Killer Keys – Part 4

An Anatomy of Typewriters Story

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Suddenly, thick dark clouds rolled in and covered what little sun was peaking through. It was only two in the afternoon but it felt and looked like it was the middle of the night. Nat pulled her jacket closed tighter around herself, put her head down against the wind, and power walked all the way back to her apartment, looking over her shoulder every now and then. Was someone following her, watching her? She couldn’t shake the feeling.

Back at her apartment she took off her jacket and hung it up, leaving the note in the pocket. She didn’t want to see it anymore. Then it dawned on her that her phone had not once pinged or rang in all this time, which was odd for her.

Nat pulled her phone out of her pocket to see she had ten missed calls from Bernice! She was not one for sending a text message ever. She also never left a voicemail either, except this time she did. That couldn’t be good. Nat gulped when she saw the one unheard voicemail left from Bernice. She tapped the message and put it on speaker:

“Nat, I sweat to God if you don’t pick up your damn phone! Today was not a day for you to be playing hooky from me. The cops were just here. Seems someone over there reads our magazine. I lied, for you, and told them you’d be in right away. Well, here we are several hours later and they walked into my damn office, Nat! The police were here. God damnit!” There were muffled sounds. Bernice had put her phone to her chest to scream at someone who interrupted her phone call. Nat couldn’t quite make out what was being said. “Okay, here’s what you need to know cause I’m not covering for your ass on this one. I gave them your address. Had to or they wouldn’t leave. So, good luck explaining yourself. It’s…” There was another pause. Nat could picture Bernice throwing her right arm out and flicking her wrist towards herself to get a look at the current time. Never mind the fact that she could just as easily see the time on her computer in front of her. “…1:45pm now. Shit. I’m late for an appointment.” And that was the end of the voicemail. 

The ease and calm that Nat had for most of the day had disappeared almost as quickly as it had arrived and she was left with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. The police were interested, very much so, in her story. She cursed Kate out loud and shook her fist in the air at no one before throwing her phone, with considerable force, into her cushioned couch. It bounced and landed face down on the rug on the floor. Kate was an excellent liar.

Frozen in place, Nat surveyed her apartment. For a place to hide? No. They’d probably break down the door. Anything incriminating she needed to hide? The typewriter? Yes! She grabbed it and looked around for a place that could hide such a large and heavy object. Her stove? Yes! Perfect!

Crouching down in her kitchen and holding it precariously on one leg with one hand she used the other to pull open the oven door. She never cooked so there was only one rack that was in the lowest slot, leaving just enough room for her to place the typewriter inside. There was a paper that was in the typewriter that she reached in to read, not having noticed it earlier, but was interrupted by a knock on her apartment door.

Less of a knock and more of a banging, actually.

She slammed the oven door shut, rubbed her hands on her pants to try and wipe away the sweat and took a few deep breaths before she opened her front door with a smile.

Just on the other side of the door were two police officers. One male. One female. 

The man stood behind the woman, both in uniform, both carrying a gun in their holster’s.

“Are you Natalie Winter?” The female officer made a point of looking over Nat’s shoulder into the apartment, casing the place before they were even allowed entry. For some reason Nat couldn’t stop her over the top Cheshire Cat grin as she managed to nod her head ‘yes’ to the officers. “Can we come in? We just have a couple questions about your story.” The female officer snapped her fingers over her shoulder to the male cop behind her. He was clearly younger, fresh out of the academy. He quickly handed his colleague a rolled up magazine over her shoulder. 

“Of course,” Nat said, stepping to one side, her grin beginning to hurt her face. “I must say, when my boss called me to say the police were interested in my little story…I was shocked…” Her voice cracked when she let out the last three words and suddenly her throat went very dry. She needed water. Anything to keep her hands busy so they’d stop shaking from fright.

The two officers entered her apartment, their black boots stomping on the hardwood floor. They both rested their hands on their massive belt they wore around their waists.

“I’m Officer Halloran, and this here’s my partner, Officer Kirt.”

Nat waved at each of them instead of shaking their hands which made her feel stupid as she walked between them towards her kitchen to get a glass of water for herself. As she poured the glass she turned back to them and asked, “Can I get you two something?”

“No thank you. As we said, we just had a couple questions about your story. It’s nearly identical to the statement we released to the press only twenty four hours ago and we were just wondering, how you came to write your story?”

Nat downed the glass of water completely and as she was about to put the glass down in the sink she heard a familiar click. She let go of the glass and gripped the edge of the sink. It shattered as it fell from her hand.

“Are you alright?” Officer Halloran asked.

“Yes, of course,” Nat answered quickly. “I’m just so clumsy. Always have been.” She wondered if they heard it too.

Another tapping sound and her knees buckled a bit. The damn typewriter was typing again! She thought. But she mustn’t let on. Clearly they would think she was crazy or something. Nat managed to gain enough composure to walk back across the living room floor and sit on her couch. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. Ding.

It reached the end of the line and was working its way to the next line. Surely they heard that. Though their facial expression didn’t change much from that of concern for Nat’s sudden behavior.

“Anyway, you wanted to know about the story right? Well, it’s fiction, see. Just fiction. Not sure why a made up story would interest the police,” Nat said, rubbing her hands on her pants again. A defense mechanism she did even as a child to calm herself whenever she felt stressed. The feel of the fabric of clothing on the palm of her hands. Tap. Tap. Tap. Always made her feel better.

Nat looked over at the oven she could see from where she was seated then looked back at the officers. She hoped they hadn’t noticed her subtle glance in its direction.

“That’s just it, Ms. Winter, if it were made up then it wouldn’t describe our killer so vividly. Did someone tell you about him beforehand? Cause if that’s what happened here we can…”

Suddenly, Nat could no longer hear what Officer Halloran was saying. All she could hear was the slow and methodical tapping. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tapping. Ding. Next line.

Nat was terribly thirsty again. She looked over at the oven. No. Now she looked at Officer Kirt. He eyed Nat suspiciously. She appeared more and more distressed. He followed her eyes the next time they darted to the kitchen.

He took a step towards the kitchen and Nat jumped to her feet.

“Yes, you’re right. Yep. That’s exactly how it happened,” Nat said. Her voice very high pitched and shaky now. 

“What happened, exactly?” Officer Halloran asked, stepping in front of Nat to block her view of what Officer Kirt was doing as he made his way towards the kitchen. Towards the oven.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap tap tap. Pause. TAP TAP TAP.

DING.

The typing just got louder. Maybe it was because of the oven. A typewriter in an enclosed space surely would echo when the keys were pressed. Yes, that’s it, Nat thought to herself.

“What’s he doing?” Nat asked, stepping on tip toe to see over Officer Halloran’s shoulder. But it was too late. Officer Kirt already had his hand on the oven and as he opened it, Nat let out a blood curdling scream, “NNNNOOOO!!!!”

Officer Halloran helped Nat to sit back down on the couch while Officer Kirt carefully removed the red typewriter from the oven. He put it down on the desk and with a gloved hand lifted the page that was in it to read it. Nat slowly turned her head to read the words:

Typed over and over and over again on the page. What happened after that is a bit of a blur for Nat. 

“It’s good that you keep coming by to see her. She needs all the friends and support she can get,” Doctor Emil said. He was an elderly gentleman. Gray hair. Thick rimmed reading glasses that dangled around his neck. He wore a white coat over his white button-up shirt and brown tie. He clutched a clipboard to his chest as he watched Nat through a two-way mirror.

Nat was sitting at a desk that was in front of a window overlooking a lush green yard outside. She just sat at the desk, unmoving, while she could hear muffled voices behind her, on the other side of her mirror. She knew they were talking about her.

“How much longer do you think she’ll be like this, doctor?” Kate asked. She has been visiting Nat ever since she was admitted. Even took on her case when the state arrested her and charged her as the shadow killer.

“That all depends on when she’s willing to tell me who wrote that confession. She still won’t admit it was her all along.”

They both stood at the window watching her. Then they heard it, same as Nat heard it that day in her apartment. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Ding.

Nat looked down at the typewriter on her desk. The one thing she was allowed to keep. Her doctor insisting it would help with her recovery.