test one

Episode One

A severed penis lay in my bathroom sink.

      What the hell?!

My body froze.

I was ice.

Stiff like a statue.

     Is this a bad joke? Did one of the kids leave it here to scare me? No way. Why would my nine year old twins have fake penises? 

             The morning had started off normal as usual.

I woke up, showered, got the kids ready, took them to school, and returned to my empty condo to be greeted by a hacked-off cock in my sink.

This can't be real.

I took a step closer. 

The cut member lay there.

Hard.

Dripping in blood.

Torn flesh at the end.

Slashes at the mushroomed tip.

Brown skin, as dark as mine.

I whispered,"What the hell?" 


Even crazier. 

My bathroom was clean.

All white and freshly scrubbed. 

The scent of bleach filled the air.

Someone had wiped down the space, and it hadn't been me.

When had they done it? I was barely gone for thirty minutes. 

Someone had also taken my favorite bathroom rug. 
This abstract work of art. 
Handmade.
Black smudges over white.
It reminded me of Poe's ravens,
fleeing,
escaping to the cold, winter sky.

Someone had stolen my favorite rug and left a penis.

And then a boom sounded from my bedroom.

Maybe, it was more of a bang.
Or a knock.
It could've been the cat.
Or the creaking sound an old house makes,
 after so many years of a weakening foundation.

Not that my condo was old.

It could've been many things.

But. . .

I took no time to question the source.

I didn't cock my head and wonder out loud, "Who's there?"

I didn't investigate.

I   RAN!

I rushed,

pushing through my bathroom door, 

by-passing my bedroom, 

slipping against my kid's toy in the hall, 

opening the front door like a mad woman, 

and 

racing away from my condo without looking back.

My heart slammed in my chest.

Sweat beaded at my forehead.

My phone sat on the kitchen counter right next to my purse and keys.

I didn't turn around to go back for it.

I kept on running.

I probably would've continued out of the condo building, down the street, and probably ran out of the city of Miami, 

if not for my neighbor, Sloan, bumping into me.

We slammed into each other.

Mail fell from his hands and crashed onto the floor. 

It was in that moment, when I realized he only wore a towel.

A My Little Pony Towel, in fact.

On any other man, the lack of full clothing and the ridiculous towel would've earned a laugh. 

But Sloan's body commanded a more serious response.

Muscles bulged.

Tan flesh rippled over layers of strength.

Long hair draped down to his bare shoulders.

He modeled and did odd acting jobs, 

when he could.

Most of the time,

 he took care of maintenance around the building.

My Little Pony towel or not,

he dripped gorgeousness.

With just the towel, 
he could've been a warrior, 
stuck on a battlefield that was covered in dead bodies, 
slashes all over his back, 
courage in his eyes, 
the taste of murder corroding his tongue,
blood on the blade of his sword.

Damn.

I blinked that wicked image away and remembered why I'd been running in the first place.

The cut penis. 

The possible stranger in my condo.

 Sloan tucked some of his hair behind his ear. "Nina, are you okay?"

"No." Panting, I tried to catch my breath. "No. Something is wrong."

"What?" He still hadn't picked up his mail from the floor. "How can I help?"

"This is going to sound weird." I glanced over my shoulder to see if anyone had left my condo.

The door remained wide open.

"Wierd?" Sloan gestured to his My Little Pony towel. "Try me. I have no problem with weird."

"Why are you wearing that, anyway?" 


He stared down at the towel. "You wouldn't believe me, if I told you."

Sighing, I glanced back at my door again. "Okay. . .so. . .someone cut off their penis or maybe someone else's penis. I have no idea. However, this person left it in my bathroom sink."

He stared at me for a long time. My heart boomed faster. Not due to his body or face, but the fact that he might think I'd lost my mind.

He blew out a long breath. "Say what?"

"There's a penis in my sink."

"Is this a joke?" he asked.

"That depends." I raised my hands in the air. "Do you think cut up penises are funny?"

"No." He shielded the part of the towel that was covering his crotch.

"I don't know what to do."

"Call the cops."

"I don't know." I raked both of my hands through my hair. "This year is not a good one for cops and black people."

He squinted. "What?"

"Black people are getting locked up and then the next day they're dead in their cells. That's if you make it to the jail. Most are getting shot in the head or--"

"Nina." He placed a hand on my shoulder. "Calm down. You need to call the cops."

"The cops? Have you been looking at the news. It's been making me crazy." I clamped my hands onto the sides of my head. "Every day it gets harder to live in this country. Someone's always getting shot in churches, movie theaters, day cares, schools, and now today as I'm barely holding on. Barely able to take my kids and feel that they'll be safe away from me. Barely--."

"Nina." Sloan leaned my way. "Breathe."

I did as he ordered, inhaling and then slowly exhaling.

"Now is not the time for social commentary." Sloan tightened his towel around his waist. "Call the cops."

I touched my chest. "What if they think I put it there?"

"They might. It would make sense, but surely the evidence would show that--"

"I don't know."

"Nina?" He raised his eyebrows. "You have to call the cops. That's not even an option. If you move it or anything, then you could be messing up a crime scene."

"Yes. . .but. . .I don't trust the cops."

"Doesn't matter, Nina. It's the right thing to do." He bent over. That lush bottom rose in the air. I almost focused my attention on praying for a nice breeze to come into the hallway and lift up his towel a little. 

After picking up the envelopes, he rose and gestured for me to follow him. "Why were you running?"

"I heard a noise, so I booked it."

"Smart girl."

"Always." I shrugged. "Someone has to tell the story."

"And what better person to survive, but a famous writer."

"I'm not famous yet." I stuck my hands into my pockets and gave one more look down the hallway.

"You will be soon. Slice is rising on the bestseller's list. I can't believe you really wrote a book about cutting off your ex-husband's penis, blending it, and then serving the mixture to. . ." He paused. "Wait a minute. Do you think this is a crazy fan of the book or? You're known around the world as the Castration Queen. That might piss some crazy men off."

"I didn't take the time to think about it." I shook my head. "I found the freaking. . .penis in my sink barely ten minutes ago. And yeah, now that you say it. . .this could deal with the book, but I can't even wrap my head around any of it now. I just want to make sure the kids and I will be safe at my place. And that thing is taken out of my sink. And whoever did it, is locked up somewhere."

"You're going to be fine."

"Am I?"

"You will, and no one will mess with you." He stopped walking and turned to me. "If you want, I can keep my eye on your side of the floor this week. If I hear people walking around, I'll stick my head out and see what's going on." 

"Thank you, Sloan. You're always around, when I need you."

"I try." He headed off, arrived at his door and opened it. 


There was no surprise he hadn't locked it. A man that big and over six feet probably didn't worry about little things like creaking sounds and people possibly breaking in to rape or hurt him.

A man like him did what giants did.

Stomped and flexed.

When is he going to put some clothes on?

I cleared my throat. "I left my phone at my place. Can I use yours?"

"That's fine." He pointed to the device on the counter. "I'm going to throw on some clothes, go down to your place, and investigate."

"Thank you." I hurried to his phone and picked it up. "Thanks so much."

"No worries, Nina." He winked at me. "You've always been good to me." 

My shoulders relaxed. Everything would be fine. Okay.
The person who was missing his penis might not be okay, but everyone else would be fine.

I would call the cops, and until they came, I had Sloan. Money filled my bank account. I could afford a body guard. I'd also hire someone for the twins.

"You'll be fine, Nina." He disappeared into his bedroom.

I opened his phone and stared at it for a long minute.

Don't do it, Nina. Be good. Call the cops. Don't do it.

But I couldn't be good.

For some things, I had a problem. . .

Sometimes, I did messed up things

like asking to use a guy's phone, 

getting the device alone, 

and then scrolling 
through his gallery 

for any possible. . .

dick pics.

I had a thing for them.

I didn't like a guy to send them to me.

I more enjoyed finding it, 

instead, 

knowing that I'd seen something that he hadn't intended to show me.

The invasion got me off.

Men were objects.

Toys to play with.

Nothing more.

There'd been a time, when I needed more.

Now I craved other things.


Call the cops, Nina. Come on, girl. What are you doing?

I sighed. "Sick. I'm sick."

But, still I scanned his photo gallery.

Sloan's whistling lingered out from his opened bedroom door. If he came out too early and caught me not talking on his phone, I would've just said that I had difficulty working the thing.

Where's your dick pics? You're not fluttershy, are you? Fluttershy! I'm so funny.

Sloan had tons of pics. Hundreds of them. But like most men, after thumbing through ten or so. . .

the dick pic revealed itself.

"Good job." I licked my lips. "Good job."

Sloan called out to me, "Did you get the cops on the line?"

"Uh. . ." I got out of his photo gallery and dialed 9-1-1. "Yes. I'm calling now."

Really, Nina? Someone probably killed another in or around your place and you're freaking invading another guy's privacy?

I rubbed my eyes and mumbled to myself, "I'll have to call Dr Richmond tomorrow."

Ring sounded on the other line.

I got to get help.

A woman's voice came through. "9-1-1, is this an emergency?"

"Kind of. I think." I placed the phone on the other ear. "Someone put a penis in my sink."

"Did you say a penis?" she asked.

"Yes. A big black one. And someone may still be there." 

Fuck. Why would you say big and black, like you were into it? Get it together!

Behind me, the door squeaked open.

I jumped around.


"Hello?" A strange man stepped inside, holding my bag.

I pointed at him. "That's my purse."

He held it up. "Is it?" 

"Ma'm," the 9-1-1 operator said.

I hung up the phone. "Why do you have my purse?"

The guy smiled. "It was in an apartment that had a door that was wide open."

"So you went in there and grabbed the bag?" I backed up into Sloan's kitchen. 

How convenient? Some guy I don't know happens to be walking by my condo, grabs my purse, and then just so happens to find me at Sloan's place?

"Yes, I grabbed it." The strange guy stepped inside. "I didn't want anybody to steal it."  

"Thanks." I inched back some more. Several feet lay between us as he stood in front of the door. 

"How did you know I was in here?" I asked.

"I didn't." 


Where does Sloan keep his knives?

"My name's Gabe, by the way." He held out his hand. 

I remained where I was. 

"I just moved into the condo next to yours."

I checked for Sloan. 
The big guy still hadn't made it out of that bathroom. 
He needed to hurry. 

Only Good knew who the hell this Gabe was?

Frankly, being that I had a cut off dick in my condo, I wasn't too excited to make new friends. 
No matter how cute.

"Is there something wrong?" Gabe held my purse out in front of him.

I didn't move. "Yes, something is wrong."

He quirked his eyebrows. "What?"

"There's something in my apartment."

He took a step closer. "Hmmm. What was it?"

"I don't feel like saying."

"No?" He twisted his face into confusion.

"No, but it doesn't matter." I checked for Sloan's bathroom door again.

Nothing.

I turned back to Gabe. "I called the cops."

"Hmmm." Gabe gave me an odd look. "Then it's going to be an interesting day."