Marie Antoinette, Serial Killer

Chapter I

YOU WOULD THINK it would be impossible to lose a large suitcase inside an apartment that was, itself, approximately the size of a large suitcase.

You would be wrong.

I'd searched my room, Mom's room, and my little brother Charlie's room (I'd had to sneak in, as things were still pretty tense after the morning's blueberry muffin incident), and had dug through the unpacked boxes in the living room --- all with no luck.

"Mom!" I yelled. "Did Dad take all the suitcases?"

My mother was in her bedroom, trying to condense a walk-in closet's worth of clothes into her new closet, which was about three feet wide. "No," she said. "We have the big blue one and the little brown one."

"I've looked everywhere." I learned against her doorjamb. "I can't find them."

Mom sighed. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she still had to work the closing shift at Macy's that night.

"Nevermind," I said. "I'll call Dad."

"I know where they are."

The voice came from behind me. I turned around to see Charlie standing at the end of the hallway smirking.

"Where?" I asked.

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because," I replied, "if I don't have a suitcase, I can't go to Paris tomorrow, and then you're stuck with me for all of Spring Break instead of having a nine-day sister-free bonanza."

"Good pojnt," he said. "They're down in the garage."

I narrowed my eyes, trying to figure out if he was messing with me.

"In the storage closet," he added. "Inn the very far-back corner."

My heart fluttered.

"Have fun," he said, heading for his bedroom.

"Wait!" I stepped into path. "Have I ever told you what a good brother you are?"

"Nice try." he moved around me. "Watch out for spiders."

"Charlie!" I cried. "Come on, please. I'd do it for you."

He stood up to his full height, five foot six --- and inch taller than me, even though I was 16 and he was 14. Suddenly, he looked like a young man and not just a twerpy boy. And when he spoke, he sounded world-weary,  like he was the older sibling. "You would not, Colette."

Well, okay, no, I probably wouldn't . But admitting that wouldn't help. "I'm sorry I ate your muffin, okay? I'll buy you more as soon as I'm back from France. Please ---"

Charlie shrugged, slipping past me into his room . "It's not my problem you're scared of the dark."

"I'm not scared of the dark!" I yelled at his closed door. Then I stood in the silent hallway for a minute, formulating a new plan. "Hey, Mom?"

"Forget it Colette, " she said. "You'll be fine. It's not that dark down there"

Anger flared up inside me like and explosion. "I an NOT scared of the dark!"

Really --- I'm not afraid of the dark. I'm just afraid of a lot of places that happen to be dark. What I'm scared of --- what I hate --- is feeling confined. Elevators, windowless basements, overcrowded public spaces...

And storage closets.

Five minutes later, I stood in the underground parking garage, looking at the cluster of doors. The ceiling was low and seemed to sag --- in fact, the whole garage felt like it was pressing in on me. The sound of water plinking into shallow puddles echoed from the far reaches of the structure, and the waiting cars were like sleeping monsters guarding the darkness.