Plot Twist Challenge: "How to Kill a Redhead"-- Marlene Simonette

How to Kill a Redhead

By Marlene Simonette

(Plot Twist: Boy meets Girl—but they’re dead)

The summer night was perfect: low humidity, clear skies, and a breeze that carried the scent of blossoming apple and plum trees.

            Anthelm couldn’t believe his luck. What a perfect night for a date!

            The nervous college freshman adjusted his collar, stared at his silver wrist watch for the millionth time. “You ready to go, Peter?” he called up the stairs to his little brother—a young teen with a mind faster than the high schools could keep up with.

            “Not if you’re driving!” Peter’s freckled face glared down at Anthelm from over the top bannister. “You almost killed us the other day, mooning over this gal. I really don’t want to imagine how bad it would be with her in the same vehicle as you.”

            Anthelm sighed. “It’s her car. She’s driving.” He managed to keep his disappointment in check.

            Just then, the impatient rev of a high-octane engine being forced to go slower than eighty miles per hour echoed down the block.

            Worriedly, Anthelm peeked out of the cream curtains his mother had given him before he’d left home. “Oh, man.” His voice held a mixture of awe and nervousness.

            Peter hurried down the stairs, galumphing all the way to the window. “What does she drive? That sounded like…” Peter’s jaw dropped. “A Lamborghini?! Wait…” He started laughing. “Is that the same one you almost totaled the other day?”

            The Lamborghini’s door slid up, and its driver stepped out. She was tall, pale, and dark-haired.

            Anthelm cringed as she leaned against her car, crossed her pale arms, and examined the lime-green (not his choice of color; he’d lost a bet) truck in the driveway. Her body language was clear: she recognized Anthelm’s truck.

            Oblivious to Anthelm’s quiet distress, Peter laughed. “Yup, that’s the same one.” He galumphed back up the stairs, his laughter echoing after him like the cackle of some demon. “I’ll be just a minute!”

            Anthelm remained at the window, frozen. “I can’t believe this.” Taking a deep breath, he tried to compose himself. “I can do this, be casual, don’t sound like—”

            “Tinker Bell on a sugar high,” Peter jocularly interjected. He bolted out the door, waving. “Hey lady!”

            Anthelm hurried after Peter. “Delilah,” he said as casually as he could manage.

            Which wasn’t casually at all, given the way his throat tightened at the closer view of Delilah. Her outfit was simple: a light peach top, with matching lipstick and earrings, and black slacks. But it made his breath catch all the same. “Meet Peter,” he finished quietly.

            This last sentence wasn’t necessary, as Delilah and Peter were already interacting.

            Delilah smirked slightly at Peter. That was as close to smiling as she got. “So you’re the kid so dedicated to woodworking and math that he signed up for midnight classes.”

            Peter beamed, looking from the car to Delilah. “Since I’m getting out first, can I take shotgun?”

            She nodded. “Stow your gear in the trunk, and let’s get moving.”

            Anthelm hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted her to make eye contact with him, until she did.

            “You can sit up front after we drop him off if you want.” Delilah cocked her head. “Are you feeling alright?”

            Anthelm shook himself from his stupor, managed to tear his gaze from her dark green eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just…nervous.”

            “Don’t be. I’m just a librarian.” She said this sarcastically and with one of her characteristic smirks.

            Trying to loosen up, Anthelm laughed as well as his quivering lungs would allow. “That probably means you know a million medieval ways to hurt me, right?”

            “And make it look like an accident.” Delilah tossed her curled hair and slid into the driver’s seat.

            From the passenger’s side, Peter impatiently called, “I could’ve solved two Euler problems by now!”

Delilah pulled up at the building where Peter was taking his classes. “Here we are.”

            Peter laughed the laugh of someone who just had a thrill ride. “I can’t believe how fast we got here!”

            “Neither can I,” Anthelm managed to gasp. He swallowed and wondered if his face was white. It felt like it. He clawed his way to an upright position. “How fast were you going?”

            Delilah shrugged. “A bit over the posted speed limit.”

            Peter exited the vehicle and walked around to the back. With the press of a button, Delilah popped open the trunk for him. “So, you want to sit up front, Romeo?”

            “That depends…” He waited while Delilah and Peter waved goodbye, then continued. “Is there a barf bag in the side door?”

            “C’mon, car sickness isn’t as bad in the front seat.”

            Anthelm adjusted his belt buckles (he’d strapped himself in using all three). He didn’t want to look like a coward, but figured he’d already blown it. “Thanks. But no thanks.”

            Delilah didn’t answer. She was staring out the passenger window, tapping her long fingernails against her chin.

            He called her name three times before she answered with a distracted, “Hmm?”

            “What’s so interesting?”

            He tried to see, but whatever she was looking at was blocked from his view by a jutting wall. A jutting wall he could have seen past if he was in the passenger’s seat. With a sigh, he unbuckled and went around to the passenger’s side. “I still don’t see it,” he said after a moment.

            “That guy that let Peter in. About three inches taller than you, with dark brown hair, a crooked nose that looks like it doesn’t belong on that smooth of a face. One of the teachers?”

            “Sounds like Professor Jagoda.” Anthelm reached back to grab the belt buckle.

            Delilah “hmm”ed again. Before Anthelm could buckle in, she peeled out of the campus.

The restaurant they went to teetered the borderline between fancy and knock-off fancy. Stylish wall décor and booth dividers pointed towards fancy, while the faux crystal chandeliers and thick plastic cups pointed towards…not.

            Delilah ordered a lobster thermidor with a sushi appetizer; Anthelm ordered spaghetti and meatballs. They both asked for water to drink. The waiter took their orders and left them.

            “So,” Delilah began. “You’ve been practically stalking me since you ran into me with those books.” She didn’t look concerned, or offended. Being nearly seven feet tall and more toned than an average man probably had something to do with that. “What questions have you been dying to ask me?”

            Anthelm clasped his hands together. “Well, I wanted a few suggestions for economy textbooks…and…I’m also curious…”

            The waiter brought them their drinks.

            Delilah stirred the ice in her glass. “Spit it out, and please don’t try to get poetic. We technically just met.”

            Anthelm waited for the waiter to leave before asking his question. “Why do you always smell like coconut?”

            She nearly choked on her water, whether from laughter or offence, Anthelm couldn’t tell. She leaned back, smirking. “Probably because I drink and wear coconut product a lot.”

            “Yeah, but, that’s not what’s weird, what’s weird is I hate coconut anything. But it’s great on you.” He nervously cradled his cup of water. “That sounded weirder than I hoped it would. But less weird than I feared. If that makes any sense.” Cursing himself for babbling, he clamped his mouth shut.

            Delilah chuckled. “How about we stick with questions about hobbies and whatnot?”

            “Good idea.”

            With only a few awkward silences here and there, they conversed throughout the dinner. Anthelm’s nervousness dissolved as he learned more about the goliath of a brunette. When the food was devoured, they found they wanted to extend their evening. So, they ordered dessert.

            The waiter took their orders. After he’d left, Anthelm wrinkled his nose. “You like tofu for dessert?”

            “Not only is tofu high in protein, it adds an amazingly creamy texture to the dish.” She said it as if reciting for a commercial or cooking show.

            Anthelm laughed. “Have you tried becoming a commercial spokesperson?”

            “Yes, actually.” Delilah almost smiled. Almost. “The only reason I didn’t make it: I made the station manager and spokesman look like dwarves.”

            A few questions and side-tracks later, they were talking about high school experiences. “Were you ever bullied for your height or anything?” Anthelm sipped his milkshake. “Or did you go to a cushy school?”

            “Oh, I was bullied alright.” Delilah bit into her Crème Brulèe. “For my height, my hair…”

            “People didn’t like brunettes?” He sounded mystified.

            “Hmm? Oh.” She wrapped a curl around her finger. “I dye it. The natural color is as close to blood-red as hair can be. The literary group at my school used to call me ‘offspring of Judas.’ ” She rolled her eyes. “I’m so glad that archaic jibe is dying.”

            “No way. Peter said he’s being called that, too.”

            Somewhat loudly and angrily, she said, “What?”

            Taken aback by her intensity, Anthelm drew back. “Uh…I said that Peter said he’s being called that, too. And that their antics are starting to get rough. I was going to see the dean about it in the afternoon.”

            Delilah leaned forward. “How rough?” He didn’t answer immediately, so she continued, “Nudges in the hall, curses muttered under their breaths? Or open disgust, jibes about lineage, maybe even a stereotypical ‘let’s deal with this outside’ threat? Garlic left in his locker?”

            Utterly baffled, Anthelm answered, “A bit of everything.”

            Delilah stuffed a wad of cash into the folder the waiter had left and nudged it to the edge of the table. “I’ll finish this up, you can start the car.” She slid the keys across the table.

            “Wait, what?”

            “Ten to one he’s in danger. And no, I’m not letting you drive. Just start the car.”

Anthelm had no time to say how weird he thought the turn of events was; Delilah drove so fast he felt pressed against the seat. He clung to the arm rests and focused on not vomiting.

            “Can you fight?” she asked at some point.

            “Sure,” he answered.

            Delilah whipped around a curve. The half-empty bottle of coconut water that had been in the cup holder nearly brained Anthelm.

            “Really?”

            “I was a bouncer for a little while.”

            Grumbling, she flattened the gas pedal. “If there’s any trouble, let me handle it. Please.”

            Anthelm rode out the rest of the journey—that terribly long, five minute journey—with his eyes shut. Mostly.

            When they missed the turn to the college, he swallowed his bile and shouted, “Where are you going?”

            “If I’m right, your brother’s a few miles away.”

            The empty road whizzed by. They came up on a mini-mall. A short ways away from the light of a faded street lamp was a group huddled together. Anthelm thought he saw a gleam of sharpened metal. When a few members of the group turned, he knew he saw a prone body in the midst of them.

            For a moment, Anthelm feared that Delilah would try to ram the group. Then she slammed on the breaks and spun the car. It stopped, with Anthelm’s side of the car being closest to the group. He peered out the window (more because his face was pressed against the glass than actually trying to look out).

            That was definitely Peter on the ground. His bright red hair and nerdy t-shirt (a Pi symbol saying “get real” to the square root of negative one, and the square root answering, “be rational”) left no doubt.

            With a speed that surprised him, he leapt out of the car. He didn’t even recall unbuckling.

            The group around Peter were backing away, rubbing tarmac and rubber shards from their faces.

            To Anthelm’s surprise, they fled.

            He knelt over his little brother. He knew enough first aid to tell that Peter would be fine. He might have a slight concussion, but otherwise fine. With obvious relief, he sighed. Glancing up at Delilah—who was approaching with a somewhat reluctant speed—he asked, “How did you know?”

            Delilah sighed. It was a much different kind of sigh; more weary, and sad. She knelt beside him and ran a finger through Peter’s hair. So quietly he almost couldn’t hear, she said, “That’s how I died.”