Pulphouse Fiction Magazine Issue #16 by Dean Wesley Smith

Author:Dean Wesley Smith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: WMG Publishing

Helen was gone by the time David woke, just before dawn broke as was his habit. He dug the grit out of his eyes with the heel of his palm and rolled over with a groan. The crick in his neck and the bruise on his hip testified to a hard night of sleeping on the floor, but he ignored them as he lovingly stroked the statue’s dainty little toes.

“Good morning, darling,” he murmured.

He wasn’t surprised when she didn’t respond. He was surprised he’d expected her to.

He mustered up the energy to stretch the stiffness from his limbs, then rose and padded barefoot into the kitchen to make coffee. As the percolator dripped, he realized he was still wearing yesterday’s suit sans jacket, which he’d thoughtlessly tossed somewhere. He couldn’t remember where. It didn’t matter. He could always buy another suit, but he only had one nymph.

The smell of fresh coffee and a change of clothing into matching sweats revived him long enough for him to sit down at his computer in his office and compose a brief missive to the office. He would be out indefinitely, he said. Family troubles, heaven knows how those go. He directed his messages to be forwarded to the next senior partner down the line, an annoying little shit who bootlicked too much even for David’s taste, but suddenly would be very useful indeed. The bootlicker would be too afraid of screwing up to veer too widely off the main script and embarrass David’s family name. He had precious little else to lose these days.

Chores done, he microwaved a frozen dinner for breakfast and carried it steaming into his office. He ate in front of the statue, regaling her with stories about his triumphs in the office, on the lacrosse field in college, in the romance department. It seemed that every story brought the nymph on the edge of giggling right along with him, her lips curved in that secretive smile just for him. No one else could appreciate his heroics as much as she did. He found himself digging deep for better and grander stories just to see if he could actually make her laugh.

Before he knew it, night had fallen again and the rumble of his stomach reminded him that the last dregs of the coffeepot had grown ice cold in his mug long ago, and the frozen dinner hadn’t lasted all that long. He found fresh candles to light to replace the ones that’d burned out last night, and soon enough, the room twinkled with the comforting warmth of candlelight once again. The smell of burning wick and candlewax chased the cold away as much as the central heat did. He didn’t even feel hungry anymore. Instead, he satiated himself by watching the shadowplay of flames dancing across the nymph’s tender expression until his eyelids drooped.

Funny that he hadn’t noticed the time passing. He hadn’t enjoyed himself so much in, well, forever.

Funnier still that Helen hadn’t interrupted. He’d grown so used

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