Year's Best Hardcore Horror Volume 2 by Randy Chandler & Cheryl Mullenax

Author:Randy Chandler & Cheryl Mullenax
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-05-31T16:00:00+00:00

A knock at the door wrenched Tate out of his computer screen trance.

“Shit,” he muttered, noting the late hour. He pushed away from the desk and shuffled over to the peephole. He yawned and opened the door.

Cymbria held up a plate of cinnamon rolls. “I made you a special treat.”

The smell smashed into him, neither good nor bad, just overwhelming. He stared at the floor, searching for his words. “Cymbria, what the hell are you doing here?”

“You asked me to come by later.”

“It’s past midnight.”

One eye narrowed as she pressed a finger to the bow of her upper lip. “Too late?”

“Well, yeah.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Or too early, depending on how you look at it. Jesus.”

“Shoot, I’ve never been good with these …” the finger snap again. “Conventions.”

Tate couldn’t help noticing her chalky face, the purple shadows under her eyes, and the way her collarbones punched up too hard under her skin.

“Cymbria, are you okay?” he asked.

“I screwed up.” She shoved a flour-streaked tendril of hair behind her ear. “When you visit, you’re supposed to bring something. It’s polite. But it took longer than I thought and time is like, something I don’t really notice, and I do things without thinking them through, at least that’s what Little Brother says, but he’s wrong, because I think a lot, about all kinds of things, but they’re always the wrong thing, you know?” She thrust the cinnamon rolls at him. “Anyway, here.”

He took the plate and caught her arm as she pivoted to leave. “Wait.”

Her face swiveled back to his, eyes bigger than ever. “I’m sorry, Tate.”

Sorry. The sound of that word coming out of her mouth, the shape of it on her lips. It felt wrong. He never wanted her to say it again.

“Don’t go,” he said. “I was up anyway. Please, come in.”

“I should leave you alone.”

He pressed his thumb firmly into the hot crease of her elbow. “Come in.”

She shivered as he pulled her across the threshold. Once inside, she slipped through his grasp, inch-by-inch, until her fingers glided over his. She clomped across the parquet floor in knee-high shitkickers, paired nicely with her white wife beater, like Johnny Walker and cigarettes. In between, a pink skirt flounced down her legs, and a matching ribbon secured her sloppy ponytail.

Goodbye Big Bird.

Hello Kitty.

“Wow.” She stomped around his living room. “You’ve done a whole lotta nothing with the place.

“It’s a good scotch,” Tate said. “Doesn’t need much. Just a few drops of water.”

“You drink a lot of scotch?”

“Not as much as I’ve served. Before I came to Leighaven, I was a bartender.”

Cymbria mimed a free pour. “That’s always a sexy job in the movies.”

“Yeah, a sexy consequence of an English degree.”

Her mouth turned down. “You like to ruin the fantasy, don’t you?”

“Constant source of disappointment, right here.”

“Didn’t mean it like that.” She gave his arm a squeeze, a simple, tender touch that demanded nothing in return and stirred him more deeply than it should have. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go for it.

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