This story belongs to me, and as you can see at the bottom of the page—it’s copyrighted. I’m sure we all know what the means, no stealing. I’m sure you all know that. : D

With that said, please enjoy Track one of Room #13,

Room #13

Track 01: Leaky Faucet, Anyone?

It’s been a few hours since Reagan settled in. The apartment itself left much to be desired but she thought that she would be able to make do with what she had. She unpacked her things, which really wasn’t much: some clothes, blankets, a toolbox, cosmetics and some toiletries.

She walked over to the old television sitting in the corner of the one bedroom apartment and attempted to plug it in. With a few resistant sparks, it remained plugged in. Unfortunately, all that filled the once blank screen was squiggles. She fumbled with the rabbit ears in attempt to get a station. But alas, all that came in was porn and some local religious station. Ironic, eh?

So yes, it was a one-bedroom apartment, with a bathroom and a kitchen/living room combination. Sure, it was a bit messy, sure the foundation was a bit shaky, and sure, there was a leaky faucet that was likely to keep her up at night, but hey, this was home.

“Well,” she said to herself as she took out a phone book from a dusty drawer, “maybe I can at least get dinner.”

“Pizza, pizza…pizza…” she mumbled as she thumbed through the phone book. “Ah-ha, Vinny’s Pizzeria.” She picked up her phone and began to dial the number and after a couple of rings someone answered.

“Kelly’s Adult Outlet…” a man’s voice grumbled, “How can we make your evening a pleasure?”

Pause.

“What?” Reagan dubiously asked. “Wait—this isn’t Vinny’s Pizza?”

“Ah, darling, Vinny’s closed ten years ago.” The man responded. “You want Rose’s Pizza, here is the number, you got a pen?”

Reagan quickly scribbled the number down onto her hand. “Thank you sir.”

She heard the man chuckle on the other line. “No problem darling, hey you sound cute, what are you doing tonight?”

-CLICK-

Once she hung up the phone, she picked it up once more and called Rose’s Pizza and ordered two large pizzas and a bunch of garlic knots. She may have been small but in these dire circumstances, the girl could eat.

The time was nearing midnight, the pizza’s were nearly done and the garlic knots are now nothing but a thick garlic stench wafting in the air. Reagan was sprawled out on the carpet looking through the help wanted ads in the newspaper.

“Tomorrow is the day-I need to get a job.” She said to herself as she scanned the pages and pages of classifieds. She sighed and leaned her head onto the newspaper. That is when it all started—the loud thumping bass, the beat of the drums and the shrieking of an electric guitar. Reagan blinked and lifted her head. “What in the blazes?”

She looked up and small debris of sheetrock and paint were chipping from the ceiling. “You have got to be kidding me.” She said getting up. The combination of everything sounded like a freight train—Reagan thought she would nearly lose her hearing if this went on any further. She grabbed her key, went out the door and was on her way up the stairs to confront the cause of this . . . racket.

The closer she got the more clear the song became and came to recognize it as “For Whom the Bell Tolls” by Metallica. Surely she appreciates music, just not at one o’clock in the morning. She grumbled and loudly banged on the door. After a few minutes, the music subsided and she heard footsteps approaching the door. “It’s probably old man Canon tellin’ us to keep it down.” The voice said as the door slowly opened before Reagan.

The sight before her was bewildering. There was music equipment everywhere, not to mention a numerous amount of empty beer cans. Wires and wires, tons of wires and equipment, and in the middle of it stood three people, the fourth member, had answered the door.

“Well guys, looks like we have a new neighbor.” The fourth member said as he leaned in looking at her suspiciously almost like a dog sniffing someone out. He had a long nose and long hair draped over his shoulders and down his arms.

“Come on, Reid, let’s get it going.” Said one of the band members; this guy had a guitar strapped on his back and the microphone in his hands. He then looked at Reagan. “What do you want girly?”

Reagan was taken aback. “ A-As much as I uh appreciate the music, I-um-I was sleeping, d-do you mind keeping it down a notch?”

“Sure!” said one of them laughing as he turned the notch up slightly higher.

“Wait-that’s not what I mea--.”

“Sorry, you’ll have to speak up, I’m a little deaf in one ear.” He had responded.

“Look, if you have a complaint, bring it up with the old man, we don’t want to hear your sappy story.” The last band member said as he tuned up his bass.

“See you around, girly.” The one with the microphone said.

“That’s right!” Reid said quite triumphantly. “This isn’t your last war with us-we are . . .LEAKY FAUCET!” He stuck out his tongue as to imitate Gene Simmons, and held his classic metal sign right in her face. (you know, the finger thing) With that, the door was slammed in her face.

That night, the music continued on well into the morning. Reagan was laying in bed her fingers clutching the blanket, her eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. She was, however, correct in saying that she would indeed be kept up all night by Leaky Faucet. This leaky faucet, unfortunately, could not be fixed.

Tbc,

Well folks, the job hunt continues on and more mishaps with the “Leaky Faucet” make themselves more apparent. Poor Reagan.

A/N: Metallica is an 80’s metal band and Gene Simmons is a member of that gawd-awful group Kiss. (Sorry Kiss fans, but it’s just not my cup of tea.) and “For Whom the Bell Tolls” happens to be one of my favorite Metallica songs.

End of track 01.