Brain Dead by Eileen Dreyer

Author:Eileen Dreyer [Dreyer, Eileen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Retail, Nook
Publisher: ePublishing Works!
Published: 2012-08-28T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Murphy had survived other mornings after.

This one was pretty typical except for the fact that he didn't have alcohol mucking it up. He was sore in a thousand places, dizzy if he turned too fast, and moving on a par with an arthritic octogenarian. It didn't make a bit of difference to his stomach, which was as much a tyrant as ever. So when he awoke right on cue at dawn, he only managed to stay in bed another couple of hours before venturing out into Leary's kitchen.

Besides, even the kitchen was better than that back bedroom he'd slept in with its stale smells and sad mementos. Murphy couldn't imagine having to live in this house with all its discarded history. He couldn't imagine Timmie Leary moving through it as if it all didn't exist. But then Timmie Leary was a series of contradictions that intrigued an old newsman almost as much as that red-and-green tattoo on her right thigh.

The outside of her thigh, just at panty line, where nobody but a beaten-up drunk lying on the floor could have seen it.

Damn tattoo. Murphy hadn't been actively libidinous in years. It wasn't worth the effort. But he'd dreamed of that tattoo at least twice during the night, even knowing perfectly well it wouldn't do him any good. Timmie Leary didn't want to come within spitting distance of him, and in his more cognizant moments, Murphy couldn't agree more.

If only he hadn't seen the tattoo.

"That's disgusting," he heard behind him.

Murphy probably turned too fast, but then guilt will do that. He grabbed the edge of the old gas stove for balance when the room spun and he saw two or three Learys standing in the doorway in jeans, Marvin the Martian sweatshirt, and bare feet.

His first instinct was that she'd overheard his more objectionable thoughts. Not quite. Her focus was on the eggs that were spitting in her frying pan on the stove.

"Like some?" he asked with wry amusement.

Timmie's smile was not pretty. "I hope you'll be sufficiently warned if I just tell you that not even coffee helps me at this hour of the morning."

He didn't even bother to smile. Just turned back to the stove, picked up the Rabid Nurse coffee mug he'd been drinking his own coffee from, and flipped his eggs.

"Make yourself at home," she said and padded in.

From the looks of her, Timmie hadn't slept any more than Murphy had. Her eyes were sunken again, and her hands trembled. And he was positive she didn't want him to notice. So he didn't.

"I left a dollar on the refrigerator," he said. "Sorry to be so presumptive, but I'm always up long before this."

Timmie groaned. "A day person."

Murphy shook his head, sipping coffee and nudging eggs. "Not by choice. I get up to run every morning. Penance for my sins."

"Which are undoubtedly numerous. Too bad you couldn't jog last night, huh, Murphy?"

He caught the very dry humor in her voice and turned around, properly chagrined. "Considering what mayhem you had the chance to wreak after that.

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