Once Upon A Weekend 12
     Kim drove Ken home after the doctor released him from the hospital.  Other than looking completely worn out, Ken seemed to be unaffected by the accidents.  He was uncharacteristically quiet, but Kim supposed that was due to his being tired.
     "You want me to stay with you tonight?" she asked when they pulled up in front of the apartment building.
     Ken shook his head.  He felt more foolish than anything and he didn't feel like company.  All he wanted to do was go to bed and forget everything.
     "I'll be fine," he said.  "If I need help, I'll call you."
     Kim didn't like the curtness, but she wasn't going to push him.  She didn't want to leave him alone, but she would do as he asked.
     "Okay," she said.  "I'll see you tomorrow.  Remember, keep off the ankle and rest."
     Ken gave her a thumbs up, then hobbled up the walk.  When he was inside of his apartment, he went to his bedroom and conducted a thorough search.  He repeated the procedure in the bathroom.  Nothing seemed to be lurking, no strange things were happening.  Satisfied he was truly alone, he relaxed and went to the kitchen for a beer.

     Kim arrived at 7 a.m. the following morning to take Ken to his doctor's appointment.  When she knocked on his door, there was no answer.  The door, unlocked, swung open.  Afraid and worried, she went in.
     "Ken?" she called.  "are you up?"
     She was startled when Ken floated into the livingroom dressed in a full length silk dressing gown.  He wore make up and his hair was puffed high on his head.  A silk flower was behind his ear and he wore dangling earrings that looked strangely like a pair of hers that she'd thought lost.  He carried a cigarette holder with a lit cigarette and his nails were painted a bright red.
     "There you are, Kimmy, darling," Ken said in a very feminine voice.
     Kim stared open-mouthed, unable to say anything.  After the initial shock, she managed to stammer.
     "Funny," she said, laughing nervously.  "What are you supposed to be?"
     Ken gave her a petulant pout and pursed his brightly painted red lips.
     "Whatever do you mean, girl?" he asked, wiggling over to his sister and tracing her jawline with his painted fingernail.  He wrinkled his nose like a rabbit and blinked his heavily mascara eyes.
     Kim backed away from him, frightened and worried at the same time.  He was acting weird and this was not a joke.  Something was terribly wrong with her brother.
     "Ok, Ken," she said sternly, hoping to snap him out of it.  "This isn't funny.  Wake up now, and stop this foolishness."
     Ken advanced toward her, slinking like a big cat towards its prey.  She backed away from him, bumped into the door, and fumbled for the handle.
     "Ken, stop," she said, her voice cracking with fear.  "I'll call the police."
     "Oh, don't go," Ken said, not hearing her.  "I'm so lonely."
     Kim jerked open the door and ran for her car.  She pulled her cell phone from her purse and called 911.  She didn't drive away, but locked the car doors.  Ken didn't follow, didn't leave the apartment, for which she was grateful.  what she didn't see was his look of disappointment as he ran his fingers through his hair, shrugged his shoulders and curled up on the couch, looking very much like a black widow waiting for its next victim.

     Sam pulled up in front of a modest contemporary house that, to him, look deserted.  The lawn needed mowing.  There was mail in the mailbox.  The shades were drawn and there were no lights.  There wasn't a car in the drive, but he couldn't remember if Glen had a car or not.  It seemed to him that Glen always rode the bus to work.  
     Leaving the car, Sam went to the front door and rang the bell.  He heard it echo through the house and leaned his ear against the door.  He thought he detected movement inside, so he rang the bell again, this time more insistently. 
     "Glen," he called through the door.  "Open the door.  I know you're in there."
     He listened again.  This time he was sure he heard someone.
     "Glen," he shouted, "either open this door or I'll break it down."
     "You can't do that," a timid voice came back to him.  "You have no right."
     "You're going to think no right if you don't open this door," Sam warned him.  "You know why I'm here.  Otherwise you wouldn't be hiding.  I want some answers and I want them now."
     He waited.  After several minutes, he heard the lock click and the door opened just a crack.  A bright blue eye peeked out at him.
     "Go away," Glen said.
     Determined, Sam pushed against his door, but Glen managed to hold it closed.
     "Leave me alone," Glen said.
     "Not until you've answered my questions," Sam said, straining to push open the door.
     It surprised him that he couldn't.  Glen was a about six feet tall, but as thin as a rail.  He was all arms and legs, wore glasses, and looked like he should be working in an office instead of on a construction crew.  He was a mousy man, Sam had always thought, but he changed his mind, to more like a rat.  Sneaking, sniveling, conniving little rat!
     "What do you want?" Glen asked.
     "You know very well what I want," Sam said.  "Strange things are going on and I think you know what they are."
    "I don't know what you're talking about," Glen said.
     He slammed the door in Sam's face and the lock snapped into place.
     "Glen!" Sam yelled, pounding on the door.  "Glen, what's going on?"
     There was no response.  Sam banged on the door until his fist hurt.  He was tempted to kick it down, but neighbors were watching from their doorsteps.  He stomped out to his car and climbed in.  He sat trying to decide what to do.  He put the car in gear and drove to the end of the street where he parked with a good view of Glen's house.  Sooner or later, Glen would have to come out.  When he did, Sam intended to grab him and torture him if that's what it took to get the answers out of him.

     Ken woke up lying on his side.  He rolled over and fell in the floor, the jolt bringing him fully awake to the fact he was sleeping on the couch.  He also discovered he had the grandmother of all headaches.
     groaning, he pulled himself out of the floor and back to the couch, trying to remember what happened.  He looked at his watch.  It was seven, but he didn't know if it was a.m. or p.m.
     Standing up unsteadily, he made his way to the bathroom, used the toilet, then hobbled to the sink to wash his hands and shave.  When he saw his reflection in the mirror, he screamed.  His make up was smeared into his prickly new whiskers.  The bright red lipstick smeared into a red slit across his face.  The mascara ringed his eyes like a black mask and his hair stuck out in every direction.  It wasn't the disarray that scared him.  It was the fact he wore it in the first place.  Tentatively, he reached up to touch the mirror and stared in horror at the polish on his fingers.
     Looking down, he found his mother's old silk robe draped his body.  Not remembering what happened, and not wanting to know, he turned on the shower full blast and dived under it.  He scrubbed every inch of his skin until it was raw, then wrapped in a towel, started into the bedroom.  he tripped and might have fallen if not for the wall he crashed into.  Looking down, he discovered his cast, which he'd forgotten, was soggy and falling apart.
     He cursed and sat down on the edge of his bed to peel of the remnants.  He leaned his hands on his knees and took several gulps of air.  His stomach growled.  He was hungry---no, he amended, not hungry---starving. 
     Limping to the kitchen he prowled through his cabinets until he found a box of cookies.  He only meant to eat one or two, but before he knew what he'd done, he ate the entire package.  It wasn't enough.  He still craved food.
     He fixed a glass of chocolate milk.  It didn't help.  He prowled through his refrigerator.  He ate what he could find, but couldn't seem to get satisfied.  He went back through the cabinets and emptied them of everything he found.  It wasn't enough.  The craving was intensifying.
     turning to the bedroom, he quickly pulled on his clothes and grabbed his wallet and keys.  He'd have to go to the supermarket.  On the way, he stopped at an ice cream shop, bought a malt, an ice cream cone, and three gallons of ice cream.
     An hour later, home from the supermarket loaded with cookies, donuts, candy, ice cream and all manner of sweets that he wolfed down, he tried to stop the drive to stuff it all into his mouth, but he was out of control.  He couldn't stop.  Desperate, he called Kim, but she didn't answer her phone.  He threw the food across the room, only to run to it like a drug addict and gobbled it down.  He didn't know what to do.  He was terrified.  He grabbed the phone again and this time called Sam.

SapphireCat   SapphireCat wrote
on 3/4/2009 2:35:19 PM
you have me hanging on every word!! I love your writing. I never know what's going to happen to next

kt6550   kt6550 wrote
on 3/3/2009 7:30:13 PM
An interesting twist.

Novel / Novella
writing shwangltd
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