Chapter 5: Knife Skills

The next day, I woke to shouting downstairs. Sounded like a full-on argument—the kind that ends with someone calling the cops. The voices echoed up through the vents, curses and frantic wailing.

I checked the time—it was already noon.

When I came out, a delicious smell greeted me.

Natalie, wearing an old Ohio State sweatshirt I’d tossed her, stood by the table, smiling. She looked almost domestic, sleeves rolled up, humming along to a country station on the radio. Sunlight streamed through the dusty blinds, making the plates she’d set out glow.

Two meat dishes, two vegetables—all looked and smelled amazing.

The food was arranged neatly, colors popping off the plates. Like a Sunday family reunion—hearty, unpretentious, made with care.

"I haven’t cooked in ages. Not sure if I’m still any good. Come try."

Her voice was hopeful, almost nervous. She fiddled with a dish towel, waiting for my approval like a contestant on Chopped.

I was starving. I sat down and wolfed down the food.

Her cooking was incredible, especially her knife skills—every slice of pork belly perfectly even, as if measured with a ruler.

Looking at her, I thought I’d found a real treasure.

The commotion outside grew louder. Curious, I went to check.

I wiped my mouth, curiosity getting the better of me, and stepped into the hallway. The shouting had turned to sobbing, neighbors crowding the landing, craning their necks.

A crowd of tenants had gathered at Mrs. Peterson’s door.

I couldn’t squeeze in, so I tapped a tattooed, yellow-haired guy on the shoulder.

His name’s Mike—used to be in and out of county, now scrapes by with petty theft.

He grinned, showing yellow teeth.

"No one knows who killed the landlady’s dog—skinned it and hung it on her door."

"The old lady woke up to a bloody hunk of meat and the dog’s skin on the ground—she went nuts."

"Heard she’s in the ICU now. If the ambulance had come any later, she’d be reunited with her mutt."

People around were chatting and smirking. Everyone here had been bitten by Muffin at some point. The hallway always reeked of dog pee and crap, but Mrs. Peterson was so overbearing, no one dared complain.

Now the dog was dead, Mrs. Peterson in the ICU—if anything, people were holding back from celebrating.

A strange, guilty relief flickered on everyone’s faces. A couple teens fist-bumped, whispering behind their hands. Even old Mr. Jennings from 3B cracked a smile.

Thinking of last night, I spat and laughed.

Just then, Natalie poked her head out from the stairwell.

I waved her over. She came to my side.

Mike’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"Whoa, who’s this?"

I calmly shielded Natalie behind me.

"My girlfriend."

Mike grinned, full of envy.

To break the awkward silence, he changed the subject back to the dead dog.

"Did you see how the skin was peeled? Whoever did it was a pro—ten years of knife skills, at least."

"Cops came, but with so many people, who could they question?"

"All because the old lady was too cheap to fix the security cameras. Now look what happened..."

Knife skills...

For some reason, I thought of Natalie’s perfectly sliced pork belly.

I turned, but she was already heading upstairs, her figure swallowed by the dim hallway.

She didn’t look back, her silhouette blurring into the shadows at the top of the stairs.