The Bad Jokes #1: The Redhead

Chapter 11: You Look A Little Lost

Me letting myself out of Rory's condo was becoming a habit I didn't like, and I was still thinking about that night two weeks later. Listening to that douche tell her about his passion for her, talking about her innocence and purity and wanting some adult time with her had pissed me off, and I wasn't sure why. I sure as hell wasn't going to go there with her, so why did I feel like ripping off his arms and beating him to death?

I'd taken to practically stalking her now and I knew her schedule. She left around six thirty every evening and got home right before eleven. She'd then take that rat for a walk, and I'd watch her, to make sure she was OK since it was dark and the streets were deserted. She never went too far, so I could keep her in sight without giving away the fact that I was watching out for her.

Tonight, though, she didn't walk up to her condo right away to grab that thing she called a dog. She got out of her car and leaned back against it, head bowed. Something was really wrong; I could see it in her drooping posture, her shaking shoulders. She stayed that way for a few minutes, to the point that I had to step from the shadows and reveal myself because she was worrying me.

"Rory?" I said softly, not wanting to scare the hell out of her. "Are you OK?"

She swiped at her face, sniffling, but didn't look at me.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice watery with tears.

"What's wrong? Everything OK tonight?"

"No," she choked out. "I'm directing the community theater play. We were supposed to have rehearsal tonight, but we didn't. We can't even have the play now."

In the streetlight, I could see more tears running down her face.

"What happened?"

She shook her head and looked down at the ground. "The sets were destroyed. I walked into the auditorium tonight and found everything totally and completely demolished. There was paint over everything, the backdrops were ripped to shreds, every flat was broken, all of the props and furniture in splinters. The costumes were all locked away in the dressing rooms, or I'm sure those would have been destroyed, too."

"Did you call the police? What did they say?"

She shrugged helplessly. "The same thing they've been saying all along. There's no proof --"

"You mean there've been other problems?"

Rory made a dismissive gesture. "Just threatening notes on our cars, but nothing worse than that until tonight."

I felt my fury speeding to the surface. "Back up," I growled at her. "You've been getting threats?"

"Nothing definite. Just vague notes on some cast members' cars and mine telling us to stop the play or else. That sort of thing." She looked up at me for the first time in months. "In fact, the night you and I...met, I had just gotten the first note. That's why I was so preoccupied and wasn't paying attention to Killer pulling out his leash."

I closed my eyes against the anger building inside of me. She'd been getting threatening notes and was still walking that rat by herself late at night?

 "Are you crazy?" I asked her in a dangerous tone.

She looked at my fists, my clenched jaw and wrinkled her nose. "You're going to be difficult about this, aren't you?"

As I opened my mouth to respond, she hurried on. "We think we know who it is, but the police can't do anything because we have no actual proof. Sally, the woman playing Maria, broke up with her boyfriend right before tryouts because he was getting scary with his jealousy. I think he was hitting her, but she never admitted it. She and Trevor -- the man playing the Captain -- and I are the only ones getting notes. But, like I said, the police have no proof. And now Sally's ex has managed to destroy the sets, so it looks like his wish to stop the play has come true. There's no way we can rebuild and replace everything in two nights."