Fast Lane by Dave Zeltserman Read Free Book Online

hear my heart pounding. I’m pretty sure I could hear hers also. I took a step towards her and then things got kind of crazy. Her body was up against mine, pushing itself hard into me and at the same time twisting itself away. Her hands holding me tight but also punching and struggling. Everything had become dizzy, light, all I could sense and feel and smell was her. The room seemed to flip over. Then we were on the floor, squeezed between my desk and the wall, my lips brushing against hers, tasting them, feeling their warmth. Her body under mine, shivering, struggling fiercely yet keeping me from getting up. Her hands penetrating my clothing, her nails running over my skin . . . .
    I started thinking of Debra Singer and her father. In my mind’s eye I could see them, a fortyish-year-old man pushing himself onto a little girl, and then we became them, myself Craig Singer and Mary the skeleton-thin Debra. A wave of nausea rolled over me. I pushed myself up, breaking free of her hold, and then fell back to the floor, vomiting. I heard her cry out, asking what was wrong. I couldn’t answer. I kept heaving, again and again, long after there was anything left inside me. Through it all I begged her to forgive me, begged her and the baby Jesus and God to somehow let me live with my suffering. Her thin arms were around me, holding me tight, squeezing me. It was so damn crazy. I could feel her body sobbing against mine. After a while I heard her promising that everything would be alright.
    It seemed like an eternity before I could breathe again. I staggered to my feet, breaking free of Mary, and steadied myself against my desk. My whole body was drenched in sweat. My clothes were soaked. I murmured something about being right back and made my way out of the office and down the hallway to the bathroom.
    I groaned as I looked in the mirror. I looked like hell. My eyes were blood red, my face white and shiny wet with perspiration and tears. I turned the cold water on and put my head under the faucet. It helped a little. I tried rinsing out my mouth to get rid of the salty vile taste. All it did was dull the taste a bit. The room had been rocking back and forth and now started to spin. I dropped onto the toilet and lowered my head to my knees and waited until the spinning stopped.
    When I returned back to the office Mary was on her knees scrubbing the linoleum with some paper towels. Her face was flushed, worn out. She saw me and got back up and sat down at the desk. She gave me a worried smile. I went straight to my chair and fell into it. A bottle of rye was mercifully waiting for me. I opened the bottom drawer of my desk and took out the rye and gulped down about a third of a pint.
    When I put the bottle down I saw Mary watching me. “I never had that kind of reaction with a guy before,” she said, trying to keep her smile intact.
    I needed another drink bad. When I lifted the bottle my hand was shaking worse than the time with Craig Singer. Some of the booze spilled on my shirt as I swallowed a few more shots. I took one last mouthful and spat it into the wastebasket, gagging. I still had that taste in my mouth. I felt it all the way down my throat.
    “ I’m sorry, Mary,” I said when I could. “I don’t know what happened. I’m really sorry.”
    “ So you don’t do that with all the girls?”
    I shook my head, trying to clear it. “No, I’d say that’s a first. I guess I started thinking about my last case—about that girl’s poppa sexually abusing her. I guess it just really hit me hard.”
    “ Hard isn’t the word.”
    “ I guess it isn’t.” I started to laugh but my stomach ached too much. I took out a handkerchief and wiped it along my forehead and then wrung it out into the wastebasket.
    Mary was studying me. “You had me scared,” she said. She sounded scared.
    “ I’m really sorry.” I rubbed the handkerchief along the back of my neck and then over my face. I wanted nothing more than to change out