Love Minus Eighty by Will McIntosh Read Free Book Online

started up beneath the crèche, a whooshing, whistling sound that grew higher in pitch and then stabilized, and a separate deep thrumming that Rob felt in his lurching belly.
    Winter opened her eyes.
    Her pupils were fat disks, devoid of awareness, staring into eternity. Rob pulled back, leaned out of her field of vision, his breath coming in gasps as Winter blinked once, twice, in slow motion.
    “I can’t—” Rob whispered. He stood to leave as Winter’s eyes rolled to look at him, her head perfectly, unnaturallystill. Her eyes were focused now—focused on him—and they were wet with terror.
    “Hi, Miss West, my name is Robert.” He licked his lips. His mouth was horribly dry.
    She opened her mouth. Nothing came out but a hiss of air, as if her mouth was one of those spigots that inflate your tires that you still came across, out beyond the suburbs. He watched her recently frozen tongue struggle to form a word. “Do you work here?” When he was searching for her crèche he’d heard other women speaking, so he wasn’t startled that her voice was a deep, rolling, androgynous croak.
    “No. This is the first time I’ve ever been here.”
    She closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering strength. “I’m scared. I want to go home.”
    Rob pressed his hand over his mouth; his chest hitched spasmodically. “I’m so sorry.”
    Winter narrowed her eyes like she was trying to see Rob better, like he was far away. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t understand. You’re my first…”—she struggled for a word—“visitor.”
    Her first “date,” she meant, but she didn’t want to call it that. Rob couldn’t blame her.
    “What day is it? How long have I been here?”
    “About three weeks.”
    “It feels longer.” Her speech was coming easier, maybe as her lips and tongue warmed, but the awful, empty gargling quality of her voice persisted. “The woman who works here told me I’m supposed to talk to you, get to know you, not talk about this place.”
    “No, that’s okay. I’m not…” He trailed off, the words clogging in his constricted throat. He was going to say, “I’m not here for that,” but then Winter would ask why he washere, and he’d have to say, “Because I’m the one who ran you over.”
    “What’s your name again?”
    “Robert. Rob.”
    “Hello, Rob. You’re not catching me at my best.” She laughed, or maybe it was a sob. “What do you do?”
    “I’m a musician.”
    “What do you play?”
    “The lute.” He took a deep breath. He stammered, starting and abandoning a half-dozen sentences. How could he broach something like this? It needed to be led up to, he couldn’t just blurt it out.
    “Aren’t I the one who should be nervous?” She smiled, clearly trying to put him at ease. He was a wreck, blinking rapidly, his breath coming in shaky gasps. He closed his eyes, feeling like an idiot.
    “I promise you, the only reason I don’t seem nervous is because my heart isn’t beating.” Winter’s own words seemed to startle her. Her mouth moved soundlessly, her eyes darting around as if seeking an escape route. “I’m really dead, aren’t I?”
    He didn’t want to answer, but what choice did he have? “Yes.”
    “She wouldn’t tell me much about the accident, when she woke me for the orientation.”
    Somehow Rob’s heart found another gear. “Do you remember it at all?”
    “No. Not at all. She said I was hit by a small vehicle? Does it say how I died, in my profile?”
    Rob checked the timer in the wall above her head. He’d used up nearly four minutes; the remaining seconds were ticking away much too quickly. He needed to get to the point,or this would be pointless, and nine grand he couldn’t afford would be wasted.
    He just had to say it, let it spill out. He inhaled sharply, looked directly at her face, his heart pumping madly, and said, “There was—you were jogging, and a Scamp came around the corner too fast. The driver wasn’t paying attention.