Blood Fugue Read Online Free PDF

the afternoon when he’d finished work. He went to Randall’s because, if he was quick, he wouldn’t be outside when twilight came. Seeing all the varieties of cereal on the shelves in Olsen’s he resolved, yet again, to go shopping in the mornings. He bought a box of Lucky Charms; a bag of cookies and a few other items that seemed like treats and went to the checkout.
    He didn’t see her until it was too late.
    ‘Hey, Jimmy K.’
    He tried to keep the startled look from his face.
    ‘Hey, Amy.’
    ‘Why haven’t you called me?’
    ‘I’ve been working.’
    Amy smirked.
    ‘Writing isn’t work, it’s laziness.’
    ‘It’s work. If I don’t write, I don’t get paid.’
    ‘That’s so lame. Are you working all night too?’
    ‘No, but —’
    ‘So call me. A girl could get to thinking you didn’t like her any more.’
    He looked at Amy’s dyed blonde hair, dry and brittle from too much attention. He looked at all the cheap gold rings she wore and her heavy charm bracelet. He looked at the layer of make up she used to hide the generous helping of plainness she’d been dealt at birth and he looked at the bulges where her store uniform clung to her. She ate too much and didn’t get enough exercise. Soon she’d be wearing pantsuits and sneakers for every occasion. Right now, though, there was still a little allure left in her. Mostly it was in her eyes; eyes that promised anything in return for a little company, some good food, a few compliments.
    Beside her was a romance novel, its spine cracked open, its pages curled and splayed. Under the cheap, drip-dry Olsen’s uniform, Amy’s black underwear was just visible. She wasn’t smart, she wasn’t interesting but Kerrigan’s response to the hint of her bra pressed so tightly by her breasts against her clothes reminded him that it wasn’t smart and interesting he needed.
    Dry-mouthed, he said:
    ‘Why don’t you come over on Saturday? I’ll make a picnic and take you on a mystery walk.’
    She pouted.
    ‘Will we have to go far?’
    He laughed.
    ‘Just far enough to work up an appetite and no further. Deal?’
    ‘I’ll think about it.’
    Even a dead-end-town chick like Amy couldn’t be seen to say yes too easily. He knew she’d call him later that day.
    ‘Great,’ he said. ‘I’ve missed you.’
    She checked to see if anyone was listening but the store was almost empty.
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Really.’
    He took his sack of junk food and strolled the hundred yards or so to number forty-eight, The Terrace.
    His childhood home was falling into the clutches of decay. The battle to keep it young looking with coats of paint, replacement frames for the doors and windows and regular work in the yard was a battle his folks were losing. He shook his head, scolding himself for not coming down more often to keep the place tidy, but he’d made the same gesture a hundred times and his behaviour never changed. He was too busy to look after a second house.
    Occasionally, he paid a boy to mow the lawns and cut back the weeds but not often enough to do any good. The house, with its green roof and bare wooden porch, with its green and white cushioned porch swing, now too mouldy and rusty to use, was quietly dying.
    Kerrigan walked along the cracked paving stones bordered by shin-high grass and clumped up the dry boards of the front steps to the door. The bell hadn’t worked for years. He hammered three times as hard as he could with the edge of his fist on the frame of the door and stood back to wait.
    Now that he was closer he could see how the paint was flaking off. White scales littered the porch. He poked his finger into a bald spot on the doorframe; the wood was soft and rotting. The place was turning into a health hazard.
    He heard shuffling in the passage and saw the grey figure of Burt approaching with his walker. Every time Kerrigan saw him he seemed smaller, thinner and slower. It took the old man a long time to open the locks.
    Once Burt had managed to