Free Dwellers of the Night: The Complete Collection by Anthony Barnhart Page A

cross hadn’t been on her in the bath; he makes a mental note: “I have to find it.”
    BUBBLY—Colbie Caillat. ♫I’ve been awake for a while now; you’ve got me feeling like a child now; cause every time I see your face, I get the tingles in a silly place; it starts in my toes, and I wrinkle my nose; wherever it goes, I always know; that you’ll make me smile, please stay for a while now…♫ Whenever she played that song, she would wrinkle her nose. So cute, like a bunny rabbit. And she would wrap her arms around him and squeeze him tight. “You make me feel all bubbly,”
    she would say, grinning wildly. The last bubbles she knew were those escaping her mouth under the water as she choked on her last breaths.
    OPEN ARMS—Journey. ♫Lying beside you, here in the dark, feeling your heart beat with mine; softly, you whisper; you’re so sincere; how could our love be so blind?♫ The first time they listened to that song together, they were holding one another in the backseat of a car, lying naked together at the park at Mt. Echo. “I feel so comfortable in your arms,” she told him. “All my troubles disappear when I’m with you. If only you could see what your love means to me.”
    EVERYTHING—Michael Buble. ♫You’re a falling star, you’re the getaway car, you’re the line in the sand when I go too far; you’re the swimming pool on an August day, and you’re the perfect thing to say. And you play it cool, but it’s kinda cute; oh, when you smile at me, you know exactly what you do; baby, don’t pretend you know it’s true, cause you can see it when I look at you.♫ He had taken her to a Michael Buble concert in Dayton one night, and they sat in the first row. The man had asked them to come onstage, and he told the singer that Kira was his love, and that he would marry her one day. And the man began to sing their song.
    DREAMLOVER—Bobby Darin. ♫Every night I hope and pray a dream-lover will come my way. A girl to hold in my arms, and know the magic of her charms. Cause I want a girl to call my own. I want a dream-lover so I don’t have to dream alone.♫ He had found his dream-lover. They had shared in Anthony Barnhart
    Dwellers of the Night
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    his greatest dream—a dream of love and laughter, of bold and daring romance, of devotion and dedication. “Love is not a feeling, it’s an ability,” his father hold told him once. He had never been able to truly practice love until Kira. He was going to marry her. They were going to have children. Their dreams were going to come true.
    Now their dreams were dead—crashed on the rocks, broken apart, an abandoned shipwreck. The bottle rests in his hand. The alcohol slides down his throat, burning. He has nothing left. The lyrical melody of Pete Townshend echoes in his mind as he empties the bottle and passes out on the sofa:

    ♫♫ When tragedy befalls you,

    Let my love open the door.

    Don’t let it drag you down.

    Love can cure all your problems.

    Let my love open the door.

    You’re so lucky I’m around. ♫♫

    No one is around.
    He is entirely alone.
    He. His bottle. His dead mistress.
    The satin box with the ring tumbles from his fingers and lies abandoned and useless on the floor. The beer bottle slides from his fingers and tumbles over the carpet, gushing out. Somewhere a dog barks.

    V

    He awakes to the sound of barking outside. His head sears with pain, his brain thirsting for hydration. Fucking hangovers . He lies across the sofa, tries to go back to sleep, tries to escape once more. The dog continues barking. Fucking dog . The barks continue. Each bark racks his temples. He grunts and stands, falls onto the coffee table. Two legs snap and he tumbles onto the floor, the stereo at his side. The batteries have run dry. He stumbles to his feet and heads to the front door. He throws it open. Brilliant sunlight tears through him. The dog barks. He closes his eyes, but the sunlight comes through his eyelids and smacks him with