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Blind Date A Book 2020 – Book #32

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The material (chapter) in this post is copyrighted by the author and may not be used or copied in any way without the author’s permission.

Prologue

The air inside the nightclub was hazy from smoke machines. Flashes of colored light cut through the swirls in beat with the pulsing music that shook the walls and the floor. The atmosphere was alive with movement―a mass of hot, swaying bodies bent on enjoying the moment. A monster waited in the depths of the darkness to bat her pretty eyes at someone and make them her prey.

The door of the establishment swung open to give way to three eager young men looking to have a good time and celebrate. The trio was instantly surrounded by dancing women. They made their way through the press of bodies to reach the bar.

Daniel forced himself not to scan the crowd for his ex-fiancée, April. But she was the least of his worries, as the real danger was a face he wouldn’t recognize.

Roy got their drinks while Hank and Daniel stood at a balcony that overlooked an even larger dance floor below. The smoke was thicker down there, and there were more lights. The dancers looked like they were paying sensual homage to their deity. The air was tainted with the aroma of perfume and alcohol; it burned the men’s nostrils and fueled their excitement for the revelry to come.

Daniel took a moment to text his twin brother, David, to let him know where they would be celebrating their shared birthday. He received a text back from David saying he was still an hour away.

Roy joined them with three shots and three cold bottles of beer, passing one of each to his friends. They downed the shots in one swallow before turning their attention to their beers.

“Dave will be here in an hour or so,” Daniel announced after downing his shot.

“Awesome—we’re gonna have a great time!” Hank yelled over the music.

As Roy took a drink of his beer, a petite, slim blonde grabbed his waist from behind. He jumped in surprise and turned, recognizing the young woman.

She tucked a finger into the front of his jeans, smiled at him, and tugged him away from his friends toward a table with another girl.

Roy looked back over his shoulder at his friends and shrugged.

“That’s Lynn,” Hank yelled to Daniel. “They’ve been seeing each other for a while. And that’s her cousin Trisha—you don’t want to go there.”

Daniel nodded and looked around. The warming effect of the shot was spreading through his body, relaxing him. He felt less paranoid about running into April.

While he was looking over the crowd, a woman caught his eye. She was a tall, slim brunette, and she was beautiful. She was standing alone at the end of the bar. He watched her for a few moments, and when she looked around, their eyes met.

He smiled and looked away.

Hank noticed Daniel’s mild interest. He knew what his friend had been through recently and why he was gun-shy with women.

“Go for it!” he yelled, nudging Daniel. “Have some fun!”

Daniel looked at his friend, took another swallow of beer, glanced at the woman—noticing she was still alone—and shrugged.

Hank laughed and gave Daniel a shove toward the bar, causing him to slam into two people who happened to be walking past. When he turned to them to apologize, he came face to face with the very woman he was hoping not to run into: April. The man she was with was leaning on her with all his weight while she struggled to hold him up.

Daniel’s heart clenched in his chest and his lungs seized up for a moment. He felt his hand tighten around the neck of his beer bottle. He wanted to slam it over the other man’s head, but he managed to restrain himself. He didn’t want her to know how much the sight of her with another man hurt him, so he put on a brave front.

“Excuse the fuck out of me,” he said with a sadistic smile, raised the bottle in the air like he was toasting them, and then took a big swig of the brew. He was pleased with the shocked expression that spread across April’s face at his harsh greeting.

They didn’t say anything to Daniel, but focused back on each other and moved around him and deeper into the establishment.

Daniel glanced over to Hank, who was grinning from ear to ear.

He smiled at his friend, nodded, and forced himself to put one foot in front of the other until he made it over to the woman at the bar.

While he walked he pretended not to notice that April had glanced back at him several times as she guided her drunken man to a table where he could sit down. He was determined to show April she wasn’t the only woman in the world. He was going to prove to himself and her that he was over the breakup.

“Hi, I’m Daniel!” he yelled when he reached the woman, leaning toward her a little so she could hear him as a new song started to play.

“Grace!” she yelled back.

They smiled at each other.

The couple chatted for a while about nothing important, since it was too loud to carry on a serious conversation, and ordered drink after drink as they stood at the bar. Daniel’s emotional tension eased little by little with every drink. He became more and more relaxed, and friendlier and friendlier with Grace. Before he knew what was happening, they were pressed up against each other while they conversed so they could hear each other better.

“Let’s get out of here,” Grace said. She kissed him and reached down between them to rub his crotch.

Normally Daniel would be shocked and uneasy by such a gesture so soon after meeting a woman, but he’d had enough drinks not to care about how respectable she was or wasn’t being.

He nodded in agreement and looked around for his friends, frowning.

“I have to tell my friends I’m leaving,” he said, taking a step away from Grace.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Grace said, rubbing his crotch again.

“They’ll figure it out. Besides, you can call them later and they can pick you up from my place.”

That sounded reasonable so he followed her out to the parking lot. The night was clear and felt cool after the heat from the population of patrons inside the nightclub.

They stumbled together through the parking lot and paused to make out, pressed against the side of her car for a couple minutes before they finally separated their bodies to get in.

Daniel had the passenger’s side door open and was about to climb inside when his cell phone beeped, notifying him of a text. He stopped, stood up straight beside the car, and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket by mistake. He reached into his other back pocket and extracted his cell phone. He frowned and squinted to focus on the tiny, bright screen that said David was only a block away.

“What are you doing?” Grace asked.

“I can’t go with you,” he said with a sigh. “Sorry. I—”

He felt a sharp pain in the side of his neck. He reached up to figure out what had hurt him and spun around at the same time, dropping his cell phone and wallet to the asphalt parking lot.

Grace was standing behind him holding an empty syringe.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but you have to come with me.”

He tried to shove her away, but his limbs wouldn’t do what he wanted them to. His legs gave out from beneath him as the world blurred into a black blob of nothing.

***

Grace shoved Daniel’s tall frame into the passenger seat when he started to fall, smacking his head on the door frame. She quickly picked his feet up from the ground and spun him so she could get him all the way into the car.

She heard laughing as a couple made their way through the parking lot a few rows over, so she didn’t take the time to pick up what Daniel had dropped.

Grace shut the passenger door and ran around to the driver’s side of her car. She scanned the parking lot as she pulled out, not seeing anyone close-by. She’d been careful, watching for people as they’d headed outside, but the distant couple had snuck up on them.

Luckily they hadn’t come close enough to see what she was up to. She tensed slightly when she had to pass another vehicle as she pulled from the lot out onto the street, but the man was looking in the opposite direction and didn’t even glance their way.

Once she was out of the parking lot and a couple blocks away, she pulled out her cell phone and called Roger.

“Hey,” she said into the phone. “I have fresh meat…”

 

Chapter One

FBI Agent David McCoy poured himself a measure of whiskey, sat heavily in the leather recliner in his small living room, and loosened his tie. It had been a rough day at work and he knew he had an even rougher night ahead of him. He’d already scheduled a vacation day so he wouldn’t have to go in to work the next day.

He stared at the large stack of case files sitting on his coffee table as he took a gulp of his drink. Tonight of all nights he didn’t want to deal with anything, but it was unavoidable. He knew his mother would be calling soon—she always called him the exact minute he’d been born. He knew what she’d ask and he knew what his reply would be—the same reply he’d given her last year. There was no news.

Daniel’s picture lay on top of the stack of files—the angular face with a huge smile, sparkling gray eyes, and dark hair so much like his own stared back at him from the rectangle of glossy paper. While Daniel’s missing persons file wasn’t the oldest one in the stack, it was the one that had the most relevance to him. He suspected his twin brother had met the same fate as all the others in the pile, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell his mother. All of them had disappeared without a trace…and that usually meant death.

He finished his drink in one large gulp, let his head fall back against the headrest of his chair, and tried to stop the guilt that burned in his soul.

The “should haves” spun through his brain: I should have been on time. I should have been there to protect my brother. I should have tracked the bastards responsible down by now and made them pay. I should be able to give my mom closure.

While he knew nothing was his fault and there was nothing he could have done to protect his brother, he still felt responsible. He was the one who had to answer to their mother. He was the one who was in law enforcement. He was the one who hadn’t come clean and told her that his brother was most likely dead. Hell, he couldn’t help but hope she was right and he was wrong, and that he would somehow find his brother alive.

His cell phone rang. He opened his eyes and glared at it where it sat on the end table beside his chair. He knew who it was. The ring tone was the one he’d assigned for his mother—a series of rising and falling bells. He cleared his throat, sat up, picked up the phone, took a deep breath, and answered it in a forced cheerful tone.

“Hi, Mom,” he said, standing and walking over to where his bottle of whiskey sat on the counter in his tiny kitchen.

He closed his eyes tightly and held his breath, waiting for the moment he knew was coming…

“Happy Birthday!” she said.

“Thank you,” he said, and slowly let out the breath he was holding.

He lifted the bottle of whiskey and poured himself a double.

“Any news about Daniel?”

“No, there’s no news,” he responded.

“Oh, okay…”

He could hear the disappointment in her voice. He could feel the emotional pressure through the phone. He wanted to comfort her, to give her any kind of news he could, but he had nothing to give. “I’ll go over the case again tonight—you know I always do.” He took a large swallow of his drink and laughed bitterly.

“Yes, I know,” she said in a small voice. “I’ll let you go then. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he sighed. “Thanks for calling.”

He was relieved she wanted to end the call so soon. He figured maybe she could sense how stressed he was and didn’t have the emotional energy to deal with him, just like he didn’t have the emotional energy to deal with her.

He hadn’t talked to his mother much since Daniel’s disappearance. And he spoke to her less and less as every year passed that Daniel wasn’t found. He felt bad about the distance that had crept into their relationship—they were both going through this alone. Daniel’s ghost was haunting them both, making them feel lost and worthless because they couldn’t do anything to fill the void in their lives.

With another sigh, he grabbed the bottle and his glass and headed back into the living room to sit down and go through the stack of files sitting on his coffee table. He knew all of them by heart. He’d read them over and over again multiple times. And he felt helpless as the pile kept growing. The problem was, he kept finding old cases, not new ones. They were on people who’d been missing longer than his brother. What he needed—and he knew it—was a break with newer cases. Then he’d have a lead. Then he’d have a trail. Then he’d be able to find the assholes that took his brother and make them pay.

He sat down, picked up Daniel’s picture, and pulled a gold chain with the Lady Justice pendant he always wore out from under his shirt.

He rubbed the pendant between his thumb and first two fingers—it was something he often did when he thought of his brother. Daniel had wrapped the gift and stuck it in his wallet to give him for their birthday. There seemed to be something symbolic about the blindfolded woman holding a sword and scales…he’d received the ultimate symbol of justice the same night his brother had gone missing. It was as if Daniel were calling out to be found, possibly from beyond the grave.

With a heavy sigh, he laid the picture aside, let go of the pendant, and opened Daniel’s file, praying his brother would speak to him and somehow tell him why he’d been missing for so long.

Everything was the same as the last time he’d read it, but still he took the time to go over every word. As he read the file that night came back to him in vivid clarity.

He remembered arriving and calling his brother, only to hear the phone ring in the parking lot.

He remembered finding Daniel’s phone and wallet beside the parking space he’d pulled into.

He remembered the sickening feeling that settled in his gut as he’d picked them up and looked for the vehicle that had to have been in the space.

The phone calls were possibly the worst part for him. He’d called Hank to have him and Roy search for Daniel in the nightclub, just in case. Then he’d called the police; it had been hard to convince them his brother was indeed missing. They’d wanted to wait 24 hours, claiming he’d probably gone home with some woman and would turn up shortly. David’s law enforcement training and his intimate knowledge of his brother told him something was wrong. He’d insisted they look into the matter, which they reluctantly did with a single cruiser a half hour later. Immediately after getting off the phone with the police, he’d called their mother. Her panic and tears when he’d told her Daniel was missing still hung like weights on his soul.

He’d felt responsible then, and he felt responsible now.

After reading the entire file that revealed nothing new, he went on to the next, and the next, and the next. In each and every case the police had been notified that the person had gone missing in less than 24 hours. In each and every case it was against the missing person’s habits to be out of contact with their friends and family. He knew from experience that most people didn’t even realize their loved one was missing for a day or two, especially if they didn’t live with the person who’d gone missing. Spouses and children were usually reported missing the soonest.

He reached the bottom of the stack of case files the same time he reached the bottom of the whiskey bottle. Neither gave him any peace.

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Blind Date A Book 2020 – Book #31

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The material (chapter) in this post is copyrighted by the author and may not be used or copied in any way without the author’s permission.

 

Chapter 1

 

The wind blew dust wildly around the group of four men as they rode out of town on their already tired horses, but the men didn’t slow down. They’d robbed the bank and murdered a few citizens during the event. They knew they needed to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the posse that would soon follow; it was worth risking the storm to be free.

Communication was impossible under the conditions. As soon as they opened their mouths to speak, they were filled with the gritty sand blowing freely in the dessert despite the bandanas they’d tied over their noses and mouths.

Cut Throat Bill Thackard – the leader – reined his horse to a halt, and after almost running into him, the other three men in the band of outlaws did the same. Tugging his rope off his horse’s saddle, he tied one end around his saddle horn and tossed it to the man closest to him – Quick Shot Dan Westville.

Getting the idea, they all did the same and tied in another rope when they needed more length.

Now tied together so they wouldn’t lose each other in the storm, Bill once again took the lead, drawing them away from town and toward the canyon where they’d made their camp.

The ride through the windstorm was arduous and the already over labored horses had a hard time making their way, but they made it to their destination without any of them collapsing, to the shock of the men riding.

The outlaws had been living slim and hard for weeks, which was why they’d decided to rob the bank in Bristleton; the money was supposed to help them continue their escape to Mexico. Having broken out of prison, stolen horses, and hidden out in the dessert to evade authorities and bounty hunters, they’d had little food for themselves and nothing for the horses. Even water was scarce, causing exhaustion in man and beast.

Once they were safely in the canyon the assault of the wind abated and they could breathe easier since the natural stone walls shielded them from the gritty sand onslaught.

Bill tugged his now tan bandana off his face and grinned back at the other men.

“Almost clear, boys!” he yelled in a hoarse voice.

The rest of the band each raised a hand in a silent cheer, agreeing with their fearless leader, before tugging down their bandanas as well.

Hugging the red lined sandstone canyon wall, they slowed their exhausted horses to a walk, heading toward where they thought their camp was located; it wasn’t until almost an hour later that they realized they were lost.

“Where da hell are we?” Scofield Sam Cuthburt asked.

“We’re lost,” Mountain Man Matt Lander jeered, and spit a stream of tobacco juice into the sand. “Bill lost his bearings in the dust, me thinks.”

Sam laughed, and joked back, “Not da firs’ time dat’s happened.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Bill asked, turning to glare at the two men.

They fell silent and wouldn’t meet his gaze. There was a reason Bill was called cut throat. Despite being the best “educated” and “proper” one out of the bunch, he’d killed many men back in the prison for “cutting” on him. He didn’t like to be jeered about or made fun of, and he didn’t let anyone get away with it.

“They’s jus’ tryin’ ta ease some o’ da tension,” Dan said, guiding his mount up beside Bill’s. “We be tired, hungry, and hell, we jus’ robbed a bank. Ya can’t blame a man fo’ needing a little laugh. ‘Sides, being lost ain’t the greatest t’ing fo’ us right now either. Where we supposed ta hide out and res’? Horses can’t take much mo’e. . .”

Bill glared at Sam and Matt for a couple more seconds before facing forward again and surveying the landscape. He couldn’t place any of the landmarks and knew for certain they were lost – he just didn’t want to admit that he’d messed up.

“What we gonna do?” Matt asked, spitting on the ground again. “We be almost outta water and I canna take much more of this grit in me mouth.”

“What’s wrong wit’ a lil bit o’ dessert flavor?” Sam asked, elbowing Matt.

Matt spite again and glared at Sam.

Sam laughed, and teased, “I know, ya’d ratha be in da mountains wit’ all dat clear, col’ air.”

Matt nodded and turned his attention to the two men in front of them, who were now talking quietly amongst themselves.

“What we doin’, boys?” he called out. “That posse is gonna be on our tails as soon as the wind dies down.”

“We knows dat,” Dan threw back over his shoulder, “but dey won’t fin’ a trail so dey won’ knows where we gone – dat’s da good t’ing ‘bout da winds’orm. Da bad part be that we’s now los’ because o’ it and need ta fin’ a place to res’ and hopefully fin’ water.”

“We’re going to search for someplace to hole up,” Bill said, nodding. “There are a bunch of caves in the walls of the canyon. Let’s go see if we can find one to hide in – one that hopefully has a stream running through it.”

“Dat’s no’ as’ing fo’ much,” Sam muttered.

Matt elbowed Sam so hard that he almost fell off his horse.

Sam scowled at Matt, who was grinning broadly.

Dan and Bill spurred their mounts and started down the steep bank between them and the canyon floor; the other two followed close behind.

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Blind Date A Book 2020 – Book #30

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Chapter 1

 

The world is a big place, gigantic actually, but most people don’t realize it. Most people stay close to what’s comfortable and just visit other places once in a while, but they’re never brave enough to make real changes in their lives that expand their world.

I’m never going to be one of those people. I’ve already escaped the small town where I was born and grew up…even though everyone and everything tried to keep me there. I’ve expanded my world to make it bigger than most people, and I’m still stretching it further. I travel when I can, visit every restaurant and bar in town, as well as visit any museum, art gallery, or any other attraction that’s near enough to school that the trip doesn’t risk or hinder my education.

Education is important. Most people would say one of the most important things. Not my father… To him, the farm and farm life was the most important thing. He has never understood me or my brain. I think because thought and knowledge are something invisible, he doesn’t know how to handle them. He’s a man of tangible things. He likes things you can see and touch. He likes things in this world that can be weighed and measured.

I was never one of those things, other than that I was a warm body that had to do his bidding—albeit reluctantly as I grew older—until I was able to escape my father’s farm with my full scholarship. My IQ is off the charts, or so the results of tests tell me. Even through that had been a measure of sorts, my father still didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand why I would want to learn and grow and acquire knowledge when I could have my hands in the dirt…or on the goats he raised. And he seemed to take it personally that I didn’t want to be exactly like him.

I’ll never understand why parents expect their children to be just like them. Just because another human being shares your DNA, it doesn’t mean they’ll be anything like you in anything but appearance. Even then, it’s just a hope. God is the only one who can decide such things, and He made me nothing like my father.

Even my mother doesn’t understand me. She struggled just to make it through high school. But, at least she seemed pleased that I had an expansive intellect. She bought me books and would encourage me even as my father was being hard on me. I don’t know that she did it to encourage my mind… I believe she gave me books because I asked for them and she loved me and wanted me to be happy. So, therefore she gave me the things that made me happy. And no matter our disagreements, I’ll always love her for that.

“Do you want another?” the bartender asked me.

“Uh, yeah,” I answered, looking up from the screen of my cell phone. I pushed the glass across the top of the bar so it would be easier for him to reach as he replaced it with a new, fresh drink. “Thanks.”

I slid the drink closer to me with the help of the fresh napkin he’d placed beneath it, lifted the glass to my lips, took a sip of the bourbon, and set the glass back down without paying much attention. My thoughts were still on my parents. I had four missed calls from my mother, and four voicemails. I’d spent the night at Stella’s place and my phone went dead while I was at school. I’d plugged it in and charged it during my short shift at work. Now I’m scared to listen to the messages. Four calls from my mother was a lot. Usually, she called once a month. If I didn’t answer she would leave a message and I would get back to her when I could. She knew I was busy and would call her back. The fact she’d called so many times in such a short amount of time meant something was up…probably something with Dad.

“You’re looking at that phone like it’s going to blow up in your hand and rip your face off.”

I looked up, startled out of my dread-filled thoughts to see Stella sliding onto the barstool next to me. Her long, wavy auburn hair hung loose over her practically bare shoulders; she favored sundresses during warmer weather.

“Hey, beautiful,” I said, and leaned forward to give her a quick kiss.

She slid her hand up my neck and cupped the back of my head to make sure it wasn’t as quick as I’d intended.

“You coming home with me again tonight?” she asked as we separated.

I grinned. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” she asked, pretending to be hurt. “Didn’t you have a good time last night?”

“You know I did!” I laughed and held up my phone, growing serious. “It depends on what these messages from my mom are about.”

Stella frowned. “Didn’t she already call you this month? I thought she only called once in a while.”

I nodded and picked up my drink, taking a big gulp before putting it back down. “Yeah, we’ve already had our normal chat. That’s why I’m dreading this.”

The bartender came over and stalled our conversation; Stella ordered a drink. We waited silently until he filled her order and headed off to the other end of the bar to attend to another patron.

“The longer you put it off, the worse it’s gonna be,” Stella said, taking a sip of her drink. “Bite the bullet, get it done, so you don’t work yourself up into an anxious mess.”

“Aw, don’t you want to help me relieve my anxiety?” I teased with a lopsided grin.

She fought it, but a giggle slipped out. She bit her bottom lip and looked me in the eyes, her blue ones dancing with mirth.

I knew she was thinking about last night. We were electric in bed and we were both addicted to each other. We’d been hot and heavy for a couple months. I didn’t know if we were getting serious… She wasn’t showing any signs other than just wanting to have fun, and I knew I wasn’t ready to settle down yet. There was so much of life I still wanted to live. There were still parts of the big world I wanted to see and explore. Granted, we could do it together if we got serious, but we hadn’t known each other long enough for me to know if she was someone I wanted to do everything with. I wasn’t sure there would ever be one woman I wanted to do everything with.

“I wouldn’t mind being your sexual therapist,” she said with a smirk, putting her hand on my knee, “but I doubt you could keep me entertained long enough for a full session if you’re mind’s somewhere else.” She winked, removed her hand, and sipped her drink again.

I snickered, taking a long drink, nearly draining my glass.

“Go to the bathroom, or outside, and listen to the damn messages,” she said, growing serious and leaning over to nudge me with her shoulder. “I’ll be right here after, for whatever.”

I sighed. I had to admit it felt good to know someone would be waiting to share my burden no matter what it was. If there was a burden. I was really starting to stress myself, thinking the calls and messages may be about something sinister and not benign. Maybe Mom was excited about something and wanted to share it with me. Maybe it was good news. I wouldn’t know until I listened to the messages and found out.

I held up my phone, nodded to Stella, stood, and headed for the door of the bar that led out to the sidewalk.

People were coming and going, laughing, talking loudly, and joking. But, even with all the noise around me, I felt like I was in a bubble of solitude.

My hands shook as I dialed my voicemail and punched in my passcode.

I held my phone up to my ear and knew the instant I heard my mom say my name at the beginning of the first message that something was very, very wrong. She was crying so hard I had to close my eyes and plug my other ear with my finger to even halfway make out what she was saying. And it wasn’t until the end of the last message that I got what exactly was going on.

Dad was dead.

She wanted me to come home and help her deal with the funeral, the farm, and everything else.

I deleted the messages and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. My eyes were burning, my throat felt like it was closing off, and my stomach felt like a heavy weight had settled into it, while, at the same time, a giant bat was trying to escape from inside me with frantically flapping wings. I bent over with my hands on my knees, my phone dangling from the fingers of one hand. I closed my eyes and alternated between taking short, quick breaths, and long deep ones until I figured out what made me feel better and settled into that rhythm.

Someone bumped into me from behind, almost knocking me over.

“Damn. Sorry, man, didn’t see you there,” some drunk guy said as he reached out to help keep me on my feet.

I clutched his arms, dropping my phone.

I mumbled something, but if I’d been asked what I’d said with the threat of death hanging over my head I wouldn’t have been able to tell you what it was.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” the guy said again, picking up my cell phone and handing it to me.

I reached out and took it from him, muttering it was okay, vaguely noticing my phone was undamaged from the exchange.

One of his companions said something to him—a young woman.

He said something to her then turned back to me.

“I’m really sorry,” he said. “Are you gonna be okay?”

I nodded. “I’m fine.” I waved him away and turned toward the door and forced myself to put one foot in front of the other to go back to Stella. I had to tell her what had happened, what was going on…if I could.

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Blind Date A Book 2020 – Book #29

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Chapter 1

 

Something was going to happen. Something big. Something important. I felt it as soon as I woke up. The foreboding almost as tangible as a thing, embracing me with tingling energy and making the hair on the back of neck and arms stand up. I felt that if I could figure out what the elusive “something” was, my brain would feel that little shock one felt when touching something metal after dragging their feet across the carpet; it would be that quick and that painful and painless at the same time.

The energy gave me optimism, not dreed. Having a day of something had to be better than the bland days that seemed to flow into each other as one big snooze-fest of a life.

“Maybe today Brad will notice me,” I muttered to myself as I threw my covers back and climbed out of bed.

I stretched, lifting my arms high above my head, arching my back, and standing on my toes to take full advantage of waking up my joints and muscles for the day. Once I felt sufficiently stretched, I let my body relax again and turned to pull my teal, flower-print bedspread and white sheets up to make my bed.

A glance at the alarm clock on my nightstand told me I had time for a shower before Mom would have breakfast ready.

I headed to my bathroom – my favorite feature of the move to this new house two years ago – stripped, opened the door to the shower stall, turned on the water and adjusted it to just the right temperature, stepped inside, and closed the door behind myself. I let the hot water run over me with a sigh.

While I washed, I once again, for the millionth time, thought about what I would do or say if Brad actually talked to me. He was the hottest boy at school. I wasn’t one of those girls that went all gooey inside over boys, but for some reason, I couldn’t help myself when it came to Brad. He was tall, muscular, and played the guitar. He and his friends had started up their own band last year, but I’d never gotten a chance to go to any of the parties they’d played at – my parents were too strict to let me go to parties. They said I could go when I was older…like thirty.

As I rinsed, I couldn’t help but wonder if the something I was feeling could be him asking me out…and my parents actually letting me go.

I tried not to get my hopes up as I turned off the water, opened the door, stepped out, grabbed a clean towel off the shelf between the shower stall and toilet, and dried off. It was farfetched at best. I mean, I could see the world coming to an end before I could see my parents letting me to go a party or out on a date. But still, a girl could dream.

“What should I wear today?” I said aloud as I hung up the towel and headed out into my bedroom to examine the contents of my closet. “I’m thinking something super cute, just in case.”

Brad’s favorite color seemed to be red. At least, that’s what I’ve observed from far away. The only time I’d ever talked to him was when I accidently bumped into him outside History class. “Uh, sorry,” was all I’d been capable of at the time. He’d just smiled at me and kept on going about his business. Apparently I wasn’t even important enough to stop for.

I pushed that thought away as I chose my newest, best fitting jeans – I called them my lucky jeans. I felt I had to wear lucky jeans on a day something was going to happen, that’s only logical, after all. Then I selected a red, ribbed, form-fitting tank top and a red plaid shirt I’d gotten for the past fall that I hadn’t worn yet.

After selecting a bra and panties and slipping them on, I slid into the jeans, pulled the tank top over my head, and slid my arms into the flannel. It took me a few minutes to decide if I should button the flannel, leave it open, or tie it in the front. I finally decided to tie it in the front.

Since I kinda had the “country girl” vibe going on, I decided my long, dark hair would look best pulled up into a ponytail, so I headed back to the bathroom to blow-dry the damp strands.

Just as I was wrapping the elastic band around my hair for the last time, I heard Mom’s voice downstairs. I couldn’t hear what she said, but I assumed she was calling me down to breakfast, since it was past the time I would normal be down there.

I rushed out into my bedroom, grabbed what I would need for school, and headed out into the hall and downstairs. The house smelled good, like cinnamon baking. That meant Mom had made my favorite oatmeal muffins. Upon reaching the kitchen, I discovered I’d been correct in my assumption. There was a dozen of them sitting on a cooling rack on the center island.

“Muffins!”

Mom turned from the counter by the sink, where she was slicing fresh fruit, and smiled at me.

“Yes, muffins,” she acknowledged. “I hadn’t made them in a while, so I thought you’d enjoy them.”

“You were right,” I said, slid onto one of the bar stools that lined the island, dropped my book bag on the floor at my feet, and grabbed a still warm muffin. I took a bite out of the top. “Mmmm! Did you use white flour and sugar?”

Mom nodded. “Just the way you like them.”

“What’s the special occasion?” I asked, taking the plate of fruit and fork she handed me across the counter.

Mom was a health food nut. She rarely let me have anything she didn’t think was the “best option.” I wasn’t allowed to have white bread. We didn’t eat anything processed if she could help it, and there was an “absolutely no junk food” rule. This led to my terrible addiction to potato chips. My addiction was so bad that my friends stashed chips at their house, knowing I’d go through an entire bag every time I visited. Heck, my best friend, Tiffany, called me “Chips” most of the time as a joke. I don’t know if Mom knew about my addiction…if she did, she hadn’t said anything.

“I wanted to get rid of the ingredients because I’m starting us on a new regiment,” she said, starting to do the few dishes in the sink before enjoying her own fruit breakfast; she never ate the muffins.

“Does Dad know?”

My heart sank at the news that she was going to impose another of her diet regiments on the family. I didn’t like them, but Dad hated them. They always fought when she tried to get controlling about stuff. I knew this evening wasn’t going to be pleasant because of it.

She sighed, put the last dish in the drainer on the counter, shut off the water, picked up the hand-towel from the counter, and turned to face me.

“You know we do these diets for your dad’s health,” she said, looking me in the eye as she dried her hands. “I know he doesn’t like them, but we have to keep his cholesterol down – we don’t want him to have another heart attack.”

That was always her excuse. His cholesterol had been under control for over a year, but still she did this; it was a way for her to feel in control. She always seemed to need to be in control, but after Dad’s heart attack almost three years ago, she’d gotten worse. Even though I could see this in her, she didn’t seem to be capable of seeing it in herself.

I grabbed another muffin after I finished the first, picked up my fork, and alternated bites of muffin with fruit. I ignored the way Mom flinched when I grabbed a third muffin to eat on my way to school.

“See you later,” I called out around a mouthful as I headed out of the kitchen and toward the front door.

“I have yoga today!” she hollered after me.

“Okay!” I yelled before shutting the front door behind myself.

Yoga meant she might not be here when I arrived home. Sometimes she was, sometimes she wasn’t; it depended on the traffic.

The “something” feeling returned as I walked the five blocks to school. The sun was shining, people were out and about doing their morning routines, and everything seemed to be alive with excitement.

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Blind Date A Book 2020 – Book #28

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Chapter 1

 

“Chad, get down here and eat breakfast before school!”

I rolled my eyes and slowly made my way downstairs to plop into one of the chairs around the table, dropping my backpack on the floor beside me. There was a plate of scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and bacon waiting for me. My mom was obsessed with making sure we all had home-cooked meals – she was obsessed with anything and everything that seemed like happy family stuff. Too bad all her wife and mother excellence didn’t ensure that; we’d be doing great.

I picked up my fork and started eating. I was hungry and I needed to eat, even though I wasn’t going to school.

My little sister stared at me across the table. Her thick glasses made her eyes look enormous and other-worldly. She was freaking me out.

I wanted to kick her under the table, but I knew I would get in trouble and it wasn’t worth it. I did my best to ignore her and get through the morning craziness that was my family.

Dad came in, walked over to Mom in the kitchen, and kissed her cheek before exiting the room and heading for the front door.

“What about breakfast?” Mom hollered after him just to hear the front door slam shut. She sighed.

I watched her. She looked sad. She often did when she thought no one was paying attention. Dad made her sad a lot. Sometimes I hate him for it. Then I would hate her for making me feel sad because she couldn’t deal with the realities of life. I hated how she covered up all the things she hated with fake cheer and pretended perfection. Family life was bullshit. I should know… I’ve been pretty much nonexistent to everyone in my family unless I did something worthy of getting yelled at, which seemed to be everything since my thirteenth birthday. Three years of not being able to do anything right would grow bitterness in anyone.

I’ve given up caring, about everything. I exist day to day and that’s it. I’m counting the days until I can move out and not be yelled at constantly for not caring.

I chanced a glance across the table to see that bug-eyes had shifted her attention to a large book laid open beside her breakfast plate.

“Hurry, up, you two,” Mom said, taking off the apron she’d worn to keep her work clothes protected while she’d made breakfast. “I’ll drop you off at school on my way to work.”

“I’m walking,” I said, and shoved the last of my toast in my mouth. I stood, grabbed my backpack from the floor beside my chair, and darted out of the room before she could protest.

I expected her to yell after me, but she didn’t. I figured my ignoring her was starting to work.

Knowing Mom would drive past me as I walked to school, I had to at least head in that direction at a decent pace. I wanted her to see me and think that’s where I was going.

I trudged along the tree-lined, suburban neighborhood we lived in as slowly as I dared. While I walked, I took in the people around me. Old people were opening their front doors and getting their newspapers. Families with children were rushing to get in vehicles and head off to school and work. A bright yellow bus drove down the street and stopped to pick up children that were either hyper off their asses or looked like they hadn’t slept well in their entire lives.

To me, it was all a living hell. Civilization was such a joke; it was just trained responses and responsibilities to keep people in line and under control.

I snickered as I thought about doing some crazy shit to stir things up. I couldn’t do what I thought of because I was trying to keep a low profile. I didn’t want to be noticed. I wanted to slip in between all the goodie-goodie shit so I could misbehave in private…for now. Skipping school was my fix of rebellion for the day.

I was only three blocks away from the school when Mom drove by with a honk and a wave.

I nodded in her direction and kept walking forward until she turned a corner and couldn’t see me anymore.

“Freedom,” I whispered.

I kept walking forward and turned to walk around the block so I wouldn’t draw any unwanted attention. I couldn’t run or cut through yards without some busy-body noticing. If I just circled around, it wouldn’t be noticeable that I’d changed direction. It would look more like I was going the direction I was going because that’s the way I was supposed to be going. At least, that’s how my mind had worked out my plan last night. But, at the time, I’d been high…

Nothing happened on my way home that led me to believe I was going to get turned in.

The doors of the house were all locked, like normal. I got my key out of my backpack and unlocked the front door. I opened it, stepped inside, closed it, and quickly punched in the passcode so our home security system wouldn’t go off. I then re-armed it. I had big plans of playing video games and smoking pot. I didn’t need anyone interrupting that unannounced.

Before I headed upstairs to my room, I went to the kitchen to find snacks and beverage. I’d already stashed some snacks in my room, but I didn’t have a fridge in there and I liked my beverages cold.

It was weird moving around the house when no one else was home; it almost never happened. The effect was eerie, but I liked it. I didn’t have to worry about anyone yelling at me. I didn’t have to worry about doing something wrong. I could relax, and I loved it.

I shoved as many snacks and drinks into my backpack as I could and finally headed upstairs. I was home free…literally.

Just as my hand touched the cool metal knob of my bedroom door, I heard the front door open downstairs.

Shit, I thought, and hurriedly entered my room and closed the door behind me as quietly as I possibly could.

I held my breath, set my bag down, and listened at my door.

A feminine laugh echoed through the hall, loud enough to be heard through the barrier I was hiding behind. I didn’t recognize it as Mom’s or my sister’s.

A man’s laugh joined it…a familiar man’s laugh. Dad’s laugh.

I could barely make out the murmur of their voices, which seemed to move further away. I opened my door to peek out into the hall.

I didn’t see anything, but I could hear them better and it sounded like they were in the living room.

I crept over to the stairs and peeked down. I couldn’t see them, so I started going down the stairs – I figured I’d be able to see into the living room halfway down.

It seemed like it took me forever because I moved in snail slow-motion so I didn’t make a sound.

Once I reached the midway point on the stairs, I crouched down to peek into the living room.

My eyes widened and I gasped as I took in the tits and ass show in front of me.

Dad had a blonde woman wearing a pair of high-heeled shoes and a bra that was half-off bent over with her hands on the coffee table, holding herself up while he fucked her from behind.

I was disgusted and turned on at the same time.

They didn’t hear me gasp because they were too busy groaning and moaning as their skin met with loud smacking noises in their rush for pleasure.

I wanted to run back upstairs, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

The woman started screaming as she orgasmed and that broke me out of my frozen, shocked state.

I stood up straight and ran back up the stairs. I was sure I wouldn’t be heard over all the noise the woman was making, especially as Dad joined in.

I made it into my room and managed to close the door somewhat quietly. I sat on my bed and tried to process what was going on.

Dad was cheating on Mom…in our house.

I wondered if Mom knew. I wondered if I should tell her. I wondered if I should confront him about it before I told her. My head spun, my chest hurt, and my throat burned with all the emotions that poured through my body.

I don’t know how long I sat there, but I knew it was long after the giggle-slut and Dad left the house.

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Blind Date A Book 2020 – Book #27

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Chapter 1

 

The scream that echoed through the apartment was ripe with terror. It tore violently from Kyndra Thornton’s throat as she bolted upright in bed. Her eyes shot open, but she didn’t see the familiarity surrounding her. Her mind told her she was in mortal danger and her emotions believed it – they convinced her that her cause to be frightened was real. Her jaw throbbed from an old wound, one that brought horrors with it, horrors of a zombie and a crazy woman from her past.

“It’s okay, honey,” John Daniels said, awakened by her scream. He reached out to comfort her from his side of the bed.

The hand that came toward Kyndra wasn’t human; the skin was hanging off and puss and blood dripped from the claws that tipped of each finger. She screamed again and lashed out at the hand, punching it.

“Ouch, damn it,” John growled, sitting up and rubbing his bruised hand. “What did you do that for?”

Kyndra whimpered and shrank away from him as he moved, violently thrashing to free her legs of the covers. She fell to the floor with her legs still tangled in the sheet and cried out.

“Ky, what’s wrong?” John asked, trying to reach for her again to help her.

A grotesque zombie face peered at Kyndra from above, growling unintelligible sounds at her, reaching for her trapped legs. She fought harder.

“No!” she screamed and clawed at the floor, trying desperately to drag herself away from danger.

In the faint illumination of the street lights shining through the blinds, Kyndra spied a weapon she could use to protect herself a couple feet away. The possible weapon was a baseball bat that stood in the corner, and it was the only thing she could focus on. She didn’t have any time to waste since a bloodthirsty zombie was attacking her.

“Calm down,” John said, trying to untangle her legs from the sheets so she wouldn’t hurt herself. Once she was free, he saw what she was heading for. “Ky, stop, damn it!”

He shoved back his own covers, jumped out of bed, and darted around it, gripping the baseball bat moments before she could reach it.

In desperation, and still in the depths of her terrifying illusion, she started sobbing and shrank away from the zombie that had foiled her plan to protect herself. She scooted backwards on her butt, shaking her head, trying to think of a new defense. Her hopes died when her back came up against the wall.

“Please don’t kill me,” she sobbed, crossing her arms and curling them up around her head.

John knelt where he was, six feet from her, and took deep breaths. They’d been through this before, but it had been months since her last hallucination. This was a full blown illusion, and they were rare. They’d thought they were past them. This one was completely unexpected and the worst one yet. He knew he had to be patient and wait out her panic; it was hard for him, since all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and tell her everything was all right, he would protect her.

Ky sobbed and sobbed. Tears ran down her face and neck to saturate the thin, soft fabric of her night shirt. Her body shook with fear. For what seemed like forever, she waited for the piercing pain brought by broken teeth tearing into her flesh. When nothing happened, she chanced a peek through the small gap between her elbows.

She frowned when she saw John kneeling on the floor across the room, holding the baseball bat they kept in the corner at his side, half-resting it on the floor. He was watching her intensely. What had happened dawned on her and she slowly lowered her arms and wiped her face with her hands.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“You tried to kill my hand,” John said with a half-smirk, holding up the hand she’d punched. “But thankfully it survived.”

Ky giggled and sniffled. “What’s with the bat?”

“You were serious this time,” John said, lifting the bat slightly and looking at it. “I think you were planning to bash my head in.”

“Oh, gawd,” Ky sighed, and covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m glad you stopped me.”

“Yeah,” John said, looking back over at her, “me too. I really didn’t want to lose what little brains I have up there.”

Ky grinned. “I love you. I’m so sorry about all this. I thought it was over.”

John stood, put the bat back in its place, and walked over to where she sat. He reached down, took one of her hands in his, and pulled her up – she stood willingly. Once she was on her feet, John pulled her into his arms.

“I love you more,” he whispered in her ear.

Ky wrapped her arms up around his back and gripped his shoulders, squeezing him tight. She started crying again for an entirely different reason. She hated when she was like this. She hated what she’d tried to do to John. But instead of getting angry with her, he was always patient and calm. She loved him more than she could ever tell him and was thankful he understood. After all, he’d survived the same nightmare, so he knew exactly what she was going through.

“Thank you for loving me . . . and for putting up with all this,” she said, before kissing the side of his neck multiple times.

John smiled. “You’re a handful, but you keep me entertained.”

She laughed. “Oh, is that what I am, entertaining?”

John pulled back and looked into her dark eyes. “Well, yeah! I’m not into boring women. You should know that by now.” He winked at her.

Ky sniffled, released him, and wiped tears from her face with her hands again. “I have to blow my nose.” She pulled her wet shirt away from the skin of her chest, frowning down at the fabric. “How long was I crying?”

John shrugged and took a step back, looking at her shirt as well.

“Long enough you could enter a wet T-shirt contest,” he teased, and waggled his eyebrows.

Ky laughed again and shook her head. She tucked her long dark curls behind her ears when they fell across her face. She sniffled again.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” she said, stepping over to the dresser in the small bedroom to retrieve a clean shirt. “I think it will make me feel better.”

“Okay,” John said. “I’ll fix the bed.”

He switched on the lamp on her bedside table and light flooded the space, nearly blinding Ky in its unexpectedness. Once her pupils adjusted and she was able to stop blinking, she noticed the bed was a disaster.

“Holy cow,” she groaned. “What did I do?”

John grinned broadly and said, “I think you were trying to entice me into new sexual position, half-in/half-out of the bed.”

“Would you stop!” Ky exclaimed, blushing slightly. She didn’t wear anything under her nightshirt and she knew the position he’d just suggested had given him one hell of an interesting view. But, even though she was slightly embarrassed, she was glad he was able to put an amusing spin on the situation; it always made her feel better.

John shrugged. “Okay, just don’t be shocked when I try to take you up on the offer later.”

Ky shook her head, left the room, went down the short hall, and entered the bathroom. She was still grinning from what John had said as she shed her wet shirt and stepped into the shower. But the glow from John’s humor washed away with the sluice of the hot water from the shower that rained down on her body. The memories of that night so long ago when she’d lost her best friend returned to haunt her again; not nearly as drastically as they just had in her dreams, converting into a living nightmare, but strong enough to make her shiver even bathed in the almost scalding shower spray.

Her jaw began to ache with the memories. She reached up and ran her finger along the almost invisible scar that ran just under her check from her chin to her ear. When John’s aunt had struck her with a board, the crazy woman had shattered the bone of her jaw. Surgery had been needed to rebuild her face. During rainy and cold weather it ached, but right now the past injury practically throbbed with a life of its own; it reminded her of all she’d suffered. The past still haunted her . . . and John, and there was nothing she could do about it. The hallucination had just proven that. She was glad John had stopped her before she’d hurt him. She didn’t know if she could live with herself if she hurt the man she loved.

Thinking about what a terrible fiancé she was for trying to off her man, Ky climbed out of the shower, toweled dry, slid into her clean nightshirt, and headed back to the bedroom.

She found John asleep in their corrected bed, snoring softly. She wanted to lie down beside him, but at the same time, she didn’t want to. She was afraid if she fell asleep again, she’d wake up screaming again, and then she might hurt John before he could stop her.

With a weary sigh, Ky decided she’d stay up and study – she had finals to prepare for. Going to college was harder than she’d expected, but at least she didn’t have to work and go to school. She’d offered, but John insisted school was enough and he wanted her to get the education she desired. He’d promised to take care of them, and he had.

She hoped she didn’t end everything for both of them with her illusions. She didn’t want to let her fear rip their world apart.

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Blind Date A Book 2020 – Book #26

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Chapter 1

 

Betty Jones was setting the table for supper when her husband, Sam, stumbled through their apartment’s door. His clothes were torn and duct tape was hanging from his wrists, knees, and ankles. After only five steps through the doorway, he fell hard onto the floor with a grunt.

“Sam!” Betty screamed and ran down the hall, dropping to her knees beside him. She lifted his head and cradled it in her left arm, stroking his cheek tenderly with her right hand. “What happened?”

His eyes fluttered open and he looked up at his wife with pain etched across his face. “Betty . . .” he breathed and then passed out, his head lulling to the side.

Betty shook him and yelled, “Sam! Wake up!”

He didn’t respond. As she moved to lay his head gently on the floor so she could call 9-1-1, she noticed two things: 1) The tape that had apparently been used to bind him, had been cut and not ripped; and 2) There was a small red circle on the side of his neck. On closer inspection, she noted that there was a tiny hole in the center, reminding her of an injection site.

Without thinking on these discoveries for any longer than a split second, she pulled herself to her feet with the help of a small table set in the hallway and rushed to the phone to call for emergency assistance. She’d just gotten through to an operator when Sam suddenly woke up with a loud, startling moan.

Betty dropped the phone into its cradle and darted back into the hall to help Sam to his feet, because his movements were slow and awkward.

She gasped when he was finally standing and she could look up into his face. His eyes were glazed and cloudy – almost completely white – and slobber was running down his chin, dripping onto his shirt.

“Sam, what happened to you?” she asked on a gasping sob. “Please, tell me!”

He leaned closer to her and sniffed loudly before a crooked grin spread across his face, the drool increasing in volume. Without warning he lunged forward and tried to pin her to the wall as his jaws snapped open and shut, seeking flesh.

She spun slightly when he tried to attack her and broke free of his strong grasp, falling to the floor between the hall and the bathroom. The strength of his forward advance flung him headfirst into the bathroom, leaving him sprawled on the tile floor. Quickly, Betty rose up on her knees and gripped the doorknob, yanking the door shut as the phone began to ring, trapping him.

She was sobbing uncontrollably and leaned back against the door for support; she was shaking too badly to hold herself up on her own. She screamed every time he slammed against the solid wood with the entire weight of his body, hissing and moaning.

Slowly, she crawled over to the phone and answered it; the emergency dispatcher was on the line. Betty fought for composer and forced her mind to work. She knew if she told them about Sam, they would come and take him away. After all, she’d seen enough zombie movies to know what he’d become. They would either use him as an experiment – which she thought someone already had because of the tape and the wound on his neck – or they would simply kill him.

In the most controlled, assured voice she could manage, she told the operator that she’d accidentally dialed the wrong number and apologized.

After hanging up the phone, Betty let the sobs she was holding back break forth again.

Once she again regained some composure, she stood and walked shakily back to the bathroom door where the banging continued. She placed her palms flat on the smooth, white, painted surface of the wood and rested her forehead between them.

“Sam,” she called out, “I don’t know what has happened to you, but I’ll be here for you forever. I love you . . .” She paused as her voice caught on a sob. “. . . so much. I’ll take care of you as long as I live, and won’t let anything or anyone hurt you. I promise!”

On the other side of the door, the hungry zombie who’d once been her husband continued to try to get the food he knew was just out of reach; pounding, moaning, clawing, hissing, wanting . . .

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Blind Date A Book 2020 – Book #25

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Chapter 1

 

The damn dog was yapping again at shadows.

Hank Higgins, knee replacement and new glasses, stumbled off the couch and tried to get his bearings.

His wife, Melinda, had gone to bed hours ago. She usually left him in the living room with the sound muted on the TV so when the station cut out for the night, the white on the screen wouldn’t be accompanied by the white noise.

The dog kept yapping. It was Hank’s fault. He’d forgotten to let the damn thing back into the house from the back porch when he was supposed to.

“Shut up,” Hank said. “I’m coming. Damn dog.”

His knee popped and he grimaced. Not the new knee, the old stubborn one he hadn’t told Melinda about yet. She’d not only fret about him but she’d schedule another doctor’s appointment to get it replaced.

He was seventy, not a hundred and seventy. He felt fine.

“It’s my weather-gauge knee,” Hank would tell her. “I can always tell when a big storm is coming. Remember the Nor’easter in ‘79?” He’d felt it and he wasn’t yet sixty-three. “If you take away both of my old knees, how will I know when it’s supposed to rain?”

Hank knew it was a losing battle, and the moment he flinched around Melinda, she’d rush to the kitchen and stand at the wall phone, one hand holding it while the other scanned the long list of phone numbers she’d scribbled onto a yellowed piece of paper and tacked above the phone.

Next thing you knew, Hank would be under the knife and wishing he was watching the damn Mets game and sipping a cold beer instead.

That was his happy go-to place. Watching his Mets and sipping a beer. Melinda only let him have one per game, and it was always the same fight.

The worst part? His Mets had a good team this year. With only a few weeks left in the season, they had an excellent shot at not only the playoffs but maybe the World Series.

They were over eighty wins right now heading into September, and Hank thought they had a shot at a hundred victories on the season. Even with Gary Carter recently injured, the team would keep finding ways to win. Hank was a big fan of Lee Mazzilli, who’d just returned. With Mookie and Darryl in the outfield… who could beat the Amazin’ Mets?

Hank got to the door and put his hand on the knob but stopped.

The damn dog was no longer barking up a storm.

Hank turned the knob and let the door swing wide, expecting the dog to come running past like he was a hundred pounds of canine instead of the three pounds of annoyance he really was.

No dog.

Hank took a step outside. That’s when he smelled it in the air: a combination of wet dog, mildew, and rancid body odor.

He flipped on the light to the porch.

No dog. Nothing that could be making that smell.

The light bulb was one of those new energy-savers Melinda went on and on about. Hank’s argument was simple: for the eight cents they’d save a year, was it worth not being able to see more than ten feet into the yard?

“Get in here, dog,” Hank said, clapping his hands. He’d forgotten the damn dog’s name in his anger. “I’m getting too old for this…”

Something moved off to his right, near the house. When Hank turned, he only saw shadows.

“I’m counting to three and then you can spend the night outside,” Hank said. What was the dog’s name again? Something girlie, even though it was a male. Melinda loved emasculating the animals over the years. She swore she didn’t do it on purpose. It was her gut telling her to name it a certain name.

Hank remembered Trixie, a golden retriever they had for a few years. Great dog. Quiet. Loved to sleep at the foot of the bed. Despite being a male, Melinda gave him a girl name.

The smell was now unbearable.

Hank turned to go back inside. He’d act dumb in the morning when Melinda asked about the dog. Maybe he’d try to wake early and see if the dog had slept on the back porch. It would serve the dog right to spend a night like a real animal, instead of a pampered diva.

The growl was guttural but so quiet at first that Hank thought it was a queer trick of the wind through the trees.

He turned and saw the glowing red eyes.

At least a foot and a half higher than his own stare.

Despite the size of the shadow that detached from the nearby darkness, it was fast.

Hank was grabbed by the shoulder, the grip crushing his bones. He tried to scream but a hairy hand covered his face.

The smell made Hank reel.

He was slammed to the ground with such force that the wind was knocked from his bruised chest. Hank tried to rise but an immense weight fell upon his legs.

The dog, or what was left of him, was a few inches from Hank’s face.

Suzi, Hank remembered. The dog’s name is Suzi.

As Hank stared at the shredded body of the dog, he closed his eyes. The dog’s name was Suzi.

Melinda would find her dog and her husband crushed to bloody slush in her backyard in the morning.

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Blind Date A Book 2020 – Book #24

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Chapter 1

 

“I call this one BTTF,” Dr. Knochenmus said. Gary had said everyone called him Dr. K for short, and he seemed cool enough, especially considering the giant fatty he’d just put to his lips to partake of.

“Buttfa?” Gary asked, a big smile on his face as he waited his turn. Jim wasn’t sure exactly how he’d gotten here. He remembered his friend sitting on the hood of his Fiesta as he’d left work, like a scene out of some eighties movie, arms folded across his chest. That probably had more to do with the cold and his complete lack of a jacket than anything else. Jim remembered them getting in his car, and the rest had been like a vague fog clouding his memory until somehow they had wound up here.

Wherever here was. Gary had a knack for talking him into things.

Gary finished a long spliff before passing it to him. It slid so easily into Jim’s hand, he remembered the feel, the smell, and was seconds away from taking a puff when he asked, “So why is it called B . . .”

“Back to the Future,” the “doctor” finished for him. “Because it takes you back in time, man. You see your whole life flash before your eyes.” The much older man nodded and smiled as if that particular sensation would be enjoyable to everybody. Not that Jim’s childhood had been the worst, but he didn’t feel like taking this particular trip down memory lane. He handed the joint back to the doctor.

“No, thanks.”

“No, thanks? Who is this man, man? G, you said he was cool.” The doctor was looking at Gary with half a scowl. Gary gave Jim a sideward glance, a look of disappointment on his face.

“He is cool.” Gary slid the joint from the doctor’s hand. “He’s just under stress at work. Right, Jim?”

“No. Actually, everything at work is going pretty good.” That made both Gary and the doctor frown.

“If this is your best friend, then your best friend is a total square.”

Jim didn’t know if he was supposed to take offense at such an ancient insult and stayed silent. The doctor continued staring at him.

“Give me that.” Dr. K snatched the joint back from Gary. He took a long hit, held it, then leveled his gaze on Gary. “You didn’t bring Five-O to my operation, did you?” Dr. K was easily thirty years older than them, skinny, and looked like he had never been in a fight in his life, but the look in his eyes told Jim he could be dangerous.

“No, man.” Gary laughed nervously. “I told you, he’s my best friend. I’ve known him since second grade. He’s in AA.” That last part seemed really tacked on to Jim’s ears, a lie that could be spotted a mile off, but the doctor’s expression brightened.

“Aw, geez, why didn’t you tell me that?” He slapped Gary’s shoulder and stubbed the joint out on the table, blowing the smoke high over his head and waving at it with a free hand. “Uh, congratulations,” he said, dropping the doobie in his pocket and grabbing Jim’s hand for a stiff, awkward shake. The three of them all looked at one another, no one knowing what to say.

“Come with me,” Dr. K said. “I want to show you something.” This was just how Jim wanted to spend his Friday night. Oh no, not at home with his beautiful fiancée for wingding and movie night; it was much more engaging here with Gary and Dr. Weed. He was going to have to think of a better one than that later.

All that sarcasm swimming around in his head, and yet Jim still went with them. Dr. K led them out of the office and past several lab stations, all littered with various types of equipment. Everything after a beaker and Bunsen burner was beyond Jim’s ability to identify, leaving him to ponder at the various colored liquids and lab equipment he saw.

At the back of this room were thick plastic curtains. Dr. K parted them, leading Gary and Jim through. It was freezing in here, and Jim found it hard to believe that just a yellowed, translucent curtain could keep all the cold air in this space. Curls of refrigerated mist poured from vents overhead.

“You guys want to see something really cool?” Dr. K was beaming at them, puffs of white smoke coming out of his mouth with each word, seemingly unaware how cold it was in here. Jim looked around and saw tall racks with small labeled vials in small, foam-cushioned holders. Dr. K picked up a cup that had steam drifting out of the top, and Jim wondered how it could be hot still. Then he noticed the cup itself. It looked like it was ceramic, some shade of orange, and the handle didn’t appear to be connected to the cup in any way. Jim looked where it should have touched at the top and at the bottom, wondering if there was some sort of clear plastic.

“Do you like my cup?”

“Yeah,” Jim said. “How do you do that? Magnets?”

“Nope. Force fields. This cup is all ceramic.” He took a big sip and set it back down. “Anyway, here’s the thing I wanted you to see.” Dr. K sat in an armless office chair and picked up a beat-up blue and white cooler sitting in another office chair in front of a draft table. He set it in his lap, sitting back and drumming his fingers on the sides. Jim thought he hadn’t looked any more like a mad scientist than in that moment.

“So . . .” Gary began, “what’s in the cooler?” Dr. K slowly turned in his chair and settled his eyes on him.

“The future and end of all war. Want a hit?”

“Hell, yeah,” Gary said. Dr. K flashed his yellowed, crooked teeth and sat forward. He slid the top back, and steam from the dry ice inside drifted out and poured over the sides.

“Is that stuff safe?” Jim asked.

“Of course it’s safe,” Dr. K said. “I invented it!” Jim took a step backward and watched as the doctor reached inside and pulled out a small semitranslucent brown container. “It actually doesn’t need to be refrigerated at all. It just looks cooler. I’m gonna present it to my customers tonight.”

“On a Friday night?” Jim made a face. “Shouldn’t you do that during normal business hours?” He began to wonder about the “doctor’s” credentials. His lab was on 7 Mile on the east side, the building looked abandoned, and he was meeting with “customers” after six o’clock. “What did you invent for your customer?” he asked, standing securely behind Gary.

“An antideath pill.” Dr. K’s face beamed.

“And you’re just gonna let us have some of it?”

“I made extra. Besides, how much fun can it be if you can’t share it with friends?”

“Puff-puff-give, big bro,” Gary said, taking the small container from Dr. K. He began wrestling with the top, twisting to no avail. After a minute, he looked at Jim and held it up.

“Jim, for the assist?”

Jim eyed the container in his friend’s hand. He didn’t want to touch it. More than ever, he really did not want to be here. But he’d never made a habit out of saying no to his best friend and squirmed at the thought of doing so now. Jim took the container and unscrewed it.

Nestled inside were five black pills about the size of bullets atop a bed of cotton.

“These aren’t suppositories, are they?” he asked, trying to make a joke.

Dr. K’s face screwed up in disgust, and he took the pills back. “For a period of forty-eight hours after you swallow this pill, you are effectively dead. Just like Jesus!”

“Jesus?” Gary asked. “What do you mean?”

“Jesus was crucified on a Friday and rose on a Sunday.”

“I know my Bible. Jesus was dead for three days. Luke 24, verse 7.”

Dr. K looked at Gary with a wary look. “How many days between Friday and Sunday? Count on your fingers.”

Gary held up a hand and began to count. “Friday . . . Saturday . . . Sunday. Three.”

“You don’t count Friday. From Friday to Saturday is one day. And from Saturday to Sunday is two days.” Dr. K held up his hand with a peace sign. “Two.”

“Yeah, but Friday is one whole day. Saturday is one whole day. Sunday is one whole day. One plus one plus one is three.”

“No. You don’t count the days. You count between the days. One plus one is two. Two. Besides, it’s not like he was crucified at midnight Friday and rose at 11:59 Sunday.”

“Yeah, but if I’m Friday, you’re Saturday, and Jim is Sunday, then there’s three of us. That makes three days.”

“Yes, but you’re counting the days wrong. Today is Friday. In twenty-four hours it will be Saturday. In forty-eight hours it will be Sunday.” Jim was watching the exchange between his best friend and the crazy doctor. Dr. K looked at him. “Help a brother out here?”

“My name is Paul. That’s between y’all.”

“Never mind.” Dr. K waved him off. “The pill works for forty-eight hours. Then you come back to life.”

“So he’d be just a corpse for two days?” Jim asked. “What fun is that?”

“No. You would have full cognitive and motor function. Your nervous system would shut down, and autonomic function would cease.”

“Autonomic function?”

“That means you’d stop breathing,” Jim said.

“Among other things.” Dr. K nodded. “Your heart would stop, your bowels, your breathing. You would have to blink intentionally.”

“Cool.” Gary nodded.

“No, that is not cool,” Jim said. “Look, Dr. K, thanks, but we’re not interested.”

Something in the doctor’s lab coat pocket beeped. He had opened his mouth to say something, but looked in his pocket and pulled out what looked like a hybrid between a walkie-talkie and a cell phone.

“Hello?” The man listened a moment, nodded, then said, “I’ll be right there.”

Dr. K looked at them and said, “My customers are particularly early.” He held up a finger as he left the room. “Stay right there. I’ll be right back.” He came back immediately and grabbed the cooler, closing the lid. Then he was gone again.

“All right, I’d say this place has to have some sort of rear exit. I suggest we find it,” Jim said.

Gary looked at him. “Why are you in such a rush to leave? Dr. K’s cool; he wants us to try his antideath pill.” Gary held up the container. “He forgot this.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Okay, on the off chance he isn’t goofing on us, what do you think the odds are that an anti death pill works?” Jim stressed the words “anti death” for effect. “This guy’s a quack, a snake oil salesman. The only legit drug he has in the whole place is probably weed.”

“What happened to you, man? You used to be the boldest of us all.”

“Is that why you brought me here? Because you thought I was so bold I’d be dumb enough to take unknown drugs off a complete stranger?”

“Nah, man. He’s not a complete stranger. I vouch for him. Like I vouched for you. That used to be enough.”

“Yeah, it used to be. Back when I didn’t mind getting kicked out of school or getting sent to boot camp. I grew up, Gary. Just because you vouch for him doesn’t make him legit. Do you know what compounds are in those pills?” Jim pointed to the open container the doctor had left in the room with them.

“No.”

“Do you know that you won’t drop dead the second you pop one of those in your mouth? Do you know?”

“No. I don’t know.”

“And do you know if this doctor actually went to an accredited university and attained an actual PhD in any of the sciences?”

Gary’s mouth was a grim line. “Okay, Matlock, I get the picture.”

“No, you don’t. If he came back in here with more drugs, you would happily take them. What do you know about this guy? Where did you meet him?”

“He redid some siding on my dad’s house.”

Jim barked out a laugh. “So the scientist you would take drugs from also works on houses on the side?”

“He found him on Angie’s list.”

Jim narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

“Doing what?”

“Being dumb. Is this intentional? Are you looking for me to be the voice of reason? You asked what happened to me, but what happened to you? How are you this naïve?”

“Wait a minute. Stop. I brought you here because you’re my best friend. Dr. K is a good friend of mine too. However we met. And no, I don’t know everything about him, but I trust him. We’ve hung out. Like you and I used to. I miss you, man. And I thought it would be cool for us to just get out and do something together. Ever since you and Mel—”

“Are you going to start that again? Leave my fiancée out of it. She has nothing to do with why we don’t hang out.”

“Right. Because you are so into dog shows.”

“This again? This again?” Jim growled and shook his fists in the air. “You know, when you’re in a relationship with someone you care about, sometimes you do things you don’t necessarily want to do. It’s called compromise. She does it for me. And another thing, when was the last time you—”

Jim was cut off by the sound of a gunshot. They both looked in the direction of the plastic curtains, and when he looked at his friend again, they were both clinching each other’s shirts.

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Blind Date A Book 2020 – Book #23

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The material (chapter) in this post is copyrighted by the author and may not be used or copied in any way without the author’s permission.

 

Chapter 1

 

Mississippi Gulf Town Trailer Park Ravaged by Redneck Vampires – Warning: Nudity in This Issue

 

They rolled past the first two burned out doublewides before Jackson Wrath turned off the headlights on his Buick. The bad brakes whistled to announce their stop on the gravel path four dark and ruined trailers later.

Cull Staples stepped out on the passenger’s side first, hoisting the bulk of his camera and a tall flash which accounted for half the weight. The support handle on the side had the girth of a metal baseball bat. He had switched from film to digital back before he stopped shooting weddings and switched to crime scenes. Even after twenty years of snapping paranormal and unexplained stories for the tabloid, he still felt leaving film behind was his biggest betrayal.

Jackson pocketed the keys and slammed the driver’s door with a crash worthy of a bank vault. A spare ignition key sat under the back edge of the driver’s mat. They both knew about it, if it ever came to that.

Cull rounded the front bumper with his camera up and ready. Jackson fell in beside him and unclipped the mini mag light from his belt, but kept it off and lowered to his side because that’s how Cull wanted it in these situations.

“You know the joke about vampire stories, right?” Cull lowered to one knee and flashed two pictures like bolts of heat lightning.

Jackson blinked away the spots in his vision. “No, I don’t think so. Six or seven years of these road trips and I swore I had heard every story and joke you knew to tell. You must have found a new one between surfing porn sites, I guess.”

Cull lowered the camera, but then raised it to snap a third of the same curled aluminum peeling off the side of a trailer like an open wound. The flash revealed the corner of a sofa and crushed cans inside the opening. That damage could have been old, but digital photography and creative editing knew no bounds.

Cull stood and they resumed their stroll. “No, I only go to the site with your mother on it. Stick with what works.”

“See, that joke I’ve heard at least a dozen times. You stick with it, too, even though it doesn’t work.” Jackson pointed to the left. “How about this shit?”

Cull stopped and squinted. All he saw was a hanging cactus hooked to a porch which had pulled away from the door to the trailer tilting at a sickly angle. He almost asked Jackson to ignite his flashlight, but then he saw it too.

He blasted off five bolts of lightning and then walked right up under the thing to take a sixth and seventh shot. Jackson remained on the trail and turned to watch the deeper shadows around them.

Twists of rough bristle like a rustic broom head formed what could have been arms, legs, and head of a figure within a hoop of wood, twisting from the disembodied porch. “This is classic, man. It’s like a throwback to that Blair Witch stuff. Readers will be creeped out by this and not know why.”

“It’s probably a gnarled-up dreamcatcher coming apart in the humidity,” Jackson said. “Let’s see if we can find something we couldn’t fake ourselves in the office.”

Cull stepped out and they followed the curve of the path by more abandoned and collapsing structures. The metal skirts folded open on most, revealing wheels and webs underneath. He snapped a few wider shots as they walked. “I’m sure we’ll fake a few more once we get back. It is soupy tonight, speaking of humidity. I could do without the mosquitos, too. Maybe a real vampire will come along and the mosquitos will leave like in the movies.”

“Is that a thing?” Jackson waved his dark flashlight in the air. “Maybe he’ll exude cold off his undead flesh and we’ll cool off from ninety degrees and a hundred and five percent humidity at ten o’clock at night.”

“Ten o’clock at night.” Cull wagged a finger on the hand not holding the camera. “The joke about hunting vampires.”

“Good. Can’t wait to see how this ends up being about my mother.”

Cull grunted a laugh and then said, “In all the vampire movies, the angry villagers hang around deciding what to do about the vampire in the castle until it’s dark. Then, they get torches and pitchforks ready to take him on after he wakes up. If you’re not dealing with glittery heartthrob vampires, why not hunt them during the day? Stupid to go at night.” Cull panned the scene with the lens of his camera without taking a shot. “But here we are. Two stupid villagers.”

“Yeah, we got lost. That’s why we’re here at night.”

Cull clicked his tongue. “Well, that and night pictures are more creepy.”

“We can doctor pictures to make day look like night and to make the shots look creepier,” Jackson said. “Better than real life.”

“Now there’s the hidden truth behind every issue of Hidden Truth since the heydays of the roaring 80’s,” Cull said. “No imagination.”

“Shit. In the eighties, I was still in high school and you were still trying to be a legit nature photographer, right? We missed the heydays they’re always talking about.”

“Yeah, all our greatest failures were still in front of us.”

“Did you hear the one about the two guys who decided to split the cost on a high class–”

A piece of sheet metal blew out from the corner of a trailer near the column of a suspended air conditioner unit. Before the piece hit the ground, the shape soared out in the air over the trail in front of them.

Cull brought up the camera and fired off blast after blast following the motion without taking time to aim. The deer’s hooves connected with the ground and crossed in two bounds. Cull followed it until it vanished around another corner.

“Jesus, good jump scare,” Jackson said, “but it’ll still look like pictures of a deer. You’re back to your dream of nature photography. Congratulations, Cull.”

“Thanks, asshole. One of the pics will probably be blurry enough to ‘Bigfoot’ ourselves a nice vampire.”

A porch light flipped on and the door to a trailer a couple lots ahead on the right opened. The hinges crackled and the chain clapped against the top of the door. A heavy woman with unruly, long grey hair in a pink bathrobe emerged at the top of her wooden steps.

“Are you two here about the vampire attacks?”

“If she ends draining us dry with her fangs, this will be exactly how I want my career to end,” Cull whispered next to Jackson. He raised his voice to say, “Uh, yes, ma’am. We’re with Hidden Truth Magazine.”

“Really? I used to read that back in the eighties. Thought you guys went under.”

Jackson whispered, “Her eighties or the 1980’s?”

“They don’t carry you at the Stop-N-Shop anymore. You should call them and tell them you’re still around. Especially if you run this vampire story. People around here would read that.”

“We’ll do that. That’s good advice. Thank you.” Cull took a step toward her. “Would you mind giving us the story here?”

“Is there money in it?”

Cull cut his eyes at Jackson and then rolled them. “Yes, always. As soon as the story runs, they always cut the big checks for all our contributors.”

“I only have warm beer on account of my fridge being out again, but you can come on in.”

As they walked toward her porch where she held the door, Jackson bowed his head and said, “Is there a joke about two tabloid reporters being invited in by the only old woman in an abandoned trailer park?”

“Yeah, we’re the joke, as usual. Last one out alive writes the touching memorial for the other.”

Cull sniffed. “That no one will get to read at the Biloxi Stop-N-Shop.”

They stepped into the darkness of the trailer and she closed the door behind them, leaving only a harsh shaft from the porch through the square of glass on the door. The room smelled of dirty laundry and wet mold.

She cracked on the switch and the fluorescents flickered up with a struggle.

The sofa, crushed beer cans on the floor, broad stains which flattened and hardened the carpet, the open refrigerator with black spots radiating out from the plastic seals, and of course, the picture of a forlorn Jesus staring up into a brown and tan sky. This disaster was decorated like a hundred other trailers they had been in before and wasn’t out of place with the other husks of homes which made up the abandoned park. Abandoned except for her, of course.

Jackson sidestepped away from the door and the woman. “Why are you still here?”

“You mean with the vampires coming around?” she asked. The top of her robe parted on wrinkles, liver spots, and deep blue veins.

Jackson couldn’t make himself look away. “Sure.”

“My home is my home. It isn’t much, but it’s mine. Can’t give it up because monsters want to take it. Besides, I think they’ve mostly moved on to feed other places.”

Cull took a picture of the living room sprawl and then sat on the sofa. Dust billowed and sliced through the air and pale light. “You must be quite brave to stand your ground like this. You opened the door and stepped right out when you heard us. We could have been more vampires, you know.”

She shrugged and more sagging boob came free. “We’re always standing up to something, ain’t we? If it isn’t the vampires, it’s the government.”

“You mind if I get a shot of you for the story?” Cull lifted the camera off his knee by its baseball bat handle.

She patted the front of her robe and looked down without closing the breach in the halves of the pink cloth. “I’m not really presentable.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Cull said. “This is a story of a survivor standing her ground against the monsters. You look like you’ve won a hard fought victory.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Jackson looked from her blue veins to Cull. “Your story and your image will help others face these monsters. Vampires don’t stop. They’ll just hit another innocent trailer park and then another. Probably all along the Gulf.”

Cull pointed at Jackson. “That’s right. Then, who knows? The rest of the Bible Belt? People have to know and they have to see someone like them who stood up and won. You’d be saving people probably. A real hero.”

“Who can be presentable after fighting off the undead like this?” Jackson patted her shoulder.

“Well, I guess.”

Cull lifted the camera and she placed her hands on her hips. One hairy thigh showed as the robe parted farther in her stance. The flash strobed as Cull knocked off a set of pictures.

“We’ll need you to sign a release before we go so we can run these great photos of you,” Jackson said. He glanced at forlorn Jesus averting his eyes to the dusty sky. It seemed to Jackson the perfect answer to What Would Jesus Do in a situation like this.

“Of course.” She spoke through clenched teeth as she held her crooked smile for Cull.

Cull lowered the camera. “Those were great.”

“Tell us what happened here,” Jackson said.

He sat on the couch next to Cull as she began. “They came down out of the sky. They went after the younger ones first. The children and the pretty girls in their cutoffs so high up their asses that the pockets showed out from the bottom and the bikini tops instead of shirts.”

“You’re still here,” Cull said. “They missed at least one of the pretty girls.”

“Stop.” Her belt slipped the knot and Jackson saw she had a least one C-section below the fold of her belly. She hadn’t shaved her legs, but it looked like she took the time to shave elsewhere. “Some of the men tried to fight them the first few nights, but they didn’t do well. The police didn’t believe us and the families that were left tried to run for it. Some of them made it, but not all.”

“What did they look like?” Cull adjusted the angle of his flash.

“Hairy. Most had beards. Big and burly. Couple of them wore camo and hunter orange. Baseball caps too. Mostly Braves caps. They had fangs, too, of course. I’m thinking they may have been mostly locals what got turned and formed their own coven here, you know? Real good ole boys turned vampire, is what I’m saying.”

“What are police saying about the disappearances then?” Jackson asked.

Cull snapped a few more pictures of her open robe. She clutched it closed in the middle, but didn’t cover the parts she might have meant to. Her nipples were two different shades of brown. “They don’t believe it. Or they’re covering it up to avoid the bad press.”

“Good thing we’re here to tell your story,” Jackson said.

“And the check.” Cull snapped another picture. “Don’t forget the big check when the story runs.”

“Right. That too.” Jackson scratched his nose. When he placed his hand on the arm of the sofa, it felt greasy, so he pulled it back to his knee. “Maybe the police are in on it, you know? Like working with the vampires or covering for them for some reason.”

“I hadn’t considered that.” She lost her grip on her robe. “How big of a check are we talking about? I have a lot of repairs around here on account of the vampire attacks.”

“Right. Well, that depends.”

She stared at Cull with her hands on her hips. “Depends on how good my story is?”

“And how explicit the pictures are that we come back with.” Cull waved at her and then the door to the trailer. “The damage. The evidence of the attacks. The mystery. And the witnesses. It’s a modern audience, looking for edgy material.”

“And you guys are losing readership what with the Internet and the Stop-N-Shops dropping you, right?”

Cull cleared his throat. “That’s right. Explicit or gory are our bread and butter. If it bleeds, it leads. If it horrifies, the money flies. If we see the stuff, the check is enough. That might as well be the letterhead at The Hidden Truth.”

“You guys still pay for the nudie bits in between the stories then?” She opened her robe. “Started that in the nineties when people stopped reading so much. I remember that. Maybe that’s why the Stop-N-Shop didn’t carry you anymore.”

“It works for the online version of the issues.” Cull lifted the camera and she held her hips without protest.

“Is standing here good?”

Cull took his pictures in deliberate flashes with pauses between.

“Do you want me to keep telling about the vampires then?”

“Of course.” The back of the camera muffled Cull’s voice. “That’s why we’re here.”

“One of them got this twenty-year-old with fake boobs down on the ground and started tearing at her clothes. Others dropped on her and started draining her from every side and every tender spot you can image. There were others still around. Humans, I mean. They just watched it happen. They watched them do that to her. She fought and screamed at first, but then, I think she was starting to like it.” Her fingers went to her nipples down near her deep navel and she stared through the wall above their heads.

“That’s great,” Cull said. “Keep going. Can you turn for me while you talk, Dear? Yeah, that’s good.”

Jackson scraped his tongue along his teeth and the roof of his mouth, but couldn’t seem to clear a greasy film which reminded him of the arm of the couch. He shook his head and stared down at the mini mag still in his hands and never turned on.

“You guys want one of those beers? They’re warm on account of my fridge breaking though. How soon did you say that check would come?”

“Soon. Soon. Do you want a beer, Jackson?”

“I’ll pass for now. Don’t want to break up this great story.” He saw her toes and hairy shins over the flashlight as she finished her turn for Cull’s camera. One of her toenails was black and ready to fall off. Another was polished purple with red glitter, but it was the only one adorned at all. “Probably frontpage stuff, don’t you think, Cull?”

“You know, a story like this? I bet it will be. That’s a big payout.”

“Okay, well, she was on the ground then … naked … and all of them was on her, like I said …”

“Oh.” Jackson leaned forward by Cull’s ear as the lady continued her story. “Don’t forget to get her name before we go.”

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