A Pinstriped Finger's My Only Friend by Robert T. Jeschonek Read Free Book Online Page A

pulse--push faster through my capillaries.)
    "Dude!" I jab his palm hard. "Get a grip!" It's one of my favorite sayings.
    (Of course it is! I'm part of a hand .)
    I jab him again for good measure. "It doesn't matter if this makes sense, does it? You just have to deal with it!"
    Judd eases his eyes part-way open. "But it's all crazy . Or I'm crazy."
    "No duh, big brain!" I jab him again, digging in like a freakin' snake fang . When I strike, I hear him inhale sharply between his teeth.
    (That'll learn ya!)
    I think he's paying attention now, so I press the attack. "Here's a fact, Jack! You still gotta get by . Either that or give up . What's it gonna be?"
    Judd's quiet for a moment. Then, I feel him tense up. "Can't believe I'm letting a pinky finger tell me what to do."
    (Where's my witty retort, you may ask? Oh, I've got one, and it's a lulu . Bet your ass the dude's ears are gonna be burnin'.)
    (Except before I can let him have it, he distracts the fudge outta me by pushing off from the ceiling.)
    The two of us sail downward, aiming straight for the pile of string. As we go, Judd flips himself around so we're coming in feet-first...
    (Instead of head -first or even worse, pinky -first!)
    ...so maybe he's getting the hang of it somewhat after all.
    (I credit my kick-butt pep talk! You know it rocked .)
    The floor landing turns out to be just as soft as the ceiling one. We touch down in a spongy material with plenty of give, so the impact is zero.
    "Okay, nice job." I say it grudgingly. "You get major props, dude."
    "Thanks." Judd inhales deeply and nods. "I still smell lilac."
    "Then answer the damn phone!" I jab him again.
    He stands over the pile of string and gives it a good, long stare. "How am I supposed to do that ?" He nudges it with his toe.
    (Do I have to do everything for this guy?)
    "Pick up a piece," I tell him. "Talk into it."
    "Talk into the string ?" Again, he nudges the pile.
    And the pile nudges back.
    (It does more than that , actually!)
    Suddenly, a length of white string leaps off the pile and wraps itself around his foot...
    (Fast! It moves really fast !)
    ...and then it keeps going , winding around his ankle, lower leg, upper leg...
    (Why isn't it stopping ?)
    ...then his abdomen, torso...
    " No !" Judd's voice sounds panicky, falling-off-a-cliff hysterical. "Oh my God, no !"
    (All my awesome pep-talking flies out the window .)
    (But that's the least of my worries at this point!)
    ...then the string spins around his chest, his shoulders, up his neck , down his arms ...
    (No!!)
    ...heading straight for his hands...
    (No, please, not the fingers ! Not the fingers, man!)
    ...and then we're both engulfed. Judd and I are wrapped head to toe...
    (Finger! Make that head to finger !)
    ...in white string, wound up like mummies, one big, one little...
    (Size doesn't matter and don't you forget it!)
    ...cut off from the outside world by this lilac-smelling shroud.
    We wait there a moment in darkness, our movements restricted by the binding string. Judd's heart is beating incredibly fast, working overtime under the stress.
    Then, all of a sudden, we are swept by a storm of sensory impressions. They wash over us from all directions, transmitted by the string, creating a mosaic of messages that rely on neither sound nor sight.
    We feel/taste/smell her presence, the presence of Kaela coming through the line. We smell/feel/taste her intentions, and we understand instantly what she wants.
    The smell of lilac perfume. The taste of sweet kisses. The touch of warm skin against puffballs.
    She wants a date . She wants it tonight .
    (Heck of an interesting date, if you ask me!)
    The message isn't lost on Judd. The sensory mosaic gets through to him. "Not tonight!" He still sounds on the verge of panic. "I don't feel good!"
    Maybe Kaela doesn't hear him, because she keeps on sending. If anything, the sensory impressions become stronger, more detailed.
    (More enticing .)
    ( Her version of enticing, that is.)
    "How do I tell the