Three Twisted Stories Read Online Free Page B

the wrong color for her complexion. Her eyebrows were plucked into shaky lines over her eyes. Why did she do that to herself? She’d never be pretty, but she could pass for all right if she didn’t paint herself up like that.
    His wife said, “That sounds exciting. I wish I could go.”
    Charlie picked up his knife. He cut into the steak. Instead of taking another bite, he looked at the knife.
    This is how you end it
.
    That’s what the homeless man had said right before he died. He had told Charlie he was going to end up the same as him, and then he’d driven a knife into his own belly.
    “Charlie?”
    Charlie looked up from the knife. His wife was standing in the kitchen doorway. She was wearing her bathrobe. Pink foam curlers were in her hair. His daughter was gone. He looked out the window. The sun was down. He couldn’t remember when that had happened.
    “Charlie?”
    He put the knife down beside his plate. The pat of butter on his mashed potatoes had congealed.
    “Are you going to tell me what happened today?”
    The ice was melted in his scotch. He drank it anyway. “Nothing happened. I’m just stressed from work.”
    “You always say you’re stressed.” She frowned, but her eyes softened around the edges. Fine lines spread at the corners. She was getting older. Most days, he thought this was a bad thing, but right now, all he could think about was that no matter how shit Charlie’s world could be, this woman in front of him always made sure that he had a safe place to come home to.
    “Charlie?” Her voice was pitched low. “Are you all right?”
    Charlie gritted his teeth, not because the question annoyed him but because he had the sudden urge to tell her what had happened outside the dry cleaner’s. The fear. The blood. The terror he couldn’t shake even when it was over.
    Salmeri had told Charlie to leave before the cops got there. Charlie wasn’t about to argue. He’d thrown the suit into the back of his car and peeled out of the parking lot. Between the bloodand the hot sun, the flesh of his hands had been glued to the steering wheel.
    He’d driven around for hours, finally pulling to a stop on the gravel road across from the Lenox Square shopping mall in Buckhead. Charlie got out of the car. He wiped his hands on the grass. He spat on them to try to get the blood off.
    When he reached into his jacket pocket for his handkerchief, he found the knife. Six-inch blade. Pearl handle with gold rivets. A finger ring at the guard. The pommel had a deep slash across the bottom like the knife itself had been cut.
    This is how you end it
.
    Charlie didn’t know how the knife had come into his possession. He didn’t remember picking it up from the ground. He didn’t remember wiping off the blood. He sure as shit didn’t remember putting it in his pocket. The blade was sharp. Why hadn’t it sliced through the cloth?
    You’re gonna end up just like me
.
    What the hell did that mean? That Charlie was going to be homeless? Fuck that. He’d been homeless before. If he ended up on the streets again, he’d do the same thing he did the last time: fight tooth and nail to get back on top. No way would Charlie Lam ever put a knife in his own gut. He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a coward.
    His wife put her hand on his shoulder. “Charlie? Charlie?”
    “I got work to do.” Charlie stood up from the table. He grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter and he walked out the door.
    Charlie forced his jaw to unclench as he walked toward his girlfriend’s apartment. His palms felt sticky. His sweat had rewet the blood on the Buick’s steering wheel. His hands were never going to be clean again.
    “Charlie!” The door flew open before he could knock. She was always happy to see him.
    “You look good,” he said, because she did. Even at ten o’clock, even without knowing he was coming over, she still made an effort.
    “You look good, too, baby.” She started kissing him before he had time to shut