The Fallen by Celia Thomson Read Free Book Online Page A

guy who came in. Including a few who were gay. Things were very bad indeed when she found herself almost kissing her best friend. Who seemed to be her other best friend’s boyfriend.
    Marisol didn’t help anything by putting the Eurythmies’“I Need a Man” on the shop speakers. Chloe jumped guiltily when she heard the chorus.
    â€œIs it that obvious?”
    â€œHoney, you’re
dripping
hormones all over my nice clean floor.” The older woman smiled at her. Chloe wished her mom was more like her manager. She always seemed to understand Chloe’s moods immediately and unless there was a sale coming up, was often ready to talk and listen.
    â€œWho put on this old shit?” Lania screamed from the shoe section, hands over her ears in horror.
    Chloe and Marisol exchanged “what can you do” looks. “Go get yourself a boy, girl. You’re not concentrating; it’s obvious your attention is elsewhere,” Marisol said in a lighthearted voice.
    As Chloe patiendy ripped through the hem seams of more jeans, she reflected on what her boss had said. Maybe she
could
get it “out of her system.” Maybe she was due for a nice boyfriend.
    Or a visit to Xavier.
    Once Chloe had found the right street, she pulled the crumpled card out of her back pocket. I’
m going to have to get better at this.
She imagined herself in a business suit, somewhere in a steel-and-glass future, shaking someone’s hand and pulling out her own card, all rumpled and greasy. She checked the address against the building. Xavier must have had a little money orhave been crashing with a friend who did: it was a
nice
old house, three floors, dark wood and bay windows on a street with soft green trees and no traffic. Of course, both sides of the street were stuffed with parked cars—rich neighborhood or not, this was still San Francisco.
    The front door was propped open and there was a hand-scrawled note to FedEx posted over the buzzer. The lobby smelled of lemon wood cleaner. There was only one apartment per floor; Xavier had the attic. With gables. Chloe had always dreamed of living in a real old house like this instead of her bug-ugly vinyl-sided ranch. She climbed the stairs, letting her hand trail along the smoothly polished rail.
    But in the half-light of the stairwell Chloe began to question what she was doing: going to some foreign older guy’s apartment by herself at twilight without anyone knowing where she was. He could turn out to be anything: a rapist or murderer. A vampire, even.
    She paused briefly, but an image of herself kissing Paul pushed her forward. I
won’t go in. I’II stand in the hallway and ask him if he wants to go out. Maybe grab a coffee.
    His door was dark wood with molding and a little brass-and-glass peephole at eye height. She raised her hand to knock…
    And realized the door was pushed open just the slightest bit.
    â€œUh, hello?” she called out, stepping back.
    â€œHelp …?
a choked, wheezy voice called from inside.
“Help mer
    Chloe hesitated on the doorstep. It could be a trap. He could kidnap girls and rape them and sell them into slavery and…
    â€œPlease… someone..
    Chloe pushed open the door and stepped inside.
    The apartment smelled of sickness and decay, which was strange against the clean, antique furniture and expensive, modern lighting. In each gable was a carefully designed nook for reading and sitting—
just like I would have done.
Chloe made herself follow the sound of wheezing.
    Lying under the lintel to the bathroom was a very different Xavier.
    He was wearing the same clothes from the club two nights ago, but they were torn and pulled like he had tried to rip them off his body. His face had bubbled up like the rind of a diseased grapefruit. His cheeks and forehead were swollen and red, with white liquid, lymph or pus, oozing out of giant sores.
    â€œHelp—”
He was trying to scream, but his