Read Online Second Chance by Chet Williamson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chet Williamson
Tags: Horror
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situations where he'd be alone with me, maybe you remember."
Woody didn't, but Dale would have gone to great lengths to keep from looking as if he were snubbing anyone.
"Anyway, after his divorce he wrote to me. I was in Denver then. We struck it off again through the mail. Oh, nothing explicit, just . . . kind, considerate. Like we wanted to see each other again. But we could never link up. All his money went to grad school, and I didn't have enough to fly to Pittsburgh. And before anything could happen he was dead." Eddie smiled. "And I still miss that dear man. I might have even loved him."
His face shifted from unaccustomed tenderness to its traditional cynicism as footsteps and chatter came nearer, so that only arched eyebrows and smirking lips met Sharla and Judy as they appeared at the bathroom door.
"Are we to assume that you ladies wish to utilize the facilities?"
"No," said Judy, "but you may assume that we wish to get a couple more beers."
"All right then, girls, grab your beers and let's all go in the living room and play Thumper, or Truth, or something equally nostalgic and stupid." Woody noticed that there was not a trace of softness remaining in Eddie's voice or face.
When the four of them carried their beers back into the living room, the others were all sitting on the sofas, chairs, or floor. Candles lit the room as before, but now the black light was turned on, someone had put a Judy Collins album on the stereo, and "Who Knows Where the Time Goes" filled the room with a sound sweeter than the incense that lifted strings of smoke into the air.
"My God, who died?" Eddie said.
They laughed at their own quietness, effectively killing it. "We all got serious," Frank said. "My fault."
"Yeah," Alan said. "Frank thinks we all oughta go out and bomb Exxon gas stations and kidnap coal company executives and assassinate people who drive Cadillacs ."
"It's going to happen," said Frank calmly. "I'm just surprised it hasn't started already."
"Oh crap," Alan said. "Haven't we all seen what terrorism can do? And I mean, really seen it. Anybody remember Keith? Tracy?"
The room was silent except for the final chorus of the song on the stereo and the soft whisper of Sharla exhaling her cigarette smoke.
"Well," said Alan, "when you talk like that, or when you hear other people talk like that, don't forget them."
The silence came back then, thickening like fog, until Curly broke it, as if anxious to change the subject. "Hey," he said, "how many of us still smoke? Come on, let's see hands. Or butts."
"Not showin ' you my butt, turkey," Sharla said, but put up her hand, as did Alan and Eddie.
"My, we've gotten pure in our old age, haven't we?" said Eddie.
"And how many used to?" Curly said, raising his own hand, as did everyone else but Judy. "Well," Curly went on, "since this is a re-creation, I always used to bum my smokes from Alan, so . . ." He put on a sheepish look, shuffled over to Alan, and put out his hand as if he expected to have it slapped.
"Once a mooch . . .” Alan said, but extended his pack to Curly who took a cigarette.
" Kents ," he said. "I could always count on you, Alan.”
“Who else?" said Alan, holding out the nearly full pack.
"God damn the pusher man," said Frank. "You know, Alan, of all of us who sold out, I think you sold out the most."
"And fuck you too."
"I'm serious. Is this the guy who campaigned for Gene McCarthy? Who wanted to become a liberal politician? So he moves to Washington and in a few years he's a whore for the tobacco industry."
"Hey, look—"
"Face it, pal, you're right out of Doonesbury ."
Judy gripped her husband's knee. "You'll have to forgive Frank. He tends to get a little obnoxious after a few beers."
Curly raised both hands in the air, palms up. "Hey, let's mellow out, man. Like, everything is supposed to be groovy tonight, right?"
"And I guess you think you're really ‘groovy,' Frank," Alan said, leaning toward his tormentor. "What's so
Woody didn't, but Dale would have gone to great lengths to keep from looking as if he were snubbing anyone.
"Anyway, after his divorce he wrote to me. I was in Denver then. We struck it off again through the mail. Oh, nothing explicit, just . . . kind, considerate. Like we wanted to see each other again. But we could never link up. All his money went to grad school, and I didn't have enough to fly to Pittsburgh. And before anything could happen he was dead." Eddie smiled. "And I still miss that dear man. I might have even loved him."
His face shifted from unaccustomed tenderness to its traditional cynicism as footsteps and chatter came nearer, so that only arched eyebrows and smirking lips met Sharla and Judy as they appeared at the bathroom door.
"Are we to assume that you ladies wish to utilize the facilities?"
"No," said Judy, "but you may assume that we wish to get a couple more beers."
"All right then, girls, grab your beers and let's all go in the living room and play Thumper, or Truth, or something equally nostalgic and stupid." Woody noticed that there was not a trace of softness remaining in Eddie's voice or face.
When the four of them carried their beers back into the living room, the others were all sitting on the sofas, chairs, or floor. Candles lit the room as before, but now the black light was turned on, someone had put a Judy Collins album on the stereo, and "Who Knows Where the Time Goes" filled the room with a sound sweeter than the incense that lifted strings of smoke into the air.
"My God, who died?" Eddie said.
They laughed at their own quietness, effectively killing it. "We all got serious," Frank said. "My fault."
"Yeah," Alan said. "Frank thinks we all oughta go out and bomb Exxon gas stations and kidnap coal company executives and assassinate people who drive Cadillacs ."
"It's going to happen," said Frank calmly. "I'm just surprised it hasn't started already."
"Oh crap," Alan said. "Haven't we all seen what terrorism can do? And I mean, really seen it. Anybody remember Keith? Tracy?"
The room was silent except for the final chorus of the song on the stereo and the soft whisper of Sharla exhaling her cigarette smoke.
"Well," said Alan, "when you talk like that, or when you hear other people talk like that, don't forget them."
The silence came back then, thickening like fog, until Curly broke it, as if anxious to change the subject. "Hey," he said, "how many of us still smoke? Come on, let's see hands. Or butts."
"Not showin ' you my butt, turkey," Sharla said, but put up her hand, as did Alan and Eddie.
"My, we've gotten pure in our old age, haven't we?" said Eddie.
"And how many used to?" Curly said, raising his own hand, as did everyone else but Judy. "Well," Curly went on, "since this is a re-creation, I always used to bum my smokes from Alan, so . . ." He put on a sheepish look, shuffled over to Alan, and put out his hand as if he expected to have it slapped.
"Once a mooch . . .” Alan said, but extended his pack to Curly who took a cigarette.
" Kents ," he said. "I could always count on you, Alan.”
“Who else?" said Alan, holding out the nearly full pack.
"God damn the pusher man," said Frank. "You know, Alan, of all of us who sold out, I think you sold out the most."
"And fuck you too."
"I'm serious. Is this the guy who campaigned for Gene McCarthy? Who wanted to become a liberal politician? So he moves to Washington and in a few years he's a whore for the tobacco industry."
"Hey, look—"
"Face it, pal, you're right out of Doonesbury ."
Judy gripped her husband's knee. "You'll have to forgive Frank. He tends to get a little obnoxious after a few beers."
Curly raised both hands in the air, palms up. "Hey, let's mellow out, man. Like, everything is supposed to be groovy tonight, right?"
"And I guess you think you're really ‘groovy,' Frank," Alan said, leaning toward his tormentor. "What's so
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