A Haunting
Frank was cleaning his rifle when he heard it, a blood curdling scream coming from just down the hall. He knew exactly who it was. He’d seen her hauling her things up the stairs the day before, box after box of God knew what, accompanied by her slightly shorter, slightly softer boyfriend. Frank had wondered what the milk-toast couple had been doing moving into such a sketchy part of town. But hey, the economy was shit and who was he to judge?
A second scream echoed through the hall, followed by a loud crash. Frank frowned. One scream indicated that she'd perhaps seen one of the building’s larger vermin scuttling along the fire escape, but two in a row gave him pause. He hadn't pegged the moon-faced man in the stairwell for an abusive asshole. The guy was clearly head over heels in love with the graceful woman, but Frank had seen obsession and jealousy motivate the most friendly looking men to do awful things.
He snapped the rifle’s parts back together, setting the thing aside in favor of a pistol. He shoved the weapon into the holster under his jacket and and ventured out into the hall, senses primed to detect signs of a domestic scuffle.
The sound of the chain slipping out of its slide caught his ear, followed quickly by two sets of tumblers flipping in the dead bolts. One of his eyebrows shot up. She must have had a locksmith here earlier, reinforcing the flimsy security. He was impressed, but it had nothing on his own adjustments, the reinforced steel door to his apartment something straight out of Fort Knox.
She flew out into the hall, eyes wide with panic, looking over her shoulder as she ran. Frank didn't even have time to move out of her way, catching her in a surprised embrace. They nearly tumbled to the floor, but Frank used their momentum to spin around, finding his footing again.
She panted against him, slender fingers finding purchase on his shoulders. He was surprised by the strength, grunting in discomfort as she dug into his muscles. Eyes wide, she stared at him. “Thank God.”
His ever-present frown deepened. This wasn’t how beautiful women with delicate constitutions were supposed to respond to him. He still had a black eye from his last encounter with thugs, and to be honest he should have probably shaved days ago. He was the punisher, a man who set scumbags to quivering in their boots, a man that women crossed the street to avoid running into.
She let go of him abruptly, snatching her hands back in embarrassment. She was a bit sheepish, but her fear still had a good hold on her common sense. She darted around him, her bare feet slipping against the painted concrete of the floor. Only when she’d positioned Frank between herself and the door did she let out a little sigh of relief.
He squinted in the dim light of the hallway, wondering if he should slip his hand under his jacket. “What the hell’s going on lady?”
She shook her head, not looking at him. “This is so stupid…” Trailing off, she covered her face with her hands, trying to hide the obvious blush creeping across her cheeks. “I think my apartment is haunted.”
Frank should have been pissed, he should have muttered something acidic and stomped back to his apartment, slamming the door behind him. Instead, one corner of his mouth ticked up, the beginnings of a lopsided smile forming on his face. He laughed. “Who you gonna call?”
“Ha, ha, very funny.” She crossed her arms angrily. “There is a ghost in there!”
Frank was genuinely amused now, crossing his own arms to mirror her stance. “You sure it isn't just your boyfriend?”
“My what?”
“Short guy, about yay high…” Frank held out his hand to indicate a man of shorter statute, giving the woman a little smirk. “...all goo-goo eyed over you. You know, your boyfriend.”
“Foggy?!” She looked incredulous, eyes wide with shock, completely forgetting about her former terror. “He is not my boyfriend.”
Frank nodded, disproportionately pleased by this information. He gave her a knowing look, snidely commenting, “He does look like the type to get wrangled into moving boxes for a pretty girl.”
“He's my friend. Friends do stuff --” She stopped short, shaking her head. “Look that doesn't matter. All that's important right now is that there's a poltergeist in my apartment knocking shit off the counters and opening and closing cabinets. I need somewhere to stay for the night.”
He shook his head, but before she could make her case again, a loud crash came from her apartment. For a brief second she looked panic, visibly jumping and twisting around to look back down the hall. Frank softened. Clearly she was on edge for other reasons. “I don’t even know your name.”
Tentatively she turned around, giving him a somewhat hopeful look. “It’s Karen… and you?”
“Frank.” He hasn’t said his name in so long, that it feels like a foreign object coming out of his mouth.
“Frank… that suits you.”
The name echoing from her lips took him by surprise, a falling sensation surrounding him. He pushed it away, hard, steeling himself against the onslaught of nostalgia and memories. He sighed, “Fine, one night, that’s it.”
A grin spread across her face, and she lunged forward, hugging him tightly. The gun holster under his right arm was probably jabbing her in the side, but she didn’t seem to care, giving him one last squeeze before scurrying down the hall to his door.
He called out after her. “Hey, I know there's a ghost in there, but the undead aren't gonna keep crackheads from stealing your TV.”
Biting her bottom lip, she reached down and drew a key from around her neck, tossing it down the hall. “Will you--”
He cut her off, barking in her direction. “No problem!”
He was right about the door, new dead bolts and a reinforced frame. This wasn't blondie’s first rodeo. His curiosity was piqued. He glanced inside the apartment, scanning her belongings quickly. Fairly standard furnishings, a small couch, a twin bed tucked into one corner, shelves lined with books. If she had anything to hide she'd already tucked it away.
He locked the door behind him, fingering the silk ribbon looped through the top of the key. It was so strangely feminine that it caught him off guard. It suddenly struck him that a tall and gracefully beautiful woman would be spending the night with him. It wasn't a scenario he had contemplated in a very long time, and it was the first thing in years that sent a real shiver of worry through him.
He looked up go see her leaning on his door, exhaustion written in the lines of her face, a curtain of blonde hair swept over her shoulder. Her flower print pajamas covered her up from her ankles to her neck. He hadn't even known they made pajamas like that in adult sizes. He relaxed. This would be fine. He would even wait to tell her tomorrow that she should go buy some rat poison for the mutant rodent traipsing around her kitchen.
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