Read The_Demons_Wife_ARC for Free Online Page B

hand in front of her nose. “I wish you’d change
the cat litter sometime soon.”
    “I can’t smell
anything,” Sally said.
    Claire sniffed
and said, “The smell’s so bad Mittens has stopped using her litter box,” but
she didn’t want to get off on a tangent, complaining about Sally’s cat. She
couldn’t stop wondering about those texts last night.
    “Maybe I,
like, butt-dialed all of them or something?”
    Even she knew
how ridiculous that sounded.
    “They were all
different…and perfectly coherent.”
    “Wait, you’re
saying I sent a different text each time? And they made sense? Like no spelling
or grammatical errors?”
    Claire was
flummoxed, for sure. Even with Auto-Correct, her friends complained that her
texts often bordered on gibberish, making little to no sense. There was no way
she could explain any texts from last night…unless she had sent them while semiconscious
or unconscious. Maybe the meds the doctors had given her at the hospital had
really walloped her.
    “And none of
them were, like, all garbled and full of misspellings and stuff?”
    That gave her
pause. She always explained that her thumbs weren’t coordinated enough for
texting, and that she preferred talking to a real person on the phone…the way
you’re supposed to.
    “Can I read a
couple?”
    “Why bother?
You irritated the living shit out of me enough last night. I was trying to
enjoy the show.”
    “I’m sorry. I
really am, but I…I never—” Claire held out her hand, shaking it impatiently.
She hoped the new layer of fingernail polish was dry enough and wouldn’t
smudge. Samael was going to be here in half an hour.
    “Come on. Just
lemme take a look.”
    Reluctantly,
Sally picked up her phone and opened up the list. She was still scowling when
she handed the phone to Claire.
    “Hmmm,” she
kept saying as she read the messages in order. For one thing, Sally was right.
There were no spelling or grammatical errors. Each message was clear and
precise with absolutely no “text-speak.” The other thing that struck Claire was
that none of the texts “sounded” like her. The first few were chatty—
    “Hey! How are
you doing? Are you enjoying the concert?”
    “Don’t worry
about me. I’m doing fine.”
    —and could
have been from anyone, asking what her friend was up to. But the tone quickly
changed, and the last few came across as accusatory and more than a little
self-pitying.
    “I don’t mind
being here all alone. Seriously. I’m fine. Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be
fine. Enjoy yourself!”
    The last one
was—“Thanks for nothing. You call yourself a friend? Deserting me when I needed
help the most! I was almost raped, and you weren’t there for me!”—downright
combative.
    “I swear to
God I never sent these,” Claire said.
    “See if I help
you out the next time you need it.”
    “You didn’t
help me out this time!”
    “You want to,
you can delete me from your phone and your friends list.”
    Claire was
astonished. When she had finished scanning the texts—as it turned out, there
were eighteen of them—she stood there shaking her head from side to side, her
mind a roaring blank as she handed Sally’s cell phone back to her.
    “I guess I’m
sorry,” was all she could say, “but I didn’t do it.”
    “They came
from your number. That’s all I’ve got to say.”
    “But I didn’t
write them or send any—”
    This was
getting ridiculous. Sally was primed to fight for fighting’s sake. A sudden
crushing sensation filled her chest as she looked at her roommate. Sure, she
may not be her best or closest friend, but they had been through a lot together
over the last few years—including Sally’s unplanned pregnancy and abortion—and
there was no way, no way, even on the deepest subconscious level, that she
would ever say anything hurtful or spiteful to Sally.
    “I have no
idea how it happened,” Claire finally said, hoping to finish it with a shrug.
    Sally gave her
one last