Trauma by Graham Masterton Read Free Book Online

“I’ll tell you something, Bonnie. I’m positive for life. It’s taken me years to find life. And when I say life, I’m talking about creation, and fulfillment, and transformation.”
    â€œYes? I know that. Who isn’t? What do you want me to say?”
    Susan opened her mouth and closed it again without saying anything. She was so upset that she was hyperventilating. “It’s just that—you’re all about death. You walked into the restaurant, and I could feel it. You carry death around with you like a—like you’re
wearing
it. Like a black veil, Bonnie. And I can’t take it. I’m sorry, but I have to tell you how I feel. It frightens me and it brings me down.”
    â€œSo? You don’t want to see me anymore? Is that what you’re saying?”
    Susan was in a mess of tears. She gave an airy wave of her hand, and then she pressed her knuckles against her mouth.
    â€œListen, Susan, if you don’t want to see me anymore, then you only have to say so. If I’m death incarnate—you know—I don’t want to cast a shadow over your spiritual affirmation or anything. God forbid. Or En Sof forbid. Or whatever.”
    The waiter came up. “Is everything all right?” he asked, staring uneasily at their scarcely touched food.
    Susan took a tiny tissue out of her diminutive pocketbook and wiped her nose. She wouldn’t even look at Bonnie. “I’ll take care of this,” she said, offering her platinum card.
    â€œI’m death, am I?” said Bonnie, as they waited for the check. “You really think I’m death?”
    â€œI’m sorry, Bonnie. I have a headache. You were right. I should have canceled.”
    She stood up, but Bonnie took hold of her sleeve. “Are we going to see each other again?”
    Susan whispered, “Sure,” but Bonnie knew that she was lying. She stayed at the table and watched her go. The last time she saw her was when she was crossing Sunset, flicking her hair back with her hand. A last frozen Polaroid. And to think of all the days and all the nights; all the parties and all the bus trips; all the laughter and all the teenage despair. They had kissed each other once, on the pier at Venice Beach, at sunset, with the gulls screaming, because they loved each other. Love, ageless and evergreen, seldom seen by two.
    The waiter came up. “You want anything else, ma’am?”
    â€œNo, thank you,” said Bonnie. “What I need, you don’t have here.”
    She stopped halfway along Hollywood Boulevard, double-parked, and went into the Super Star Grill. It was noisy inside, all tiles and chrome and Meatloaf screaming “Bat Out Of Hell.” She bought a giant chili dog with onions and kraut and sat in the car and messily devoured it, watching her eyes in the rearview mirror as she did so.
    So this is what death looks like. A thirty-four-year-old blonde with chili round her mouth
. She finished the hot dog and drove away with sticky hands. She hadn’t even driven as far as Vine Street before her vision was blurred with tears.

Duke Apologizes
    Duke had bought her a dozen red roses, which lay wilting on the kitchen table. He came in from the yard still blowing out cigarette smoke. She didn’t like him smoking in the house. He was wearing a faded black T-shirt with a Harley Davidson emblem on it.
    â€œHey, look, I’m sorry,” he said.
    She put down her shopping bags. “What are you sorry for? Everybody has off days once in a while.”
    â€œThe Mexican chicken thing. That was—”
    â€œInsane? Yes, it was. But that was yesterday and this is today and thank you for the flowers. How much did they sting you for them?”
    Duke shrugged and looked sheepish. “They were—well, I got them for not very much.”
    â€œHow much is not very much?”
    â€œI got them for free, okay?”
    She picked them up. “You got a