Read Online DEATHLOOP by G. Brailey - Free Book Online Page A

club, and most of all how come he was witness to another death of another stranger who seemed to know him?
    “This is the most amazing view,” she said, turning to the window.
    “Better than TV, certainly, but then, hey… what isn’t these days.”
    She looked at him, wondering whether he regretted agreeing to this, it was as though he didn’t want her there at all.
    “Listen, maybe I’d better leave you to it,” said Veronica, “I feel like I’m intruding.”
    “Of course not, it’s good that you’re here,” he said, without conviction.
    In the cab, Veronica had told him that she lived with her boyfriend, Jean-Paul, but he had become impossible lately. Zack had wanted to say well what do you expect, he’s French, they’re all bloody impossible, but he didn’t, he just listened to a litany of mistakes the poor sod had made, making a mental note of each one so as not to repeat them. All pretty minor Zack concluded, but then you could say that Susan’s were as well. What it boiled down to was this: that when someone really starts getting on your nerves for whatever reason, it’s time to get a quote from the removal guys because it sure won’t get any better.
    As they stood across from each other it occurred to Zack that Veronica might think they’d be having sex, but Zack was very old fashioned in that respect, grabbing someone and screwing them a couple of hours after you’d met, even if you had every intention of seeing them again, to him, suggested a very serious lack of imagination. He was aware this marked him out as a wierdo because other blokes had told him so. Their attitude was ‘make hay while the sun shines because generally it’s pouring with rain’, but Zack was different. Not only was sex easy for him, which diminished its potency to some extent, but it had to mean something or he couldn’t be bothered.
    As a child he had vowed never to have sex at all as it sounded so bloody painful, and for his mother of course it was. As he approached puberty, he was bewildered as to why his peers were so obsessed with all things sexual and decided it was probably because they knew nothing about it, but unfortunately for Zack, he did.
    Once, he returned home from school to find his mother and the bloke from the corner shop in the front room, stark naked, straddled across their dining room table. Zack stood for a moment in the doorway gazing with clinical interest at this hairy, spotty arse going up and down as though it was digging something up, it was a gruesome sight, and not helped by his mother, legs akimbo, thrashing away beneath it. (Zack found himself wondering if the Irish family were listening to the shenanigans from next door.) He also thought his mother had to be out of her mind to agree to this ludicrous display of behaviour, even chimpanzees set about copulation with more finesse.
    Now Zack enjoyed sex as much as the next man, but it had to be right, exactly right, or it was just a bore. When he unwisely mentioned this to a mate at university, he said that he thought Zack was in need of psychological help and pronto. Zack slammed that idea down straight away saying he felt lousy about himself enough as it was, he really didn’t need two very expensive years on the couch to provide him with more grist to the mill.
    “I’ll sleep in here,” said Zack, “you can have the bed.”
    “I couldn’t possibly take your bed.”
    “The sofa is actually more comfortable,” said Zack, “and I’m the one that wakes up with the view.”
    So there they were rattling around in their own separate rooms, their heads full of each other, and neither able to sleep.
    The following morning Zack stood gazing out of the window at a sky that was reassuringly grey and unspectacular. Zack was not like Clarissa, finding omens here there and everywhere, but this ordinary sky cheered him up no end. Inevitably, Zack started thinking about the deaths and simply could make no sense of them at all. The last time he