Remember Why You Fear Me by Robert Shearman Read Free Book Online Page B

to him like a baby cuts down a little on the ruggedness but I can pretend I’m good at pretending I’m so good at it. Sometimes I get him to smoke a whole pack in one go to see if he’ll be sick, and sometimes he is. And at other times we’ll make love. And when he’s not busy with the eating and the smoking and the sex he’s got a job to keep him occupied. He sits in his bedroom and writes me letters. Just to let me know what he feels for me, to show me I’m his one and only. This is his latest:

    and they’re getting better, I don’t accept them unless they’re neat and tidy. I haven’t given him a pad yet, and I’m not sure I ever will. Writing on toilet paper is slow work, but it makes you really think about what you want to say. And you have to be careful, because toilet paper breaks so very easily.

DAMNED IF
YOU DON’T
    “I want to make a complaint.”
    And Martin felt a thrill of courage, and for just a moment the first sensation of actual happiness since he’d arrived in this God-forsaken place. Here he was, always rather a timid man—both in the bedroom and in the boardroom, which is why he’d never accomplished much in either, but Moira had never complained, bless her, and even if he’d never had the smarts to rise to managing director like everyone else his age at least he’d never been sacked or demoted or what was the word they used now, yes,
reassigned
, no, they’d always kept him on, he was just too solid to lose. Solid, that’s what Martin was, steadfast, reliable. But timid. Never one to rock the boat. And yet, here he was, all five foot three of him, squaring up aggressively to someone who must have been at least eight foot tall. And that wasn’t even counting the horns.
    Of course, Martin realized, in that split second when he felt so brave, he wasn’t being as brave as all that. He’d chosen this demon specifically. Yes, he was eight foot tall, but that was distinctly diminutive for a demon since the rest of them were much larger and more ferocious. And there was a blond tuft around the demon’s horns which made him look almost endearing.
    The demon turned both of his red rheumy eyes on to Martin. He didn’t encourage him to go on, but neither did he
discourage
him, which was all to the good. Martin floundered anyway. He’d been so intent on summoning up the nerve to start complaining he hadn’t given much thought on how to continue.
    “It’s my roommate. I’m not happy with my roommate,” said Martin. “I didn’t even know we’d be
getting
roommates. I haven’t shared a room with anyone in forty years, not counting Moira. And Moira was bad enough with her snoring, I used to have to wear ear plugs. I don’t suppose I could have a room to myself? No, okay, too much to hope for. But if I’m going to be here for a long time, and I think that’s the idea, I should at least get a better roommate. Not that one. It’s just . . .”
and here he ran out of words for a moment, and then found a feeble conclusion, “. . . not on.”
    The demon looked as if he were going to say something very cutting, then changed his mind, deciding that eternity was long enough as it was. “Martin Travers,” he boomed.
    “You know my name?”
    “I know everyone’s name. Your roommate has been especially selected for you.”
    “Right,” said Martin. “I see. Right. And how . . .” and he felt a bit of the old fire coming back; he’d come this far, he might not get the courage again, “how exactly was he chosen? A lucky dip or, or, or what? I mean, I’m just saying. I don’t think there was much thought to it. That’s all.”
    “Your roommate is very clean,” said the demon.
    “Yes.”
    “Doesn’t smell. A friendly personality. Snores much less than this Moira of whom you speak.”
    “Right. Good, I’m sure . . .”
    “Frankly,” said the demon, dropping some of the booming cadence from his voice, “you’re in Hell, and you could have done a lot worse,