Read Online Dividing Earth: A Novel of Dark Fantasy by Troy Stoops - Free Book Online
Authors: Troy Stoops
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left for the first day of fall semester. He thought it odd Veronica hadn’t gotten up yet, but he was glad. Tonight they could talk. Tonight they could fix things.
Feeling weak, he was curt and irritable during his morning classes. And was it his imagination, or were the students staring at him? Their gawking unnerved him, so he released his second class ten minutes early and retired to his office. He shut the door behind him and sighed, collapsing in his chair.
His office was small. Particle board bookshelves lined the wall opposite his desk, and two others bordered it. The smell of mildew was powerful. Hunching over his barely finalized syllabus, he crossed out lines, added others. He’d only been alone five minutes when someone knocked.
“Robert?” called Chris Flagert, the department chair.
“Yes?” he answered, and Chris entered with a changed body.
Flagert glanced down as if he had no clue. “Oh, the weight,” he said. “I thought Veronica might have told you.”
“Told me what?”
“Our schedules often coincide at the gym,” said Chris, straightening his tie.
“Ah,” said Robert. “What can I do for you?”
“Not that you were required to be there, but I didn’t see you at the department’s orientation. I wanted to touch base with you about your submissions to the journal.”
Robert frowned. Oh, you mean the tight - assed literary journal you’re hoping will cement your rep and land you a spot on a campus more deserving of your erudition? Instead, he said, “I’ve been working on three, Chris. All summer long.”
Then, for the first time since he’d entered, Chris’s eyes met his. His eyes went blank. “What are they about?”
“The homoeroticism in Cheever. Updike and God. Chabon and comics.”
“Oh,” said Chris, absently raising a finger until it was leveled at Robert. “What’s wrong with your neck?”
“What?” asked Robert, feeling around.
“No, other side.”
He reared back. And felt it. “What the—” As he had when he’d seen the toilet full of blood, he broke into a cold sweat.
“Seen a doctor about that?”
Sitting up, he folded his hand in his lap. “How could I? You just told me.”
“Oh,” Chris said, sidestepping to the door. “You can leave early if you want. Better get that checked out.” On that note, Chris fled.
The knot was under his jaw. The left side of his neck was swollen around the palpable lymph node. He pressed on the skin but it told him nothing. It didn’t hurt, but it was rock-hard. It was the size, shape and feel of a bullet casing. “Christ,” he said, finally grabbing hold of the node between his index and middle finger. It was fixed. His we search had warned of that.
Uncradling the phone, he dialed. His beloved Spanish receptionist answered. “Jes?”
“Hi, this is Robert Lieber.”
“Oh, jes, Meester Leeber. How ees jore een-grown nail?”
“Healed wonderfully, thank you. Matt doesn’t have a spot this afternoon, does he?” She covered the receiver and conferred. His heart hammered away. She’s probably confirming his fucking tee- time .
“Wut tine?”
He scrolled through his own itinerary. “Four thirty?”
“Ah, jes. For dirty.”
4
Seven minutes late, Veronica strolled into Trust National Bank. Her subordinate, Babs Tanner, met her in the lobby, a grin plastered on her face. “Sorry, Veronica, but Mister McDylan would like to see you.”
“God knows he wouldn’t like to see you,” said Veronica, tramping to McDylan’s office. But the second her newest stiletto clicked over the threshold her ebullience faded.
“Sit down,” George McDylan told her.
Veronica had worked over a decade for him and he’d never been stern with her. Over the ten years of her employment here, he’d bumped her from the teller line to credit card sales, from sales to mortgages. George had been front-row-center at her wedding.
McDylan adjusted his spectacles, picked up a manila folder and reached over his desk. She
Feeling weak, he was curt and irritable during his morning classes. And was it his imagination, or were the students staring at him? Their gawking unnerved him, so he released his second class ten minutes early and retired to his office. He shut the door behind him and sighed, collapsing in his chair.
His office was small. Particle board bookshelves lined the wall opposite his desk, and two others bordered it. The smell of mildew was powerful. Hunching over his barely finalized syllabus, he crossed out lines, added others. He’d only been alone five minutes when someone knocked.
“Robert?” called Chris Flagert, the department chair.
“Yes?” he answered, and Chris entered with a changed body.
Flagert glanced down as if he had no clue. “Oh, the weight,” he said. “I thought Veronica might have told you.”
“Told me what?”
“Our schedules often coincide at the gym,” said Chris, straightening his tie.
“Ah,” said Robert. “What can I do for you?”
“Not that you were required to be there, but I didn’t see you at the department’s orientation. I wanted to touch base with you about your submissions to the journal.”
Robert frowned. Oh, you mean the tight - assed literary journal you’re hoping will cement your rep and land you a spot on a campus more deserving of your erudition? Instead, he said, “I’ve been working on three, Chris. All summer long.”
Then, for the first time since he’d entered, Chris’s eyes met his. His eyes went blank. “What are they about?”
“The homoeroticism in Cheever. Updike and God. Chabon and comics.”
“Oh,” said Chris, absently raising a finger until it was leveled at Robert. “What’s wrong with your neck?”
“What?” asked Robert, feeling around.
“No, other side.”
He reared back. And felt it. “What the—” As he had when he’d seen the toilet full of blood, he broke into a cold sweat.
“Seen a doctor about that?”
Sitting up, he folded his hand in his lap. “How could I? You just told me.”
“Oh,” Chris said, sidestepping to the door. “You can leave early if you want. Better get that checked out.” On that note, Chris fled.
The knot was under his jaw. The left side of his neck was swollen around the palpable lymph node. He pressed on the skin but it told him nothing. It didn’t hurt, but it was rock-hard. It was the size, shape and feel of a bullet casing. “Christ,” he said, finally grabbing hold of the node between his index and middle finger. It was fixed. His we search had warned of that.
Uncradling the phone, he dialed. His beloved Spanish receptionist answered. “Jes?”
“Hi, this is Robert Lieber.”
“Oh, jes, Meester Leeber. How ees jore een-grown nail?”
“Healed wonderfully, thank you. Matt doesn’t have a spot this afternoon, does he?” She covered the receiver and conferred. His heart hammered away. She’s probably confirming his fucking tee- time .
“Wut tine?”
He scrolled through his own itinerary. “Four thirty?”
“Ah, jes. For dirty.”
4
Seven minutes late, Veronica strolled into Trust National Bank. Her subordinate, Babs Tanner, met her in the lobby, a grin plastered on her face. “Sorry, Veronica, but Mister McDylan would like to see you.”
“God knows he wouldn’t like to see you,” said Veronica, tramping to McDylan’s office. But the second her newest stiletto clicked over the threshold her ebullience faded.
“Sit down,” George McDylan told her.
Veronica had worked over a decade for him and he’d never been stern with her. Over the ten years of her employment here, he’d bumped her from the teller line to credit card sales, from sales to mortgages. George had been front-row-center at her wedding.
McDylan adjusted his spectacles, picked up a manila folder and reached over his desk. She
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