Inside My Shorts: 30 Quickies
Page 10
"My name is Jon Tanner. And somewhere in your beautiful, oak paneled home office, there's a file labeled "Tanner v. Tanner."
Jerry moaned softly. "Oh God!" He remembered Lisa Tanner.
"You fucked my ex Jerry. You remember that, don't you? She told me you fucked her right in your office; right on your desk. Divorce lawyer pushes slutty client over his desk and bangs her until he explodes -- a regular Penthouse letter of the week."
Oh fuck. "Listen Jon, it wasn't like that. She --"
Jon laughed again. Don’t worry; I’m not mad about that. You're not here because you fucked my ex, Jerry. His voice got quiet and there was no laughter for the rest of the evening. “You're here because you fucked me." Jon slid his thumb over the cutter's button and Jerry saw the small, razor sharp blade pop out. No old stains there. All shiny and new.
"You fucked me out of my house."
Jon flicked the blade across the back of Jerry’s hand and pain, unlike anything he had ever felt, exploded on his left side. Part of him was amazed to see only the smallest thin line of blood. The razor had hardly scratched him.
"You fucked me out of my two cars." Snick. The box cutter left a trail of fire on Jerry's right leg. He was beyond noticing anything now, his whole world reduced to red agony and screams.
Jon’s voice went soft. "You fucked me..." snip "....out of everything!" Whisk. Snick.
Jerry screamed and screamed until he had no voice, and then he screamed some more.
**********************************
Jon rinsed off the box cutter and left it on the edge of the sink. Jerry lay on the table, spattered with blood, but breathing. So much to do. It had been an exquisite 10 minutes. Remarkably, Jerry wouldn't even need stitches.
He brought a folding chair into the room, and set it beside the bed. He sat down and gave a small sigh of relief. “Feels good to take a load off.” His shoulders and thighs ached, more from manhandling Jerry from his office to the playroom, than from any of the fun work. He picked up the Swiss army knife from the cart and absently snapped the small corkscrew back and forth, finding the small click it made when folded back into the knife to be quite soothing.
Even in a world overrun with zombies, there were still some things worth living for. Payback, for instance.
CHAPTER 31
LEAK
If there was one word Dutch hated more than anything, it was “almost.” He fought back the urge to punch his computer screen, opting instead for another sip of cold coffee. The morning light felt good against the back of his neck. His dog Daisy, an overgrown red hound, found her own sunny spot and was happily snoozing in the corner. All was quiet. In short, there were no excuses. The book was almost done, but it had been almost done for weeks now. As he’d done for the past three weeks now, he sat down in front of his laptop in the quiet hours of the morning, ready to put the finishing touches on the last chapter. He knew exactly how he wanted the novel to end. It was even all outlined, but the god damned words wouldn't come.
It's just writer's block. Dutch glared at the screen. Give it a day. He gave it a day, then another. Then a week, then two, three; and now, here he sat. No closer to typing “The End” then he was last month. Morning morphed into afternoon and he finally gave up, not one word richer. Daisy yawned and Dutch sighed. He closed the laptop and stretched. It surprised him how tiring not writing could be. Daisy sat up and looked expectantly at him. “I know, I know. Give it a day. Come on, Daisy Duke. Let’s go for a stroll.”
The next morning he woke to find... smudges on his pillow. Dark, black smudges.
They were slightly damp and bled off onto his fingers when he touched them.
“Ink stains. They're ink stains, but how?'
Further inspection revealed they weren’t just the pillow case. There were black smudges on the sheets as well.
That is odd.' He slept in the nude and wrote only on the laptop. His handwriting was so bad that he’d long ago given up writing with a pen. How did ink stains get all over his bed? Another mystery to plague his life, he sighed.
In the bathroom, Dutch repeated the now all too familiar mantra as he peed: 'Today is the day. Today we finish the fucking novel.' Washing up he glanced in the mirror and saw... smudges. Dark black smudges in and outside his ears.
"What the...?" Alarmed, he touched his ear, and wet ink rubbed off on his finger.
"Fuck. Me." This ink was much wetter, fresher, than the smudges he’d discovered yesterday. It looked like someone had snuck into his room while he slept and squeezed a dropper full of black ink directly in both his ears. “I don’t –“
The bedroom phone rang, startling him and causing Dutch to launch into his second all too familiar mantra:
'Please don't be my editor. Please don't be my editor.
"Um... He-- He-- Uh. This is Dutch"
"Where's my book, Dutch?"
"It's nearly done. Scout's honor; and it’s not your book."
"Nearly done means not done."
"Look Steve. I know it's been a few... a few..."
"A few months, Dutch. It's been a few months. I don't understand. What's the hold up? You said you know how it ends. Just end it."
Months? Surely it hasn’t been that long.
Dutch absently grunted agreement, but his mind wasn't on the conversation. Staring at the phone, he realized he couldn’t make out the numbers. His vision was all blurry.
"Listen... Um... Listen....."
Let’s meet for lunch today and see if we can fix this thing together, what do you say?”'
Dutch felt himself start to cry.
"I have to go."
"Go? What do you mean go?"
"I'll call you back today, promise."
"Dutch!"
He hung up the phone and stumbled back into the bathroom. Everything was dark, filmy. His face seemed to swim out of a black pool in the mirror. My eyes! The irises were completely black. “What is happening to me?' He rubbed his eyes furiously, smudging his face something awful. There were ink stains, ink stains on his cheeks. A black tear leaked from his left eye, leaving a dark trail down his cheek.
"I don't under-- under--. What is happening?"
The… the… he couldn’t think of the name for it, but it was ringing again. He ignored it; too busy looking at his fingernails. They were black. He squeezed his thumb and a thick drop of ink pushed itself out from under the nail.
"Why? Why is…?"
Dutch started to scream, but it quickly turned into a dark gurgle. Then there was nothing. Just a dark stain on the carpet, and the words, they never came.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 13
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER 1: BEACONS
CHAPTER 2: BREAKING UP
CHAPTER 3: STUFF
CHAPTER 4: EMPTY
CHAPTER 5: FISHING
CHAPTER 6: FREE FALLING
CHAPTER 7: THOSE WHO WAIT
CHAPTER 8: HOTEL PEOPLE
CHAPTER 9: I’LL BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS
CHAPTER 10: TOP TEN LIST
CHAPTER 11: SOFTLY SHE STEPS
CHAPTER 12: HOUSE CALLS
CHAPTER 13: JAMES & JAMES
CHAPTER 14: LITTLE DRUMMER BOY
CHAPTER 15: NEWS
CHAPTER 16: PROM
CHAPTER 17: ONE POTATO
CHAPTER 18: ROMANCE
CHAPTER 19: THE REVOLUTIONARY
CHAPTER 19: YES DEAR
CHAPTER 20: ZOMBIES
CHAPTER 22: SPIDER
CHAPTER 23: TOUGH LOVE
CHAPTER 24: PLAYTIME
CHAPTER 25: COFFEE
CHAPTER 26: FLIES
CHAPTER 27: FOLLOWERS
CHAPTER 28: SAY WHAT YOU MEAN TO SAY
CHAPTER 29: MISOGYNIST
CHAPTER 30: YOU SAY RETAINER, I SAY RESTRAINER
CHAPTER 31: LEAK