*Corman

Why would Celia message him?

Celia: Can I ask you a big favor?

Bubbles bounced as she continued writing without waiting for him to answer. On any other day he would have been thrilled. A message from Celia, the hottest woman in the company? That would have set his mind racing to know what he could do for her.

Today, though, all he could think about was how much his ass itched.

And what had he done for the dark-haired beauty at the bar last night?

Celia: I heard you were great at

He waited. Great at what? RPG? Frogger?

Celia: Sorry. Heard you were great with electronics. Can you fix my IPad?

What? His hand shook. An attractive woman was actually asking him to fix her IPad? Corman turned to look back at the police station, his lies echoing in his head about why the black leather-clad woman came up to him in the bar. Something in the universe was messing with his life, and he wanted it to stop.

Celia: wait

Celia: sorry

Celia: I just heard you were fired. So sorry but I know you'll find a new job fast. Good luck!

Oh.

He was fired?

His phone buzzed with another message. His boss...

Tom: Do not return to the office. Consider yourself without a job at YouHealth.

Yes. Yes, he was fired. By SMS.

He had to wonder who would lead his team now that he had agreed to change the choose-your-own-adventure game format to pick one of three doors of death and misery. Probably Jill. She would code like a mad woman through an all-night stint and then take two weeks off. Yeah.

Time for a burger to take his mind off his unemployment.

He headed for his car in the lot across the street. As he unlocked it, a woman with loosely curled brown hair and wearing a fitted, dark green dress strolled along the sidewalk, heels clicking. She paused, turned towards him, and lowered her large sunglasses. He gulped. Whoever she was, she did not belong in the middle of his town. Her dress screamed Evening Out in the Big City and her long legs screamed Femme Fatale from a ninety's comics. She didn't just keep staring, though. She lifted her nose and made a little circle as if she was sniffing the air.

She was much too gorgeous to notice him—he could be honest with himself—and if she was sniffing in his direction then he didn't want her getting closer. The universe was really messing with him.

He dropped into the seat of his car, skin crawling from her gaze.

***

Twenty minutes later, he shoved a huge bite of his burger in his mouth while perusing the topical ointment aisle of the pharmacy.

Juice ran down his chin and he swiped at it with the napkin tucked under the bun to help hold the thing together. He scanned a shelf for anti-itch cream, and finally took five kinds since he had no idea what kind of problem he was dealing with. There wasn't a rash. No bugbite. No swelling or tenderness....Just an insatiable, inexplicable itch.

There was only one cash register open, and a line of five streamed behind it. He finished his burger and pulled handfuls of fries from the bag as he waited.

A short, very busty, and generously curved blonde in a man's button down shirt and plushy, pink house slippers, and absolutely no pants (he couldn't see if underwear was a part of her ensemble, but a bra definitely was not) fell in place behind him. There was either dried blood or paint splattering half the shirt. His stomach lurched. She was like a pin-up model for a slasher movie.

Let it be paint. Let it be paint.

Without warning, the image of the man running through his house while wearing only a bathrobe hit his head like an icepick. He stumbled in place, gasping for air.

Blinking, he realized he had dropped half his creams.

As he stooped to gather them, a bare leg came into up-close view.

"Would you be interested in adopting a dog?" the blonde asked, leaning over him.

Was that a euphemism or was she really peddling dogs in the pharmacy?

"No, I'm good. My life at this time doesn't leave room for a dog."

She tipped a bottle in understanding.

He gave her guarded glance, wondering how her day was going. Afterall, she was at the pharmacy for two bottles of vodka, an instant ice pack, and a bag of dogfood, without pants and in a paint splattered shirt....

The line moved forward by one. At least he had his fries to keep him company. The two young men in line in front of him grew louder as they talked.

And Corman knew the subject too well.

"Seriously," the balding one said. "Completely drained of blood. All his organs missing."

"What, like a cult thing?" ponytail-guy asked.

They were both loaded up with chips and candy bars while chatting blithely about the gruesome murder.

"My cousin said it was sick. But in an awesome way. That prick had it coming to him, and his whole place was decorated with body parts and limbs, but dry. Like barely even smears of blood."

"Fuck. Do you think they'll find those two that did it?"

The line moved forward again.

"Hey," Corman said, interrupting. "Would you guys mind not talking about the murder?"

"The hell is your problem? Were you listening to our conversation?"

"I didn't mean to overhear, but it was hard not to," Corman said.

"Actually," pantsless lady behind him said, "I was listening. What are you talking about?"

"The murder? The pedophile creep that was killed the other night in his house. You didn't hear about that?" Baldy asked. "Where have you been? It's been all over the news since yesterday, but I have inside information."

Corman clamped his mouth shut. How much slower could this line be?

"I don't watch the news. I was in Dakota," she said. "Maybe Montana. No, I think it was Dakota. North or South? No idea. So what happened? Someone drained their victim's blood and took all his organs?"

"Exactly. We are talking psychotic behavior." Baldy's eyes widened dramatically. "I would have thought some kind of vampiric copy-cat thing, but that doesn't explain the organs, does it?"

"No, it doesn't." She bit her lower lip. "That's fascinating. It makes me imagine all sorts of things. Tell me more."

"Excuse me." Corman nodded towards the register. "It's your turn, unless I could skip ahead? I really have to be somewhere."

"Oh, yeah, sure, go ahead." Both Baldy and Ponytail were all too eager to let him skip the line to talk to Pantsless.

Corman dumped his five creams on the counter, declined to give his phone number, email address, or to fill in a quick survey of his customer satisfaction, finally paid, and left with three feet of receipt. The parking lot was clear, so as soon as he was in his car, he opened a tube of cream and jammed his hand down the back of his pants. The cool relief was nearly instantaneous.

"Sure you wouldn't like a dog?" a voice asked through his open window.

He screamed, yanking his hand upwards. At the same time, a tiny, scruffy dog was shoved in his face. It bared its teeth at him and growled.

Pantsless leaned eye-level with him, her gleaming blond hair spilling into his car. The shirt top gaped, exposing more things than were legal in public.

Corman lifted his eyes to the ceiling of his car. "I'm really sure I don't want to adopt a dog."

A chorus of barks sounded from the other side of the parking lot. There were at least a dozen dogs straining at their leashes getting themselves tangled up.

"Cat person?" she asked.

"I'm—" He paused. What was going through his head, I've just been fired. I'm embarrassingly single. Plus, I seem to have been an unwitting accessory to a ritualistic murder of a guy who went running and screaming through his house in a silk bathrobe that barely covered his hairy ass before I held him down as a sacrifice. Unwittingly, of course, was all rather complicated. And would implicate him in the murder if he said it out loud. "I'm going through some things right now, but thanks for the offer." He turned the key in the ignition.

"Wait." Her hand was on the windowsill. "Do you need a safe place to stay?"

For several seconds, he debated how to answer. Was he projecting the panic and existential dread that churned his stomach every time he thought about how he helped kill a man, drain his blood and harvest his organs? Maybe the guy deserved it, but that wasn't on Corman's bucket list of things to do in his spare time. And speaking of buckets....fuck.

She flicked a business card to her fingers, seemingly from thin air.

"No, I'm good." He shook his head while his butt cheek screamed for more cream.

"My mistake. I thought I sensed something." The card vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She sniffed inside the car. "Does it smell really nice here, or is that my imagination? Like a tropical vacation...or a piña colada?"

Another gorgeous woman sniffing at him? Nope. Just nope.

"Bye now. Take care." Corman eased the car forward, avoiding hitting her or the dogs on his way to the street.

*** Does Corman maybe need a safe place? I think maybe he does. Hit the star and thanks for reading!!! ***