and into my room. When I start my laptop I wait anxiously for it to power on so I can log into the psychology student cyber café.

Two students are in the midst of a hot discussion about behaviorist B. F. Skinner’s utopian novel
Walden Two
when I arrive.

Okay, maybe B.F. Skinner isn’t that hot, but the discussion seems to be entertaining the pair. It takes them a few seconds to acknowledge that I’ve joined the discussion.

ALXTHEGR8T:
AMERICNWOMN. I was wondering if you were going to join the discussion.

Most of the students in the cyber café use nicknames or handles when they’re online. I use AMERICNWOMN. I’ve always liked the song. And it’s my little way of saying
screw you
to every person in the small town where I grew up who made me feel like a foreigner, even though I was born in the good ole US of A. My parents did everything in their power to make me and my brother feel like we were
real
Americans, but we were still treated like
foreigners
in our town. We looked just a little different. Even though we’re white, we weren’t quite white enough. My parents spoke English with thick accents. As hard as they tried to fit in and be American, they could never quite cut it. They were like the nerds in high school who tried everything they could to be accepted by the cool kids, but were still ridiculed no matter how hard they tried. As hard as my parents tried to fit in no one ever considered them real Americans. My brother and I spent our lives straddling the fence between being
one of us
and
one of them
.

Becoming Roxie Bailey has only managed to make it easier for me to hide in plain sight and veil my true identity. It hasn’t made me feel any more like someone who actually belongs in my own country.

I spend a lot of time in the psychology student cyber café and I’ve gotten to know the regulars very well. If I had to guess I’d say they spend most of their free time in the virtual socialsphere because they don’t have any kind of a social life in the real world.

That’s why I spend most of my free time in the online forum.

ALXTHEGR8T:
Have you read Walden Two yet?

ME:
No. Not yet. What class is it required for?

FANGURL:
Theories of Personality Two.

ME:
I haven’t even taken Theories of Personality One yet.

FANGURL:
Just make sure you don’t take Dr. Heston. Snoozeville.

ME:
Thanks for the heads up.

ALXTHEGR8T:
I was wondering if you were going to be here tonight.

ME:
Not a lot to do on a Friday night.

ALXTHEGR8T:
No hot dates for AMERICNWOMN?

I don’t want to lie, but I don’t really want to tell him about my date either. Maybe it’s because I’ve developed a bit of a crush on him. It’s strange to connect with someone so deeply who you’ve never seen in real life. But I wouldn’t exactly call going out with Hector a hot date either. Lukewarm at best.

ME:
No hot dates.

ALXTHEGR8T:
Good. I still have you all to myself
.

FANGURL:
Hey, don’t forget about me. I haven’t had a hot date in years. Or any date for that matter
.

ME
:

ALXTHEGR8T:
Well, Ladies. What would you like to discuss tonight? A little Sigmund Freud? Or Alfred Alder perhaps? Anyone interested in Birth Order Theory?

ME:
I have something that’s kind of related to psychology…

ALXTHEGR8T:
Do tell???

ME:
I heard a weird story. Just wanted to know if it was true.

ALXTHEGR8T:
About what?

ME:
I heard there’s a guy who lives near campus and he always wears a mask. Kind of like Phantom of the Opera.
 

FANGURL:
Freaky. I haven’t heard anything like that. Sounds intriguing though.

ME:
I think so too
.

I wait but I don’t hear anything more from ALXTHEGR8T. Then I notice that he’s logged out of the cyber café.

ME:
What happened to ALXTHEGR8T?

FANGURL:
He’s like that. He comes and goes fast. Sometimes in the middle of a conversation he’ll just disappear.
 

She’s right. Even though I’ve only been chatting with ALXTHEGR8T and FANGURL for a few months, I feel like I’m getting to know them pretty well. At least what they’re willing to share about themselves in the online forum. ALXTHEGR8T does have a bit of a post-and-run habit.

FANGRL
: Sorry, but I’ve got to go too. I’ve got to swap out my whites and darks and put some stuff in the dryer. Catch you later.

ME:
Later.

Then I hear a ting and notice that I’ve gotten private message. When I click on it I see it’s from  ALXTHEGR8T.

Don’t ask so many questions. You may not like the answers you receive.

I send back my reply:
Do you know something about the man in the mask?

That’s it. I don’t get any more messages. It’s almost like ALXTHEGR8T is trying to warn me against trying to find out more about the masked man. What he doesn’t realize is that it’s had the opposite effect. I’m even more intrigued.

There’s no way for me to find out who ALXTHEGR8T is. I wonder if there are any guys in my psychology classes who go by Alexander or Alex. Or even any girls named Alexandria. I don’t know everyone by name yet, but I don’t recall anyone with any derivation of the name.

Of course it’s possible that the ALXTHEGR8T is just a handle and has no relationship to the person’s real name. It’s not like anyone could figure out who I am just from AMERICNWOMN. 

I try to put it out of my head and get some sleep.