I was almost out the door when the phone rang. I almost didn’t answer it. I glanced at the caller ID; it was Todd.
My ex-boyfriend.
My mom must have called him and told him I was sick. Great. Just great.
“Hey Lacy,” he said, the moment I connected the call. By the sound of his voice, he must’ve thought I was already dead.
I cringed. “Hey, Todd. Wow, this is a surprise.” I tried to put some pep in my voice, although I really wasn’t feeling it. Or him.
“So, uh, yeah, how’ve you been?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer that.
“Aw, shit,” he said, suddenly catching his words. “Damn, Lace. Sorry. That was a stupid question.” He sighed, and the phone went quiet for so long I thought he’d hung up.
“Todd?”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah. I’m still here.” Quiet. Again.
I tapped my finger against the entry table, liking the little click-click pattern my nails made against the cherry-wood. I had saved up for three months to buy that table—hell, it had taken me longer to buy that table than I had left to live. Ironic, don’t you think? “Todd, I appreciate you calling, but honestly—”
“Yeah. No…I mean, I get it. I don’t wanna hold you up or anything, but it’s just…damn, Lacy. I had to call. Like, how are you, really?”
I puffed out a stream of air, causing my lips to vibrate against each other, and sighed. Not now, I thought. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated the sentiment. I really did, but time was of the essence here. Besides, what could I really say? How was I doing? Let’s see: I started a business as a paranormal investigator, got attacked by a vampire-werewolf-demon dude—something—he sucked out my life force, and now I have only three weeks left to live. I’d love to chat, but I gotta go to Arizona and try to get my mojo back from the dude…before I die. How ‘bout you?
“I’m okay,” I said.
He sighed, and I could’ve sworn I heard him sniffle. Wow, Todd was really concerned. “Aww, Lace,” he said, “I’ve just been thinking a lot…about us. How things went down, you know, toward the end. I…I just had to tell you I’m sorry.”
I nodded, hardly believing my ears. Todd Hamilton rarely apologized to anyone. But I guess there was nothing like hearing your ex-girlfriend has come down with some grave, mysterious illness to jump-start the guilt you should have felt...oh, at least six months ago.
Todd had been my major high school crush, and when I graduated early and started college at sixteen, he just couldn’t take the separation. Okay, so maybe he just couldn’t take the idea of my success…or my moving on. It wasn’t like I was a brainiac or anything; I just hated high-school. With a vengeance. I never fit in. I mean, boys really liked me (thought I was pretty), which meant girls pretty much hated me, but the situation at home with my parents and my dad’s affair was just so nasty. It was just a bad time all around, so I tested out of a lot of classes early and took some college courses online. Mostly psychology and stuff. By the time I was ready to pick a major, I only had two years left to go, so I finished up at the local university and kind of wandered from meaningless job to meaningless job, not sure what I wanted to do next.
Todd and I had tried again my last year at ASU, and things had gone a little better, until he accidentally fell into bed with my roommate.
And that, as they say, was that.
“You know, Todd,” I said, “I really would like to talk about this, but there are some things I really need to do. Can I call you back when—”
“Can I come see you, Lacy?”
I rolled my eyes then. Listen much? “Today’s just not good,” I said. “Maybe next week.”
He sighed his disappointment, and the phone went silent again.
Okay, so I would be dead before I got Todd off the line.
As if the conversation wasn’t enough of a distraction, the doorbell suddenly rang. For heaven’s sake, what now?
“Todd?”
“Yeah.”
“I gotta go. Someone’s at the door. Can I call you back?”
He sounded irritated and oddly relieved at the same time. “Yeah, sure, Lace. I guess. I mean, you will call me, won’t you?
“Sure,” I said.
“Lacy?”
“Sure,” I repeated, becoming impatient.
“No, I mean it, Lacy. Please. I can’t live with…without making things right between us. You know?”
Well wasn’t that just lovely. Todd couldn’t live without my forgiveness; while, I, on the other hand, just couldn’t live…period. I sighed. Now was not the time to start an argument. Besides, I needed to keep my energy up. Stay positive. “Okay. I’ll call you soon…I will.”
“Promise?” he said, his voice sounding years younger and almost insecure.
Oh, hell. What if I couldn’t call him? What if I was dead somewhere and buried under a big rock in the desert? Oh well, I couldn’t account for everything. “Yeah, I promise.”
“Okay,” he said in a hurry. “Call me then. And take care, alright?”
“Sure, Todd. Later.” As I hung up, I felt a rush of sudden nostalgia and missed him like crazy. I missed our laughter and our playing…and the few times that were good. I missed not having a familiar shoulder to cry on while I carried the weight of the world on my shoulders.
I missed being kissed.
The thought sent a shudder up my spine. I can’t really explain it other than to say that I just all at once knew that if I were to kiss Todd, or anyone else for that matter, the death that was inside of me would seep into him. Them. Whoever. The point was, I was toxic, and the realization saddened me as much as it startled me—so I had to live the rest of my days without any love or affection, then? Not even the pretense of emotional closeness…
I brushed a tear from my eye and straightened my shoulders. The doorbell was ringing repeatedly now, which only meant one thing: It was Mom. Perfect. Just perfect. As if Todd hadn’t been enough.
I stomped to the door with long, determined strides. I would get rid of her swiftly and be on my way. I plastered an everything-is-peachy smile on my face and swung open the door. “Mom, you know you should call before you come. I happen to be on my way out, and—”
Oh. My. God.
What was that?
My mouth dropped open.
Squirming in my mother’s arms, shivering, wagging its tail, and yipping was a small bundle of brown-and-beige fur with long, fluffy ears. One of those Lady-and-the-Tramp dogs. A puppy. And not just any puppy, but the cutest little thing I’d ever seen.
My mom’s eyes were all red and swollen, which meant she had been crying, but she had the same forced-smile on her face as I did, so I decided to just go with it. Pretend everything was fine.
“What’s this?” I asked, reaching out to scratch the puppy behind its ears. It strained its neck to give me better access, and then it licked my hand like I was covered in peanut butter or something. I laughed. I mean, genuinely laughed. No wonder animals were used so successfully in therapy.
Mom’s eyes lit up like stars. “He’s for you.” She held him out to me, and I took him gently.
“Hello, little guy,” I crooned in one of those ridiculous childish voices. “You are a handsome little boy, aren’t you?” I scratched his ears energetically. “Yes you are. Yes you are!” The puppy almost came unglued with glee.
“I thought he would cheer you up,” Mom said, looking extremely pleased with herself. “And I bet he’ll help you get better soon, too.” She reached out to give him a little scratch of her own. The tiny guy was irresistible.
Deciding to ignore her last comment about getting better soon, I held my puppy up and looked him in the eye. Once again, he practically wriggled out of my arms with excitement as he covered my face in wet, slobbery kisses. “Skippy,” I giggled. “You think everything is covered in peanut butter, so I’m gonna call you Skippy.” It was clear that the dog strongly approved of his new name by the way his tail doubled-up on tempo.
My mom sighed, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Okay, well maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, but she definitely knew she had done a good deed. She immediately started shuffling large bags full of puppy toys and accessories into my apartment, and as I stepped back to let her in, I couldn’t help but think how sad this scene really was.
This adorable new puppy had found a brand new home full of love and adventure.
For three weeks.
four
A quick trip to the store for some extra kibble, rawhide bones, and chew-toys, and Skippy and I were on our way. Once we’d gotten fifty miles or so down I-17 heading north, I was able to turn up the tunes, put the pedal to the metal, and release some serious pent-up energy. Skippy and I were singing at the top of our lungs to Old Time Rock & Roll…that kind of music just soothes the soul…I reminisce about the days of old…
Okay, well, I was singing, and Skippy was staring at me in that special way that dogs do that says they love you, but they think you’re crazy. Still, you get the point—it was a good moment. The C-word was barely on my mind.
Of course, that’s when the red-and-blue lights appeared in the rear view mirror, and the cop who was trailing me in an unmarked car turned on his sirens.
I didn’t get it. I could not have been going more than ten miles over the speed limit, so what?
What!
What did the world want from me now?
I had half a mind just to floor it and give the cop the chase of his life. After all, what did I have to lose? But then, I figured if I went to jail, there would be no one to feed Skippy and no chance of finding the guy in black…or getting my life back.
I turned on my blinker, as if that might make a difference this late in the game, and obediently pulled over to the side of the road. I was rummaging through the glove box, searching for license and proof of insurance, when the cop made a quick exit from his unmarked and approached my window.
I knew right away that something was wrong.
There was just that sixth sense, like when the hair on the back of your neck stands up and something in your mind screams danger.
I had already rolled my window down and was quickly rolling it back up when the guy reached for the handle to my door and opened it. “Get out of the car, Ma’am.” He spoke in a not too police-like voice.
“Excuse me?” I said. My voice shook. “What seems to be the prob—”
He snatched my arm and yanked me out of the car like I weighed no more than a child. My purse, license, and registration fell to the ground and tumbled beneath the car. I have to admit, I was getting pretty tired of strangers manhandling me. “What’s your problem?” I demanded.
“Come with me.” He dragged me from my car toward his blue, unmarked Chevy.
Oh, this was really bad. What if he wasn’t a cop at all, but some kind of law enforcement impersonator?
“I want to see your ID,” I said, trying to yank my arm free and get my feet moving beneath me at the same time. “Would you just wait!”
He turned to growl at me, and I froze.
Okay, I was pretty sure cops didn’t growl.
In fact, last time I checked, humans didn’t either. I felt my eyes bug out of my head as I scrambled for balance. “What are you?” I whispered.
“Don’t you worry about that,” he said. “Just get in the car.” He opened the back door and tried to shove me in, and that’s when I decided I’d had enough. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not Wonder Woman or anything. In fact, I’m not that big; but I’m not that small, either. I’m about five-foot-six, one-hundred-twenty pounds, and I have a wicked drop kick when I need it.
During my short two years of high school, and the full, four years of college after that, I spent a lot of time at this eclectic self-defense class. This sort of hole-in-the-wall dojo, just around the corner from our house. I say eclectic because that was what it was: an assorted mix of martial arts, boxing, and yoga. Yeah, I know; it was as weird as it sounds. However, the point of the class was to achieve balance in life; you know, stay centered and that sort of thing. Mastering self-defense was simply taught as a means to an end, an alternative way to get there. In other words, I learned how to harness my chi and outsmart a mugger, too, if I had to.
I raised my arms high above my head, spun around in a swirling ballerina move, and dropped low to the ground, all in one pretty smooth motion. As expected, the cop lost his grip on my arm. I had just started to jump up and run when I felt his fist slam into my back. My first instinct was to protect my spine from injury. Unfortunately, my second instinct was to introduce myself to the pavement.
Hello, asphalt; hope you don’t mind my hanging out for a while.
Holy cow, my head was spinning. And that seemed odd, in and of itself, since he had struck me in the back.
Matted, greasy strands of hair met my gaze when I looked up—it was his, not mine—and the cop was bent over double, staring at me with an idiotic, puzzled look on his face, like he didn’t understand how I ended up on the ground. Hmm, I wonder!
“You all right?”
Really? Like he was suddenly filled with all this concern? “What do you think?” I snapped.
He frowned, and his thin lips grew even thinner. “Get up,” he ordered.
I rotated onto my hands and knees to try and stop my head from orbiting in circles. “What do you want from me?” I was stalling. Trying to think of my next move. Well, actually, my next series of moves. One of the things our instructor Mike had relentlessly drilled into our heads was to stay calm in a crisis: Think and plan several of our moves ahead.
Try to control what was coming next.
I was about halfway through my ‘grab-the-balls, twist, and when he doubles over, bite his nose, and gouge his eyes out’ sequence, when something far simpler occurred to me. I turned over and planted my bottom on the asphalt. Looking up with big doe-eyes—yeah, God had blessed me with a rare shade of hazel almond-shaped peepers that usually got men’s attention—I forced a sheepish smile. Damn, you’re ugly, I thought, but that’s not what I said. “Officer, do we really have to do this the hard way?”
Before he could answer, I unbuttoned the top three buttons of my blouse and flashed a generous amount of cleavage for his viewing pleasure. Okay…okay…so it wasn’t that generous, but there was some cleavage, and I had great skin. “I’m sure whatever it is you want,” I continued, “we can find a compromise.” I flashed my pearly whites in an impishly flirtatious smile—thank you Mom and Dr. Harley for two pain-filled years of junior high, full metal braces.
The fake-a-cop hesitated and his eyebrows creased.
Confused, I thought.
This is good.
I opened another button on my blouse, instantly plunging from sexy to slutty, but whatever—it was my plan, and I was sticking to it—and I batted my long eyelashes at him. “Well?”
He smiled wickedly, displaying a left front-tooth that appeared to be rotting at the root—could this guy get any more disgusting? And then he knelt down in front of me. “Yeah, baby” he whispered, sounding all porn-star meets Godzilla. “Why don’t you come here and show me what you have in mind…and we’ll see what happens from there.”
Yuck! What. A. Jerk.
I scooted forward on my knees, and then, only because I didn’t want to scare him (or tip him off that it was a trick), I linked my hands behind my back and made myself completely vulnerable. You know: ‘all come and get me big guy’ type of thing.
Apparently, he had no intentions of playing nice. He anchored my arms in his knobby hands and dug his dirty-fingernails into my skin.
Breathe, I told myself. It won’t be long now. Just keep breathing.
I drew in a deep, stabilizing breath, making sure my lungs were filled to capacity, and then I held it. Trying to appear calm, I slowly licked my lips and leaned in for a kiss.
He bit like a trout on a worm, fixing his reedy lips to mine, hard. In fact, I think he trie
d to fuse our mouths together before he shoved his tongue all the way down my throat. Dang, did he want to make out or interlock our jaw-bones?
Didn’t matter.
I slowly released my breath into his mouth—two can play that game, I thought—and then I waited to see what would happen, while I continued to suffer through the kiss.
It took maybe thirty-seconds before the cop started to choke. And I’m not gonna lie, his reaction really freaked me out. After all, whatever was eating him from the inside out had come out of me first.
He immediately let go of me, reached for his throat, and flailed his arms wildly in my direction, almost like he was reaching out for help.
As if!
I scrambled back out of his reach.
His lips turned blue, and his face grew really, really pale. And then things got super creepy, super-fast. His skin started to dissolve away. It just peeled off in layers like his flesh was made of ash, and his bones began to pop out from beneath his peeling flesh. His clothes ended up in a pile at his feet, but at least I didn’t have to worry about seeing his disgusting naked body because there was no body left to see.
The guy was a skeleton.
And the skeleton quickly became a heap of bones on the pavement at my feet.
I say at my feet for the purpose of illustration because, at this point, I was out of there. No need to stick around for act two, if there was going to be one.
As I ran for my car, I couldn’t help but wonder: What in the world had the man in black breathed into me that day in my office? Whatever it was, it was no wonder I had the C-word. As I dropped to the ground beside the driver’s-side door of my car and shimmied slightly beneath it—I needed to get my purse, license, and registration; not exactly the kind of thing you want to leave at a crime scene—I suddenly noticed a shivering ball of fur staring at me with huge fearful eyes.
Skippy.
Somehow the puppy had climbed out of his box, made his way out the door, and hidden beneath the car. I grabbed my things, threw them on the front seat, and got back down on my hands and knees, straining to see my dog. “Come on, boy,” I crooned in the sweetest voice I had.