Read Online Shadow Season by Tom Piccirilli - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tom Piccirilli
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place a lot. He wonders what it would be like if he started talking that way, riding her to the edge and then blurting out, Roz, honey, I’m going to kill Ray someday.
As uncomfortable and angry as Roz gets with the idea of Vi coming on to him, she’s also titillated. Jealousy causes a spike in her desire for him. Whenever she sees the girls helping him out in any way, Roz moves in and gets a touch territorial.
“How’d the shopping excursion go?” he asks.
He’s clearly shifting topics as Roz’s hand grows more insistent on his thigh, but he needs a chance to focus. The throb of a headache is starting up beneath his scars, which always makes him think that the metal plate there is dinged, dented, turning to rust.
“A good time. I always have a good time with Duchess, even if we’re doing nothing. She’s a storyteller, has hundreds of relatives, and every one of them has taught her a grand and moral lesson. They all have such wonderful names. Her father is Justice James the Third. Her sister is Sweet Forgiveness. She mentioned a cousin called Truth and I’m still not sure if he’s real or just a metaphor.”
He’s a metaphor, Finn thinks, they all are.
“At least this town has gone out of the way to dress up for the holidays,” she says. “They’ve got lights strung up on the lampposts and hanging over Main Street, andthere’s a huge tree in front of the courthouse with hundreds of candy canes and decorations. They don’t want to act like the place is shutting down store by store. They’re trying to keep their spirits up.”
“I bet the guys who’ve lost their jobs at the mill and factory think it’s all a big waste of time and money.”
“And it is, but it’s important too, right? You know that. You’ve got to play the game, keep up the mask, the false front, otherwise what’s the point? You give in and run.” She finishes her glass and pours another. “They seem to have a thing against Santa, though. They’ve got Jesus and Rudolph all over the place, the chipmunks, the wise men, the Virgin Mary, but no Santa. I’m serious. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”
“Yes,” he admits.
“I’m serious.”
“You said that. I agree, it’s kind of strange.”
She’s always spotting some kind of weird subversion or sedition up here because she’s so bored. Like they’ve got a cult in the sticks to stamp out St. Nick. Back in the city, she clipped articles about dirty cops and mob informants and a corrupt mayor. She knew firsthand that conspiracies existed, and it shook her faith in the world, got her searching beneath appearances. The scrapbook is under the bed. Finn picks it up sometimes just because he likes to feel the weight in his hands.
“Maybe it’s a backlash,” she suggests. “This isn’t exactly the heartland but it might as well be. They might hate Catholics here as much as they hate anybody else, so good-bye St. Nick.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” Finn says, thinking,Santa’s a Catholic front man? But what, Rudolph’s a WASP?
This is one of the reasons why he likes Roz so much. She always comes at the world from a different perspective, sees things he never expects no matter how much time they’ve got behind them.
Her fingers return to his leg, massaging, assertive and determined. She leans in and kisses him with a mouthful of wine, which she allows to run down her chin to splash his shirt. She likes doing things like this, leaving signs behind her, making a mess, so that later when he’s cleaning up he’ll think of her.
He says, “Hey now, that bottle was eight bucks, don’t waste it.”
It brings a throaty chuckle out of her that works into him until he’s hard and needy. This is Finn at his best and worst, and she knows it.
Wrapped in each other’s arms, still kissing, she lets him lead her to the bedroom even though he’s got to brush his back against the bare walls to get there. He still can’t fully concentrate. He’s assailed by the
As uncomfortable and angry as Roz gets with the idea of Vi coming on to him, she’s also titillated. Jealousy causes a spike in her desire for him. Whenever she sees the girls helping him out in any way, Roz moves in and gets a touch territorial.
“How’d the shopping excursion go?” he asks.
He’s clearly shifting topics as Roz’s hand grows more insistent on his thigh, but he needs a chance to focus. The throb of a headache is starting up beneath his scars, which always makes him think that the metal plate there is dinged, dented, turning to rust.
“A good time. I always have a good time with Duchess, even if we’re doing nothing. She’s a storyteller, has hundreds of relatives, and every one of them has taught her a grand and moral lesson. They all have such wonderful names. Her father is Justice James the Third. Her sister is Sweet Forgiveness. She mentioned a cousin called Truth and I’m still not sure if he’s real or just a metaphor.”
He’s a metaphor, Finn thinks, they all are.
“At least this town has gone out of the way to dress up for the holidays,” she says. “They’ve got lights strung up on the lampposts and hanging over Main Street, andthere’s a huge tree in front of the courthouse with hundreds of candy canes and decorations. They don’t want to act like the place is shutting down store by store. They’re trying to keep their spirits up.”
“I bet the guys who’ve lost their jobs at the mill and factory think it’s all a big waste of time and money.”
“And it is, but it’s important too, right? You know that. You’ve got to play the game, keep up the mask, the false front, otherwise what’s the point? You give in and run.” She finishes her glass and pours another. “They seem to have a thing against Santa, though. They’ve got Jesus and Rudolph all over the place, the chipmunks, the wise men, the Virgin Mary, but no Santa. I’m serious. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”
“Yes,” he admits.
“I’m serious.”
“You said that. I agree, it’s kind of strange.”
She’s always spotting some kind of weird subversion or sedition up here because she’s so bored. Like they’ve got a cult in the sticks to stamp out St. Nick. Back in the city, she clipped articles about dirty cops and mob informants and a corrupt mayor. She knew firsthand that conspiracies existed, and it shook her faith in the world, got her searching beneath appearances. The scrapbook is under the bed. Finn picks it up sometimes just because he likes to feel the weight in his hands.
“Maybe it’s a backlash,” she suggests. “This isn’t exactly the heartland but it might as well be. They might hate Catholics here as much as they hate anybody else, so good-bye St. Nick.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” Finn says, thinking,Santa’s a Catholic front man? But what, Rudolph’s a WASP?
This is one of the reasons why he likes Roz so much. She always comes at the world from a different perspective, sees things he never expects no matter how much time they’ve got behind them.
Her fingers return to his leg, massaging, assertive and determined. She leans in and kisses him with a mouthful of wine, which she allows to run down her chin to splash his shirt. She likes doing things like this, leaving signs behind her, making a mess, so that later when he’s cleaning up he’ll think of her.
He says, “Hey now, that bottle was eight bucks, don’t waste it.”
It brings a throaty chuckle out of her that works into him until he’s hard and needy. This is Finn at his best and worst, and she knows it.
Wrapped in each other’s arms, still kissing, she lets him lead her to the bedroom even though he’s got to brush his back against the bare walls to get there. He still can’t fully concentrate. He’s assailed by the
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