Phoenix Read Online Free Page B

intersection . The Suit stopped to look both ways .
    Click - drag . Click - drag .
    This time , instead of continuing on his way , he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a long knife . He didn’t turn around . Staring straight ahead , his hand gripped the handle , the blade pointing back . There was still no traffic , pedestrian or otherwise . Smaller details started coming into focus . Overgrown lawns , debris scattered over the road , the rear end of a car sticking out of the side of a house where its previous driver had crashed .
    Click - drag . Click - drag .
    The Old Suit suddenly spun on his heel and drove the blade of the knife through the forehead of a woman . She wilted like the neglected flowers in all the surrounding yards . There was something wrong with her , other than being dead .
    She had been dead already . Now she was dead again .
    She was dressed in jeans and heels , or rather , a heel . Somewhere along the way she had lost one . The shoeless leg was broken and twisted at an awkward angle . That explained the click - drag sound she had made while following The Suit . Her clothes were caked with old blood , though how much of it was hers and how much belonged to someone else was hard to say . Her eyes were black and sunken .
    The Suit bent and jerked his knife from her skull . He wiped it on her pants , slipped it back in its sheath , and straightened . He took a deep breath and looked all around . The slight breeze ruffled his graying - blond hair . He nodded to himself and continued down the sidewalk , disappearing in the distance .
    Brad’s eyes fluttered open. He wheezed and
made a noise like a dog’s chew toy each time he took a breath. His
hands moved to his hair and he pulled it, his eyes clamping shut
and his gasping turning into quiet sobs. He rolled over and curled
into a ball. He spent the rest of the night in the fetal
position.
     
    * * *
     
    "You should probably start looking for a
job." Mort sat across from Brad at the kitchen island, sipping
coffee.
    Brad peered over the top of the morning
newspaper. He’d accepted Mort’s sludge without argument this time
and was working on his third cup. "Are you serious?"
    "Why not?" Mort shrugged. "Can’t keep sitting
around here or at your place waiting for something that may or may
not happen. I know you’ve been living off your savings, but that
won’t last forever. And before you bring it up again, no you should
not play the lottery or take a trip to Vegas. So don’t
ask."
    "Aw, c’mon. I think the PowerBall is up to
twenty-five million this week. You could finally build that
bubble-home you’ve always wanted. But you’re right about Vegas.
Remember what happened the last time you were there?"
    "That wasn’t my fault."
    "How was that not your fault? Did your
clothes just magically fly off your body?"
    Mort stared back.
    "Though you do look cute in a boa." Brad
wagged his eyebrows.
    "Brad."
    The corners of Brad’s mouth couldn’t help but
twitch at that. "Besides, I think we may have more important things
to worry about right now."
    "Oh, I know. You think zombies are
coming."
    "I didn’t say zombies."
    "You said dead people. Same thing."
    "I didn’t say dead people, either."
    "Yes, I believe you did."
    Brad slapped the paper down and gritted his
teeth. "It could all be metaphorical, you know. Sure, we agreed
those guys in suits are probably real, but the rest of it? C’mon,
really? There must be some kind of hidden meaning, because what I
saw isn’t possible." He flipped his wrists, straightening the
newspaper, and pretended to go back to reading.
    "Your real-time premonition with that flower
shop girl was real. That was going to happen with the guy in the
alley," Mort reminded him, then sipped more coffee.
    "Hmm," Brad grunted. His eyes scanned the
Sports page. He refused to get pulled into a what-if conversation
again.
    "Alright," Mort said. "So we both agree the
men in your dreams are real. Don’t you think we should start