Mae had just fallen asleep on the couch, watching a re-broadcast of the ten o’clock news, when her old cellphone (but newly activated) vibrated from the coffee table again. She didn’t need to look at it to know it was the guy claiming to be Breuer; it had been him a half-dozen times since Verizon activated her spare phone after the baseball game. At first it was only phone calls and voice messages (which she deleted the moment they landed) but the guy began texting as of late. Texts from Private Caller. His first text message was received just after Trent left for her uncle’s and read: Trent’s sneaking you crazy pills. She didn’t believe that for a second. How would he have gotten the pills to sneak to her? And why would he do it? He had supported her aversion to taking the pills from the onset, so why would he have changed his mind? The most recent text came in an hour ago and read: I’m real, Mae-Vee, not a hallucination. Mae-Vee was a name only Breuer had called her, and she had written that in her diary. That was Trent’s supposition, that someone read her diary, and she was now in full agreement. It made perfect sense. That’s why this was happening: some guy read all about her and sought to tear her away from Trent for some unknown reason. That she couldn’t find the diary upon returning home from Trent’s baseball game pointed in that direction. When she went home tomorrow she’d spend more time looking for it, put more thought into the possible location of it, dig through her boxes more thoroughly. But even if she did find it that didn’t mean someone hadn’t read it.
She had received a few more texts from Private Caller, deleted them unread.
Someone was coming up the apartment stairs. She quickly changed the channel away from the news, surfing over a pair of channels this time in case he pressed Previous on the remote.
The door opened. She sat upright and grinned at her sweetie.
“Well I tried,” he said defeatedly. It was a new tone for Trent. He wasn’t the type of guy who accepted defeat. “Sorry, baby. We’ll give it some time, maybe he’ll change his mind.”
“You tried your best, that’s all we could do.” She knew this would be the case, and was happy about it. She’d rather not live with Trent. Maybe down the road, during college, but not now.
She gestured him to come with a flitting of her hands: he swooped down for a kiss, then trailed off into the kitchen to grab a twelve-ounce can of sleep aid, saying, “Do you know a guy named Edgar?”
She hummed meditatively. “No, don’t know any Edgar’s.”
“He’s the one who stole your diary and read it, the one who’s been calling you. I’d bet on it.”
“How do you know this?”
“Doesn’t matter.” He returned to the living room, sat beside her and opened his beer. He snatched Mae’s cellphone off the coffee table and examined recent calls and the texts from Private Caller: AKA Edgar.
“I see your uncle called you after I left. What did he say?”
She cleared her throat nervously. “Basically what you said, that I can’t move in with you.”
“And what else?”
“Trent?” Her voice registered high, an inquisitive thoughtful tone. “I’m sure you haven’t, but have you been giving me those crazy pills?”
His dull gray eyes shifted to her without turning his head. “That’s bullshit and you know it. Your uncle gets these ideas, I don’t know why. Edgar is probably why.”
“I figured you wouldn’t. You were more upset about my mom giving me the pills than me, so of course you wouldn’t be giving them to me now.”
“You have to use reasoning to conclude that I’m not drugging you?” His feelings were hurt. “Seriously? My word should be good enough. I say I’m not and that’s the end of it.”
“You’re right.” She patted his thigh. “I’m tired, going to bed. Did you want sex first or…?”
“Nah, not in the mood. I’d rather be pounding that fucking Edgar into the afterlife, but that’ll have to wait. Maybe we’ll get lucky and the SacTown Slayer will cut his throat.”
She frowned at him. “Do you mean that?”
“I do. He deserves it, honey; he’s interfering with our lives. Better Edgar than some innocent, wouldn’t you agree?”
She nodded but didn’t mean it. She didn’t want anyone to die, period.