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Sure, Archer,I thought caustically.Let me just whip up an assault sandwich with a side of pickled stalker.“No,” I said rudely. I backed away to the kitchen, and when I reached it, my hands fumbled for the knife drawer.
“Oh, I got all those,” Archer chuckled. He pointed behind me to my stuff where every knife and sharp object in my kitchen had been piled in the corner. I gave him an incredulous, terrified look. Edward Scissorhands had a homicidal stepbrother named Archer.
He pulled a knife from his back pocket, but held it up loosely, like I had him at gunpoint. “Relax, June. I just didn’t want this to get ugly.”
Air,I thought desperately.I need air. I need air. If I can’t breathe, I’m going to pass out and he’s going to kill me. I’d so much rather the moose have killed me. At least she was protecting her baby. Archer is just a toad with mommy issues.
Toccata and Fugueplayed again, insistently ringing through the small, quiet apartment. Archer narrowed his eyes. “Who is that?”
“B-boss,” I gasped.
“Does he know where you are?” he asked suspiciously.
I nodded violently. “Coming,” I wheezed. “To get me.”
“Answer the phone,” Archer snapped, lowering the knife. “Tell him you’re at home resting.”
I nodded again, and with trembling fingers, I answered.
“Speaker phone,” Archer mouthed with a glint in his eyes.
I tapped the speaker button. “June?” Amos asked.
I didn’t try to hide the painful sound of my lungs searching for air. “H-hi, Dr. Brady,” I said formally. “Thanks for,” I wheezed in, gathering so little air, I might as well have been in space, “calling back.”
He paused. “Are you on speaker?”
“Yes,” I puffed out. “I’m alone,” wheeze, “though.”
“Why aren’t you at work?” he barked.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he’s smart,I thought gratefully. “Sick,” I rasped. “Don’t co-uh-um.”
“You sound terrible,” he griped. “Did you try cough syrup?”
“Syrup, yes,” I gasped.
“Okay. I’ll see you on Monday,” he said briskly. Then he hung up, and I felt my whole safety line slither down a canyon far beyond my reach. My only consolation was that Amos knew. He knew I was in trouble, and he was coming. I wasn’t sure I could ever use that “safe word” again, but at least he had thought to include it to be sure.
Archer laughed long and loud, leaning against the kitchen counter. He let out a loud sigh, like that had been the best laugh of his life. “You said he was your boyfriend. I knew you were lying.”
I nodded, backing up to the sink.
Archer peered at the purple chef’s knife in his hand. “You need to sharpen your knives, June. These are a mess.”
I gave a nonchalant shrug like I knew, and I didn’t care. Which was true. “Lazy,” I said indifferently.
He tutted, slowly closing the distance between us. “June, sweetie, I’ve got to have you come over sometime. I have the best knife sharpener.”
I’ll bet you do, Voorhees.I tapped my chest. “Archer,” I sucked in another breath, and alarmingly, black flashed over my vision like a strobe light. “Asthma.”
“Oh,” he drawled, pocketing the knife and nodded. “I thought you were being dramatic. But you have asthma. Do you need an inhaler?”
I nodded. “Bag,” I rasped. “You brought,” wheeze, “my bag.”
“Wow,” Archer said, flaring his eyes. “Oh, wow, you left your medication at my house this whole time?”
I nodded again.
