9
DO CORPSES DO FACE ID?
I wake and paw the sheet behind me, then turn onto my back, aware that she has left the room and has been absent for a long time. The sheet where she lay is cold. I picture her in the doorway, hear her footsteps, recall noises as if she’s walking down the stairs but I went back to sleep, like a dumb beast. I had a hard night. My excuse is good, but still, I’m disappointed in myself.
What skilled assassin falls asleep and fails to detect their hot girlfriend departing?
The house is silent, apart from the odd shift of timbers from its age and the weather making it move.
With ease, I arch and flip onto the floor, landing upright, sheet sent flying and tousled. The sun rays shine through the thinness of the airborne cloth as it settles onto the bed. It’s cool in the bedroom but nothing worth worrying about. Scattered about are her belongings, and I detect only a few things missing she left draped over a backpack. Shoes, a shirt, coffee-colored leggings, and a green sweater.
Opening the curtain gives me no further information, except that the sky is blue and the storm clouds have been blown away. Wind sways the tops of the pines that nudge up from the slope below, past the front of the neighbor’s two-story house. Since these are the only houses this high on the street, vehicle traffic is nil.
A photo on her dresser stops me in my tracks. A man stands beside a young Hailey with his hand in hers. A lover? I know him. Same as Hailey, I just know him. I turn it over and the inscription tucked into the rear of the frame upends my entire view of my current life.
Bless you, Kail. You will live on in my memories.
I undo the back and find the same message on the photo. Driven to keep it, I tuck the folded photo into the back pocket of my pants. What does it mean that I chose that name? Something or nothing?
I scratch my stubbled chin. I can grow hair? Why did I not know this?
Barefoot and dressed only in pants, with the rest of my gear in hand, I pad downstairs as quietly as I can with this cursed burden of muscle the frankenstruct process has given me. The stair treads squeak in protest. I stop, struck by the notion I may have recalled my past life. Was I less muscular?
No real way to verify that. I continue down. Leaping straight over the edge of the balcony would have been better if I truly wished for the least noise. No-one else is here though. The hallway is bare of life. Papers topple and slide when I push a stack with my toes. Nothing else stirs. The house is empty except for a white cat that eyes me as I pass its chosen nesting place on the back of Hailey’s sofa.
“Morning.” I nod to it. The unusual black shape emblazoned on its forehead somewhat resembles a squid.
It blinks and jumps to the floor, following my route to the front door.
“You my backup, pussycat?”
It fails to answer. Guess that’s a maybe.
The door is unlocked and sunlight leaks around the frame as I crack the door and slowly pull it open. The shadows say two or three people are out there, nearby. Should I be armed? I can smell Hailey and someone older.
I chance it and step out, braced for action, scanning the scene.
One old lady with a cane, a man in a motorized wheelchair with a shotgun across his lap, and Hailey, aiming the gun’s equally nasty cousin at me.
I nod at them; the cat brushes my ankle as it slinks by. “Morning.” Then I wait. Maybe I should’ve worn all my clothes because everyone else is fully dressed. A pity, in Hailey’s case.
Remembering the groans she made when I made love to her helps me to stay centered. I relax and inhale deeply, sinking into recent memories.
Her softness in my hands and against my cock. The scent of her hair as I bury my face in it.
Gods. That was fucking awesome. Do not do anything and this may sort itself out. You’re Kail not Struct Four.
“What are you?” Hailey’s voice cracks but her eyes remain steadfast behind the length of her shotgun.
A bad beginning.
“A man.” I shrug. Worth a try.
The lady neighbor scoffs.
“Not true,” Hailey says.
“It is.”
