Read The Bleeding Season for Free Online

pot.  “I can’t believe you’re giving me shit today.  I do the best I can, Toni.”
    She finally turned from the window and leaned back against the sink.  “That wasn’t a slam.”  Suddenly she was wide-eyed and innocent.  “Not everything is, you know.”
    I sipped my coffee.  Lukewarm piss.  “Think I’ll take a shower.”
    “Do you want breakfast?” she asked.  “I have to run to the store but we have some eggs.”
    I glanced at my watch.  It was only a little after eleven but seemed much later.  “No, I’m all set.  I just want to get clean and sit down, go through some of Bernard’s things I brought home.”
    “Everything all right?”
    “We’ve got some questions, but I suppose that’s always the case when someone takes their own life.”  I reached around her and poured the coffee into the sink then put the mug on the counter.  She smelled vaguely of coconut and some other soap-induced scent I couldn’t quite put my finger on.  “You’re not surprised he did it, are you?”
    She recognized it as more statement than question but responded with a subtle nod anyway.  “I’m sorry he did it,” she said softly, “but not surprised.”
    “Why not?”
    “Sometimes life is harsh.  Not everyone’s cut out for it.”
    “You never really liked Bernard much.”
    “I didn’t know him that well.”
    I studied her eyes.  “You’re an awful liar.”
    She left the counter and strolled to the table.  “Let’s not do this, OK?”
    “You knew him for years too.”
    “And I’m sorry he died, Alan.”  She snatched her purse from one of the kitchen chairs, slung it over her shoulder and faced me.  “But you asked me if I was surprised.  No, I’m not.  Bernard was a strange guy.  He lived at home with his mother until she died, he never had a girlfriend or any sort of relationship I know of with a woman—a man or anything else for that matter.  He sold cars for a living without ever seeming to realize he was a walking caricature of a used car salesman, and while he could be sweet and was never anything but nice to me we both know he had a penchant for stretching the truth and being evasive.  There was something inherently creepy about him, Alan.”
    She was right and I could think of nothing to say in his defense.
    “He was also very sad,” she continued.  “You could see it in his eyes, if you bothered to look for it.”
    “Right,” I said, glaring at her now. “If only I’d bothered.”  The nightmare had crept back into my mind and I was weakening against its resolve.  I’d always had nightmares—even as an adult—but nothing like this, nothing that refused to let go even once I was fully awake.  My hands were shaking again and I felt for a moment like I might collapse.  I gripped the counter as casually as I could and felt my weight shift against it.  Toni stood staring at me with those big brown eyes, the natural curves of her figure concealed beneath a baggy cotton sweat suit.
    “You’re finding an argument behind every word I say.”  She moved closer long enough to give me a peck on the cheek.  “Take a nice hot shower and try to get some rest.  I’ll be back in a bit, OK?”
    Before I could agree or disagree, go along or scream for help, she was gone.
    *   *   *
    I’d washed my face and thrown on jeans and a sweater but hadn’t bathed before I left to meet Rick and Donald, so the hot water pulsing from the showerhead felt great.  Wrapped in curtains of steam, I threw back my head and let the water cascade across my face and shoulders, savoring the quiet time, the peace.
    It was short-lived.
    The nightmare was back, replaying in my mind, and this time I allowed it to come, lost in the hypnotic warmth and resonance of surging water.
    The ticking of that damn clock is driving me insane.  It’s one of those fancy desk clocks, the kind with a sketch of the double globes on it; you know the type.  It’s at least ten feet from the bed but in