A Drunkard’s Dream
Pete Tramper fell into bed. Janet slept with her back to him, her long blond hair turned bone-white by a shaft of moonlight.
Another DUI would mean jail time. This time a hit and run. Jesus.
She’d come out of nowhere. Or that’s what he was telling himself.
He looked up at the ceiling. He’d seen her face when it smashed into the windshield. She’d looked directly at him. Long, light-colored hair, dark, Goth eye makeup. Black lipstick. Her teeth broken, bloody.
Pete shook his head to rid himself of the image. Too tired to get up and undress, he climbed under the covers fully clothed. Slamming into that woman had sobered him up a little, but the room still spun furiously.
Janet reached behind her to pull him into a spoon position.
He held her tightly.
What had he ever done to deserve this woman? He knew she’d stand by him no matter what happened. A drunkard’s dream.
He ran his hand down her side, his face buried in her moon-white hair.
Just on the verge of passing out, he heard the telephone ring.
Fuck, he thought, did someone get his plate? But no, if that were the case, they’d just show up here to arrest him. They wouldn’t be calling him, godammit.
He had to know. He reached across Janet, who slept like the dead, and picked up the phone.
Tentative. “Hello?” Up on one elbow over his wife.
“Peter. It’s Janet. I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m not there -”
“Janet?” Peter mumbled.
A hand caressed his cheek then yanked his head around.
Looking up at him, a pair of Goth eyes, glowing red. An insane black-lipped sneer.
He screamed as the cracked teeth opened wide then rose to his throat.