Are You There and Other Stories Read Online Free

There are no gaps in your memory.”
    It was true. Norman remembered everything about his first love, for instance. Nevertheless she was gone.
    “Well he took something. A lot of somethings. And I want them back. My mind is full of holes.”
    “I know. But really there’s only one thing missing, trust me.” Scout barked twice, and the driver tucked the cab into the curb. “This is the place,” Scout said in Norman’s head.
    Norman leaned over and looked out the passenger window on the dog’s side of the cab. A brick hotel, six stories high, loomed over the sidewalk. A sign above the lobby entrance said: THE MIDTOWN. Norman threw the door open, and Scout hopped out ahead of him. They stood together on the sidewalk. THE MIDTOWN leaned so much it appeared in danger of tumbling its bricks into the street.
    “Top floor,” Scout said. “Room 606. Lots of luck.”
    “You’re not coming?”
    “Confrontations give me a runny stool. Also, I’m a pacifist at heart.”
    Norman looked up the cock-eyed face of the hotel. A raft of clouds drifted under the moon.
    “I won’t really hurt him,” Norman said, “not if he returns what’s mine.”
    “I’m not worried about you hurting him. Watch yourself, Norm. This is a rough town.”
    Scout started walking away, nails clicking on the paving.
    “Hey, where are you going?”
    “Lady’s Room, sugar. I’ll be here when you get back.”
    “You mean if I get back, is that it?”
    “Fiddle-de-de.”
    *
    The lobby smelled like boiled cabbage. The desk clerk had a Poe forehead and dirty cuffs. He leaned on his elbows, reading a newspaper, and never looked up. A ficus drooped on the brink of death in a cracked terracotta pot. Dry, crumbled soil littered the carpet. An out of service sign hung on the elevator cage. The door to the stairwell bent noticeably to the right. Norman regarded it, head tilted. He entered the stairwell. It appeared to corkscrew into infinity. He started up, counting floors as he went. On the sixth he stopped, even though the stairwell continued.
    Standing outside Room 606, Norman hesitated, then knocked.
    Nothing.
    He knocked again, harder. Waited. He could hear movement on the other side. A minute passed, then the door opened. A man in a sleeveless white undershirt and suspenders stood before him. The man’s huge gut stretched his undershirt out like a beach ball.
    “What?” he said around the dead stub of a cigar. Behind him a ratty easy chair angled toward a television set with a screen that bubbled out like a fish bowl. The current program was a distorted test pattern.
    “You have something of mine,” Norman said.
    “What is this, a gag?” the man said.
    And that’s when Norman noticed the comic book rolled up in his fist. Norman couldn’t see the cover, but he knew it was The Death Master’s Vengeance.
    “Let me see that,” Norman said, pointing.
    The man acquired a cagy look. “Who says I got to?”
    “I’m a lawyer,” Norman said. “You can be charged with receiving stolen goods. Did you know that?”
    “This ain’t stolen goods, shyster!”
    Norman, who stood several inches taller than the man and besides was now in full possession of his most reliable rage, grabbed the comic book and unrolled it with a snap. It wasn’t The Shadow ; it was Betty and Veronica . The issue was titled The Sirens of Riverdale and featured a cover illustration of a nude, dog-collared Veronica Lodge reclining on a golden throne reading Sartre’s Being and Nothingness .
    The fat man snatched the comic back.
    “I told you I ain’t got your Shadow ,” he said, and slammed the door in Norman’s face.
    Or tried to. Norman blocked it with his foot, then shoved it open with both hands, sending the fat man reeling into the room.
    “Who said anything about The Shadow? ” Norman said.
    “You got nerve busting in here!”
    The room smelled of ancient farts. A fly-specked fixture dimly illuminated the mess of beer bottles, dirty clothes, newspapers—and