Wicked Intentions by Linda Verji

to her apartment?
    “Uh uh!” London, who was seated on the kitchen counter next to a standing Shakira, shook her head. “My mama always says don’t step on nobody’s grave, and that sure looks like Charlie’s grave.”
    “You don’t even know your mama!”
    “You. Are. A. Bitch.” London emphasized each word with a crunch of a crisp. “Fine, go on then…” Crunch. “…Pick it up.”
    Shakira didn’t move.
    “Ooh, you scared, ain’t you?” London taunted.
    “I am not.”
    “Pick it up, bitch.” The amusement in London’s voice was clear as day. Shakira regretted even telling her about the letter in the first place. She’d only done it to stem London’s teasing about her moving in with her ‘boy-toy’. Shakira had briefly considered packing up and leaving, but it seemed ungrateful especially considering how Nathan had reacted to her last hasty exit. She was willing to wait and talk.
    “Fine, I’ll pick it up.” Shakira threw at London.
    “Fine.”
    “I’m going in.” Shakira straightened from the counter.
    “Wait, wait!” London hopped off the counter and rushed to the door leading to the outside balcony. “I want to be near an exit point when Charlie’s ghost jumps out of it.”
    “You’re so dramatic.” Shakira rolled her eyes as she walked towards the basket. She couldn’t really see London jumping from the second floor balcony – but then again it was the little ones who could surprise you.
    “Taran taran, taran, taran taran taran, taran taraaaaan tararan,” London hummed the ominous Pink Panther danger tune under her breath.
    Shakira bent and picked up the envelope, holding it gingerly between her thumb and index finger. She almost dropped it when something moved inside the envelope, running from its top to the bottom. When she had it firmly in her grasp again, she turned and waved the envelope at London. “See, no ghosts.”
    “You need to watch more horror movies.” London made no move to get back into the kitchen. “It’s when you open the letter that they jump out.”
    “Okay, let’s open it then.” Shakira tore off the top of the letter – no ghosts sprung out. She pulled out a folded sheet of plain paper and then set the envelope on the counter.
    London was by her side in the blink of an eye. “What’s it say?”
    “I thought you were afraid of his ghost?” Shakira unfolded the paper.
    Ignoring Shakira’s question, London read the only two words on the paper. “Free card.” Her brow wrinkled, echoing the confusion that Shakira was feeling. “What does that mean?”
    “I have no idea.”
    London kissed her teeth, “He wastes his time writing from the grave and all he has to say is ‘Free card’? This nigga! He should have at least sent his teeth or something.”
    “Ew.” Shakira winced as she reached for the envelope. That better not be Charlie’s tooth that had moved in there. Cautiously she peeked in, her head bumping against London’s, and spotted the small rectangular metal encased in blue transparent plastic.
    London gasped, “Ghosts know how to use thumb drives?”
    “When did you get so superstitious?” Shakira asked as she shook out the thumb drive. It dropped onto her palm soundlessly.
    “I’m from New Orleans, baby. It’s in the genes,” London said. “Well, are we going to check it out or what?”
    “What if the ghosts jump out the computer screen?” Shakira teased as they walked to the living room where she’d set up her laptop.
    “You’re right!” London agreed. “We need to pray first.”
    She launched into enthusiastic prayer that was punctuated with plenty of yeses and calls for the Lord to protect them from Charlie’s sweater-vest clad demon. By the time she was done, Shakira was holding her stomach as her body heaved in unrestrained laughter. London merely gave her a raised eyebrow then snatched the thumb-drive from Shakira’s hand. She plugged the drive into the laptop.
    It took a while for the computer to