Steamy Screams: Anthology of Erotic Horror by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blood Bound Books
Published: 2011-09-16T23:00:00+00:00

Dead Deanna

John McNee

I didn’t plan for any of it. I just got in the truck and I drove without thinking about why or what for. And when I got to Buster’s, I just sat there in the lot, hands at ten and two, knuckles white on the wheel, and I waited. I didn’t think, I didn’t plan. I couldn’t get the fog clear long enough. The only thing I knew—all I could feel—was pure, hot rage.

It wouldn’t fade away, it wouldn’t leave me alone. And it had total control.

It was ten when I got there. I sat watching the door, waiting for the place to empty out, for people to go home. It was just before midnight when the last couple stumbled out of the bar, into the last car in the lot that wasn’t hers and drove away.

I climbed out then. There was a toolbox full of blunt instruments in the flat-bed, and a pistol in the glove compartment. I left them where they were and walked calmly through the doors.

All the tables were empty. Ernest Tubb was playing on the jukebox. Deanna was alone behind the bar.

“Hello, handsome,” she grinned. Six hours spent on her feet shilling beers and she looked fresh as the spring. Not one golden hair out of its place. “Shot and a brew?”

I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure what would come out of my mouth if I opened it. So I kept my jaw clenched, crossed the floor and took a stool.

She set a bottle before me. “I’ve been hoping you’d come around,” she said. “I’ve missed you.” She laid her hand on mine and I pulled it back.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” I said, finally finding my voice. It sounded mean.

That feline smile of hers widened and the hand I’d rejected went to her neck, fingers sliding along the collar of her shirt. “Nothing you couldn’t fix,” she answered, hand sliding a little lower. “I’m guessing you finally realized little Lucy never had it where it counts.” She popped a button on the blouse, showed me a little more breast than she’d shown the customers. And she’d shown them plenty.

“Stop it,” I said, not sternly enough.

She cocked her head to one side, looked me up and down, and whispered: “I’ll get the door.”

I gritted my teeth and took a swig from the bottle as she rounded the bar. She didn’t look at me, but did her best hip-sway walk to the door. She was wearing her favorite too-short denim skirt. Any man who dared to watch her long enough would eventually find out she didn’t wear panties. She slid the bolts firmly into place and turned back to me, fixing me with a cool, considered gaze. “Well?”

“You’re crazy,” I said.

She laughed and came back to the bar. “It’s just us here, Ray. You don’t have to keep up the act.” She climbed up onto a stool and sat down on the bar, perched there cross-legged, looking down at me.

“That’s rich,” I said.

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