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“What’s that?”
I looked up to find my brother, Keene, looking at me with narrowed eyes.
I tossed him the box and he caught it.
One look inside the box had him turning a glare onto Hades.
She really did send me weird shit, so it wasn’t super surprising that she was getting blamed.
She’d been doing it for years. Meanwhile, my admirer had been sending me weird, sketchy gifts for about four months.
“It wasn’t me!” she immediately denied. “It has a note,” Hades said as she plucked it out of the box. “Male handwriting. It has to be your dude.”
“Don’t call him my dude,” I mumbled. “He’s not my anything.”
Hades flashed me a leering grin then ripped it open.
Her face turned a little green as she said, “It says ‘so you can have something that’s like me.’ Gross.”
Double gross.
“It also says ‘see you next week,’” she read.
Keene took the note and the box and dumped them both into the trash.
“At least he’s giving you a few days off,” Hades tried to reply helpfully.
“I think we should try to go to the police again,” Keene said.
I was already shaking my head. “What’s the point?”
We’d tried that several times now. Other than giving weird gifts, he wasn’t hurting me in any way. I also couldn’t give them anything more than “he’s probably a man” and “the gifts are suggestive.”
“The point,” Keene said, looking annoyed, “is that maybe a cop from this town will do something about it.”
I snorted indelicately. “Yeah, right.”
Keene sighed. “You’re right.”
I knew I was.
We’d actually tried this four separate times, and each time the police officers had been understanding, but hadn’t been able to do a damn thing about it. It also didn’t help that we were moving around so much that I couldn’t go to the same police officer each time.
“Take a picture and then toss it,” I muttered. “I’m going to bed.”
One Month Later
“What is it this time?” I asked, looking at the box like it held venomous snakes.
“It looks like a pair of underwear.” Keene tossed the box.
“Oh!” Hades clapped. “That one is mine!”
Moving around so much, getting mail was hard. Sometimes, if we missed a certain stop, we had to have mail forwarded to our next address. And, even then, it might not make it before we left again.
She’d been waiting for it for a month.
She pulled the underwear out of the box, then grimaced. “Oh, these aren’t them.”
