Rocky Prompts, Tennessee - 10. PT Prompt #59: It's a Cake!

“C’mon,” whined Andy, “it’ll get you out of the house.”

I rolled my eyes. Sometimes I wondered if my fiance ever realized being a big, burly man inhibited him from giving me puppy-dog eyes. Then again, when his hands landed on my hips, he usually got his way. “I guess. But I’m paying.”

“But we have the same ba—”

Prodding my finger against his lips, I tisk, “Don’t blow it.”

We dressed for a nice Sunday breakfast, but I took my time gathering my keys and wallet. I liked my new home. A little too much, that is. Everything was in its proper place. “Just the way I like it,” I mumbled under my breath. As I reached the door, I took one more look. A shiver ran down my spine. No… Nothing’s going to happen.

The car started. “Tony! Better hurry before we have to wait for a table. If the Harrolds family gets there before us, we’re better off grabbing McDonald’s.”

Sighing, I walk through and close the door behind me. The last thing I want right now is a McMuffin sludge sandwich. In the car, Andy rubbed my thigh. “You’re doing great, babe. Dr. Wen said you should get out more often.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I instantly regret my dismissal of him. Interlocking my fingers in his, I mutter, “I’m sorry. It’s… It’s just a lot for me.”

“I know, but we’re a team. You’re my partner in crime.”

“Are you going rogue, officer?”

Andy growled and leaned over. “Only with you.”

His love is infectious. We briefly kiss before backing out of the driveway. Time flew, and we finished breakfast at Julie’s. Slapping my card down with authority, Andy playfully waved his hands and made a face. He has always been my dork.

Arriving home, Andy pointed at the door. “What’s that?”

I look, and see what he spotted. Getting out, we escalated the stairs and found a cake. It was a simple, one-layer cake. Shaped in a circle with a white base, there were many colors coating the sides. Written in child-like handwriting, it said, “Happy Pride, Neybors!”

“Aww. It looks like little Nina made it.”

From Andy’s guess, I turn around to the Richardson household. None of the three cars were on the lot. Not even their teenage son’s beater. “Andy…”

He joined me, and I caught the frown. He compensated by rubbing my shoulder. “They might’ve dropped it off before going somewhere.”

“All three of their vehicles though?”

“One might be in the garage.”

“Andy, there’s no other kids on this street—”

His cell phone rang. The James Bond theme song from Dr. No blared obnoxiously before he answered, “Hello? I-I’m sorry, you got the wrong number… Any time.”

As he slipped the device into his pocket, mine went off. My feet felt like quicksand, for what I saw on the caller ID made no sense. “Nina Richardson…”

Andy lurched over my shoulder. “She’s four. That’s impossible.”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I answered the phone with a trembling hand. “H-hello?”

“Hello again, Mr. Miller.”

I clench my eyelids. My knees lost all power, and Andy managed to catch me before I hit the concrete porch. It was him again.

The Bun.

Last Easter. Bombs. Explosion. House on fire. Everything flooded back to me. All the mental progress I made… Gone.

“Wh…” As hard as I tried, I could not create words. The terrorist that haunted my every nightmare over the last year was back, and I could react. What was he planning? Who the fuck was I kidding… What did he plan? Wheels were most likely in motion.

The man’s laugh could make a dead man’s skin crawl. “Tell Andy I said hi. I misspoke when I asked for Betsy Hilgenhold.”

My childhood babysitter. Not even Andy knew about the sweet lady, so how the hell did this sick fuck?

“Cat got your tongue, Anthony?” asked the Bun. His tone was as deep and conniving as it was before. “Don’t you fret. I have no need for that Catholic bag of bones.”

“Why? Why now?”

“Why the cake? It’s simple. Happy Pride Month, to my favorite couple.”

I scrambled. Grabbing Andy’s hand, I pulled as I ran. “Go!” Both of us dove on the lawn, unsure if history would repeat itself.

When nothing happened, I fumbled forward and clutched my phone. I was seething. “Listen, you son of a bitch. They’ll find—”

“You mean the local police office?” The voice grew serious, implying the man was either threatened, or annoyed. “The Fumbling Bureau of Investigation? They can’t even figure out how I keep tying their shoelaces together. You think they’ll find me because of a fucking cake? Have I not shown you I intend to make peace?”

“That’s not a cake.”

Silence. The call was still in progress. I couldn’t focus on anything else until I heard the man’s voice.

The Bun chuckled. “A healthy assumption. I’m going to guess you haven’t taken a lick of the icing? No, probably not. There would be screams in the background if you or Andy did.”

Bile churned in my stomach. It was a trap. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I whipped up that icing with you in mind, Anthony. It has vanilla, shreds of coconut, and a heaping amount of hydrochloric acid. Took me a while to get the recipe right, but I did it. Just like my mother used to make. She would be so proud.”

I look at Andy, who’s already on the phone, presumably to the authorities. Maybe they can trace my call. Keep stalling then. “Why now? Before, I lied about working on Easter. What did I do now?”

“Oh, you think I’m that petty? To hold a grudge for your misbehavior? My dear Anthony, I’ve forgiven you for lying about working on my special day. I merely gave you this cake as a form of treaty, if you will. A peace offering. A means to an end.”

“You’re… You’re done?”

“With you and dear Andy.”

The familiar two beeps echoed in my ears. He was gone. Was he coming back? Staring at Andy, I let the phone fall from my grasp.

Andy murmured into his, “Call ended. Did we get… Damn it!” He chucked the black rectangle into the street.

I scooted into his arms and whispered, “The cake’s coated in acid. Can’t let anyone touch it.”

His breath landed behind my ear. “Is that all?”

“As far as I know.”

“Bomb squad’s on the way.”

“Insurance probably won’t cover a second explosion.”

It wasn’t meant to be funny, but we both shared a laugh before deciding to create more distance between us and the deadly dessert. That bothered me. Was there an unspoken psychological tendency of normality after dealing with the same bomber more than once? Why were we laughing? Should we be laughing? Will we think the next bomb’s a joke?

Hopefully not. “I think we should go to our session with Dr. Wen in the morning.”

Andy snorted, then held my back as we walked to the curb. Sirens were nearing. “We’ll go see her every day if that’s what we need. I just have one favor to ask.”

“Yeah?”

He smirked. “Gotta notify the neighbors and evacuate them. Mind coming with me to tell Lena May? She’ll probably need a bigger army helmet.”