13 Tales To Give You Night Terrors Read Online Free PDF Page A

an arm
appeared on screen, handing her a sippy cup. “Yay, juice!” she
shouted.
    Everything about the girl on the screen was
wrong. Her voice. Her uncombed hair. Her sunshine yellow T-shirt
and hot pink Crocs. Her wiggly kindergartener posture. The sight of
her squeezed the air out of Marisol’s lungs. She flung the phone at
Brent and pulled her knees up to her chest.
    “ Jesus H. Fuck. Is that shit for
real?”
    He didn’t respond, just gawked at
her.
    “ Say something, man. Was I like
that all the time?”
    “ Pretty much. I mean, every once in
a while you’d seem like a typical angry teenager. Like, you’d spend
half a day stomping around in a quiet room, trying to punch holes
in the walls. But all the kids do that. After a while, you’d go
right back to…you know…that.” He pointed at the phone.
    A fat knot of dread tightened in Marisol’s
ribcage. “I don’t feel right.” She sucked in deep breaths, but no
amount of oxygen seemed like enough. She wanted to run, to hide
somewhere deep and dark, to bury herself. “I think I’m having a
heart attack or something.”
    “ What? Oh!” Brent sprung up off the
couch. “No, I know what to do. It’s a panic attack. Lay down on
your side.” He handed her a pillow. “Squeeze this.”
    She shoved her face into the pillow and felt
the warmth of her own breath on her cheeks. Her heart pounded
against her ribcage, on the verge of exploding. Eventually, the
pillow took the edge off the world and her heart rate slowly eased
back to baseline. She got up and paced across Brent’s living
room.
    “ Why was I like that?”
    “ I don’t know.”
    “ You don’t know or you won’t tell
me?”
    “ Honestly, I don’t know. Your
therapist told us it was due to some kind of trauma. You know,
something bad that happened when you were a kid. But it’s not like
I have access to your file. File access is strictly need-to-know,
you know?”
    Marisol whisked back to the couch and
reclaimed her perch on the coffee table, her knees almost touching
Brent’s. “You have to get me that file.”
    “ What? No. Definitely, no. I can’t.
I would be fired in a millisecond.”
    “ I would do it for you.”
    “ Bullshit you would.” He crossed
his arms against his scrawny chest. “You should probably
go.”
    Marisol’s eyes narrowed. “Would you rather be
fired for stealing my file, or fired for filming a resident with
your phone and then taking her back to your apartment with the
intention of screwing her?”
    His nostrils flared. “They can’t fire me if
there’s no proof. I’ll just delete the video.”
    What a dumbass. Marisol flew at him. His hands shot up, blocking her. He was
stronger than she thought. She pressed against his arms, almost
groaning with the strain. Then, in one swift movement, she dug two
fingers into the skin just above his collarbone. Brent yelped and
sank into the couch, allowing her to snatch the phone from his
pocket.
    “ I’m taking this
hostage.”
    Brent rubbed his face with his hands. “Jesus.
I should’ve just said no to coffee.”
     
    ● ● ●
     
    MARISOL tossed and
turned in her bed at the motel. The light from the neon sign
outside pierced the room’s flimsy blinds, illuminating her walls in
salmon pink. The incessant buzzing threatened to drive her mad.
Something about the afternoon with Brent had put her off. She
should’ve been upset about the video or the fact that Brent had
taken her home despite the fact that the last time he’d seen her
she’d been toddling around like the world was her own personal
romper room. Some people are seriously
sick fucks.
    But it wasn’t the video or Brent’s
questionable moral compass or even the fact that she’d blackmailed
him without a second thought. It was the way she’d taken him down
with two fingers slipping beneath his collarbone. Where did I pick that up?
    The TV yap-yap-yapped from the corner, the
late night host bidding his audience goodnight.
    “ Screw it,” Marisol