A Life Transparent Read Online Free PDF Page A

the ceiling.
    Her fingertips brushed his arm, and when he looked over he saw that her eyes were open.
    “Hi,” he said. She smiled, leaned forward, and kissed him. That kiss led to another. He began to say something, but she pressed her finger against his lips. She sat up and climbed on top of him. He gasped when she took him in her hand and slid him into her.
    They made love for what seemed like an hour, their bodies entwined in a chaos of sheets and blankets, until they collapsed into one another with one, climactic shiver. Sweaty, dizzy, Donovan leaned back against the headboard and sighed. He closed his eyes. Donna raised up, kissed his forehead, and said, “I love you, Donnie.”
    “I love you too,” he said, opening his eyes and expecting to see her there. Only she wasn’t. She’d rolled away from him.
    “I’m still mad at you, though,” she said. He remained there for a moment longer before uttering a long, low sigh. The room suddenly felt cold, gray. The weird pull in his gut strengthened. He closed his eyes and rolled over, trying his best to ignore the feeling. For now, Donovan was just happy to go to sleep.
    •  •  •
     
    His night was filled with odd, troubling dreams. The alarm woke him, and he silenced its blaring beep on his way to the bathroom.
    He yawned, fumbling for the light switch along the wall. Barely able to make out shapes in the dark, Donovan didn’t trust himself to piss without a light. His fingers found the switch; light filled the room.
    Donovan dismissed what he saw as a figment of his lingering dream state, as though somehow his brain wasn’t quite tuned in and was sending static to his senses.
Wake up
, he told himself.
Early bird and all that crap.
    He rubbed his eyes, blinked, even splashed his face with water in an attempt to uncross the wires in his brain, but it was still happening. The pull in his stomach was now greater than ever. The phantom hand yanked at his guts, threatening to pull him right out of reality. He almost didn’t mind it, would’ve
preferred
it to what he saw happening before his eyes.
    He held out his hand, staring in slack-jawed terror as his skin—flesh, meat, bone,
all
of him—flickered in and out of existence. For a split-second, Donovan Candle seemed to disappear, and the only thing that kept him rooted in that waking reality was the sound of his horrified scream.

•   2   •
THE FLICKERING
     
    He silenced himself, watching his reflection flicker, fade, and return to full opacity. He stared at one hand, then the other. Was he dreaming? He had to be. Things like this did not happen. He ran cold water over his hands, half expecting it to pass through his palms, but instead it pooled and spilled over into the sink. Now, certain that he was truly awake, he stared at his hands once more. They were solid, just as they should be.
    Get a grip, hoss
. It was too early for Hopper’s quips. Donovan pushed the thought aside, leaned forward, and took a long look at his reflection.
    “Just a dream,” he muttered to himself. “Sleep walking. That’s all.”
    The uncomfortable force wrenched at his gut so hard that he doubled over the sink. He fought off nausea and the surging drone in his head.
Keep it together
, he thought.
Just getting sick, is all. Take a shower
.
    The warm water delivered him from the sickening feeling, and he let his mind wander. Perhaps he was sleepwalking? He’d read about it happening to people of all ages. It was a sound conclusion, one that put him at ease. He chuckled about it, his voice a hollow echo in the shower stall.
What a strange dream
, he thought.
Almost like I wasn’t there—like a projection.
    He burst into laughter and reached down to turn off the water. His hands faded in unison, followed by his arms. His laughter twisted into a shriek. He ran his hands over himself, down his torso, hips, manhood, and buttocks. All of him seemed to fade in and out like static, his skin first growing transparent,