Since 1985, when she sold her first horror story to Dennis Etchison for his seminal anthology
Lannes currently lives in Southern California. After thirty-eight years of teaching high school art and English, she retired and is now working on a young adult dark fantasy trilogy, a Japanese vampire novel, numerous short stories, and a story collection. Her digital artwork and photography has appeared in magazines, in website designs, on CD covers, iPhone app screens, and book covers. Visit her author website at www.robertalannes.com.
THE BRASS BELL CLANGED over the screen door of the New Moon Café. Terri turned, once again, to see if it might be Earl come to beg her forgiveness and haul her butt home. It was a trucker. She sighed heavily and held out her cup for a warm-up.
“Go home Terri. That’s your eleventh cup of coffee. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re still up in a couple of days and can’t, for the life of you, remember what coulda kept you from sleepin’.”
“Please, Mary Ann, I want to be wide awake when Earl gets here.”
The coffee sloshed over the top and into the saucer. Terri giggled, giddy with caffeine. “Thanks.”
“He ain’t gonna come, Terri. He’s a stubborn man. And he ain’t in the prettiest spot, either, with you knowin’ about his affair with Florence and all…”
Acid bit her stomach. A twist of pain in her heart made her gasp. She didn’t need to hear anyone speak of it again. She just wanted him to say he was sorry. Grovel a little. Then maybe they could go on with their lives and not be hurting each other like that anymore. Hell, it wasn’t the first time, and she’d done her share of messing around, but this was different.
She drank down half the cup of coffee, filled it back up with cream, and added five teaspoons of sugar. She opened the menu then let it slap closed. She ordered her third piece of apple pie à la mode. Or was it her fourth and she’d had three brownies? She couldn’t remember.
The bell. She looked over her shoulder.
A man. Short, maybe five feet tall, but thickly built. And handsome in an exotic way. His round dark eyes reminded Terri of a snake’s. He wore a smart-looking leather jumpsuit. He moved smoothly, gracefully, like someone with a foot more height and the agility of a dancer.
She turned back to her coffee. The bars closed at two. Much of their clientele trickled into the café, nearly filling the place. But Terri sat alone at the counter. He sat down beside her.
She shifted uneasily on her stool. She hadn’t had a man interested in her since before she’d had little Earl and put on sixty pounds. Maybe this one was one of those guys she read about in
Mary Ann noticed the man’s obvious interest and gave Terri a wink. Terri smiled at the man as she picked up her fork to dig into her pie.
The man smiled back. He reached for a food-stained menu wedged behind the napkin dispenser.
Terri cleared her throat. “If you’re looking for dessert, they have the best apple pie….” She pointed to hers.
“Thank-you.” He looked up at Mary Ann. “I want same.”
“You won’t be sorry. Hi. My name is Terri Sipes.” She held out a hand. He looked at it curiously, took it in his, and turned it over, examining it. She pulled it away.
His eyes met hers. “Thank-you. My name.” He paused, took a gulp of air. “Name is Pauldor.”
His voice was strange. Deep, brittle, emotionless. It was like Earl’s when she’d asked for an explanation of his behavior with Florence. He’d droned on and on in that same tone, not making much sense. Her stomach churned.
“Paul Door? A nice name. Where are you from?”
