Free Penny Dreadful by Will Christopher Baer

victims. They love them. They love them for sharing that last breath. Evolution would never dispense with murder, not if love was involved. Chrome was on fire. He wanted to walk for miles. He wanted to kiss the ground. But he had to think of Mingus. The poor little troll was trembling beside him. He must be exhausted, thought Chrome. And he was visibly upset. He was probably wrestling with his conscience or something. Chrome would have to come down to earth, for his sake. The Breather needed sleep, he needed to feel safe. But what did he need, what did Chrome need? Maybe a little sex would calm him down, a little love. He poked Mingus with a bony finger.
    I have blood on my upper lip, he said. It smells like sea salt. It smells like the tiny golden hairs on the back of a woman’s neck. It smells like a kid with a sunburn.
    You bastard, said Mingus.
    I’m sorry. The mind wanders, doesn’t it.
    Please. I’m a wreck. I need to get inside, to sleep perhaps. To dream.
    Are you sure you want to dream? said Chrome.
    In my dreams, I have no sense of smell.
    Interesting. I am color-blind in mine.
    Mingus grabbed at his leg with the small, powerful fingers of a monkey and Chrome jumped.
    Let go of my leg, said Chrome. Damn you.
    I want to go home.
    We don’t have a home.
    A motel, then. A flop in the subterrain.
    Chrome softened. He pried Mingus’s fingers loose from his pants with a sigh and now he thought of Goo. She had strong fingers, too. Chrome did need a touch of love. And his friend badly needed sleep. Chrome sighed as it began to rain. He patted Mingus on the head and told him not to fret.
    Then he smiled, feeling wicked. Look at the sky, he said. It’s purple. Almost the color of a plum. A ripe, sweet-smelling plum. A bruise on the ass of a little child.
    Mingus groaned.
    Then again, said Chrome. If I were dreaming, I suppose the sky would look sad and gray.
    Please, said Mingus.
    Chrome still held the little man’s hand. Thick callused fingers, with fairly chewed nails. He gave the hand a squeeze and said, come on. Let’s get inside.
    Not quite seven and Moon was miraculously awake. If not, there was an angry and very clumsy burglar crashing around in the bathroom and blowing his nose for about five minutes with what seemed to me truly morbid gusto. The toilet was flushed several times. Then more crashing. Moon came into the living room finally, panting. I looked up from the newspaper I had stolen from his neighbor.
    The Nuggets won, I said.
    Uh. What happened last night?
    You killed some furniture.
    Moon gazed without recognition at the shattered coffee table. He nodded and stared and I was struck with the uneasy sensation that Moon had no idea who I was. In a minute, the wheels would grind in his head and he would know me for an interloper. Moon would find his strength and leap upon me, beating me about the head and face with extreme prejudice and evicting me from his cage.
    You, said Moon. You disarmed me last night.
    I nodded. You were something of a menace.
    Where is my weapon, please?
    The freezer.
    Yeah, said Moon. Is there more coffee?
    If you want to call it that.
    Moon shrugged and ambled away and soon he came back with a cup of the sludge in one hand and his big .45 in the other. The gun looked strange and ghostly, black steel gone smoky with frost.
    I blinked. How do your fingers feel?
    And after a moment of silence, Moon laughed. Pretty fucking cold.
    Don’t put it in your mouth, I said.
    Don’t worry.
    Moon settled onto the couch. He wore a fresh pair of white pants, a blue shirt. The familiar fish tie was crisply knotted. His socks appeared to match. His thin hair was slicked back and he looked much like an eccentric football coach. He looked like himself.
    Did I tell you a story last night, he said. By any chance?
    A wild story, I said.
    Moon sat there, nodding at me. I tasted the remains of my own bittersweet coffee. Room temperature. The same temperature as my own skin. Tingling. I felt a headache