Fixation Read Online Free Page B

check the answering machine. It lived on my bedside table, another little driftwood piece by Jack, this one less Lovecraftian and more Coastal Living . The light was blinking so I hit play and took advantage of my victory over inertia to drink some more wine while listening to the messages. I had a robo call from some marketing company; my best friend and co-worker Sharon telling me about her latest blind date; and Jesse, calling from his convention. I could barely hear him over the noise in the background so I rewound the message, turned up the volume, and replayed it.
    “Hey, Maya. So, calling you from Dallas.” He sounded half drunk. Loud laughter in the background. That was some convention. Sounded more like a bar. “Sorry to cancel our date at the last minute, but you know this is just business—”
    “Jesse? You coming?” Okay, definitely a feminine voice there. My spider senses started tingling big time.
    “Yeah, baby, just wait a sec.”
    It sounded like Jesse made a half-assed attempt to cover the phone, but I still heard every word. How much booze had he consumed at—what, 6 p.m.?
    A petulant whine in the background. “Jesse, you promised me more champagne in your room...” Spider senses were pretty much throbbing by now.
    “It’s just business, baby, hang on a sec!” A brief pause as Jesse collected himself. “Sorry about that, Maya...just one of the LPs. She’s had a few too many, you know? Just business.”
    I let the rest of the message drift over me, a profession of affection and promises as empty as my wine glass, which I had drained while listening to Jesse’s bullshit. Then I deleted the message, refilled my wine glass, and stuck in a DVD of Zorro the Gay Blade , my cinematic version of comfort food. Luna curled up next to me on the couch while I sipped chardonnay and watched George Hamilton swing his hips and flap his wrists “like a sissy boy”, and tried not to think about the fact that my boyfriend was more than likely a lying, cheating, son of a bitch. I really didn’t even need my psychic talent to figure that one out.

Chapter Four
    I woke up the next morning, still on the couch, with the DVD menu urging me to make a choice and watch the movie, scenes, or special features. My mouth tasted like a bottle of chardonnay had crawled in there, mated with a wad of cotton, and died. Ugh.
    Hitting the off switch on the remote, I sat up very slowly, morbidly aware I’d slept in clothes coated with sweat, dust, and dried leopard shit. A shower was imperative—after I drank a couple of gallons of water to counteract the dehydration hangover smacking me upside the head.
    I had vague recollections of uneasy dreams, sweaty fever dreams filled with dark green jungles, lambent eyes glowing in the shadows, coiled snakes, constant peril coming from all directions. Who would have figured chardonnay to be such a harsh mistress?
    Standing up was painful but I managed to lurch into the kitchen and down a few glasses of water along with a couple of ibuprofen. I started a pot of coffee and pulled out a can of cat food. It was well past time for Luna’s breakfast.
    “Luna?”
    I pulled on the tab and peeled off the top of the can, a sound that normally brought Luna running from whatever corner of the house she’d sequestered herself in, but there was no sign of her.
    A vague unease filled me as I spooned out Seafood Treat into her bowl with no sign of her. “Luna?”
    I went into the living room and looked under the coffee table, one of her favorite hideaways. She wasn’t there, so I systematically checked all the other nooks and crannies in my little house, trying not to panic when I tried to touch her mind and felt a fog of pain and exhaustion.
    I finally found Luna in the bedroom. She lay under the bed, huddled up against the wall, her breathing so shallow it barely registered in the rise and fall of her chest.
    An hour later I sat in the veterinary emergency room with Jack, who I’d pulled from