The Quicks, the Deads, and Me by Don Hilton

Author:Don Hilton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Paranormal, new adult, interracial, nonbinary, trans, questioning, serial killer, ghosts, mythical creature
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Published: 2024-05-29T00:00:00+00:00

How about that? Full frontal nudity. No prompting required. Given a couple days apart, with just a little bit of fun between. Who knows what might happen next?

Pushing limits or pushing buttons. Decisions, decisions.

Chapter Seven

KAZ

“Baby, you’re late this morning! I was getting ready to wake you when you came out your door. You think you’ll make it to work on time?”

“Yes, GeeGeema, but I have to hurry.”

“Hugs, first, then hurry.”

“Sure.”

“Why are you so late?”

“Dunno,” I shout from the kitchen as I put Preston’s food on the floor and get a cup of water. “It’s been a long time since I’ve slept through my alarm. I guess I had a really good night’s sleep.”

“About time,” she replies. “Sleep does more than any medicine. You be careful riding to work. Do good once you get there.”

“Yes, GeeGeema. Bye-bye.”

“And I love you too!”

*

I ride as fast as I can to the store and arrive sweaty and almost, but not quite, late. I’m wearing my baggiest jeans with the phone in the front pocket. I’m hoping Mazie will text.

I check the job list. Restock. Yes! Inside, where it’s cool and I can take my time.

Restock isn’t all easy. You have to move and break open the heavy boxes and cases, scan inventory, and shift things on the shelves so the new stuff goes in the back. I hate it when customers reach past what’s in front! I’ll be straightening displays, answering about a million questions for shoppers, and cleaning up any messes little kids make. Doing price checks too. I’ll be busy, for sure.

I recheck the list and see that Angel has written herself in every one of her shifts for Carts and Parking Lot. I smile. Sarah must be throwing a whole bunch of spare change out there!

*

A couple hours later, I’m at mangos and peaches, checking for softness, bruises, and shifting stock.

“Excuse me, please.”

I turn to find Mazie, standing right next to me, dressed in black, except instead of a T-shirt, jeans, and boots, she’s wearing an untucked man-tailored shirt with the two top buttons undone and a mid-thigh skirt. In her high heels, she’s taller than me.

“I…I…”

Her black eyes dance. She smiles, red lipstick parting to show her teeth—no gums. She is so beautiful.

She straightens her back ever so slightly and nods her approval when I follow along.

“Can you tell me where the sweet pickles are?”

“I, uh.”

“Are you all right, dear?” She touches my shoulder.

It’s like electricity. “Yeah. All right. Who?”

“Sweet pickles?” Her whole face is laughing.

“Sweet pickles,” I repeat. My brain starts working, sort of. “The middle of aisle five,” says my mouth on automatic pilot.

“Yes. I was over there but must’ve missed them. Could you show me, please?”

I take the lead with her heels click-clicking on the floor a half-step behind. As we round the cap at the end of breads, I see Mr. Amolsch looking at us, or her, from frozen foods on the far side of the store.

“Mazie!” I say under my breath. “What are you doing here?”

She giggles, talking low.

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