Free Dividing Earth: A Novel of Dark Fantasy by Troy Stoops

raised.
    Veronica smiled, folded the receipt, stuck it into her billfold, then traipsed back the way she’d come, keeping her head down, her shoulders rounded, her eyes on the squares of tile. Again, she successfully navigated the mall, only lifting her head when a boy with strange silver hair touched her arm. She halted, regarding the boy’s gray slacks and white polo.
    “I know you,” he said.
    “I don’t know you,” she answered.
    “Yeah,” the boy said, pointing, his silver hair bouncing. “Your picture’s on Professor Lieber’s desk. I just started his class. He’s the coolest teacher I’ve got.”
    “Oh, great.”
    “Only he dresses kind of funky.”
    “He what?”
    “You know, dresses drab. I thought maybe you could help him.” The boy backed up, into a men’s clothing store named Ralph’s. “I work here,” he said, pointing up at the sign. “We got a shipment in today.” The boy smiled, reached out. “Name’s Scott.”
    As he neared her she noted a long cylindrical object in one of his cargo pockets. A drummer? Then his hand slid inside hers, and his grip was tender, his skin moist and soft.
    Scott helped her for an hour, putting the best Ralph’s had to offer on display. Veronica was all blushes and pouty, sexy looks, only pausing to think when he asked her, “You ready to check out?”
    It’ll only be a couple of hundred dollars, she assured herself. You can spare it. Both of us get paid in a couple of days. Nothing will be repossessed in two days, right? “Yes,” she finally answered, handing over a shirt and brushing her hand against Scott’s. Eighteen, she thought.
    He carried the clothes up front, laid them down on the desk top and began popping off the security stickers. Her heart was racing, her hands were wet. “Thanks for all your help, Scott,” she said, her confidence bolstered by the thought that this kid, who was really kind of cute, wouldn’t steer her in the wrong direction.
    Scott rang it all up quickly, as if he knew she was reconsidering, folding and placing the items in the bags hurriedly. When he hit the ‘Total’ key, and nine hundred and seven dollars and a penny appeared on the screen facing her, she gasped. But he was nice enough to repeat the amount. She moved slowly, as if in a dream, popping open her billfold, thumbing through her credit cards and previous receipts, delaying the inevitable.
    Finally, she removed a stack of bills from her purse and counted out the hundreds, laying them on the counter side by side.
    7
    For three hours following his appointment with Matt, Robert paced the bank of the St. John’s, watching fishermen load up their cars, the sun melt into the choppy water, and Wolfy’s light up for another long August night.
    When he made it home he asked his wife to join him in the living room. He’d wanted to discuss their relationship, but the docket had changed. She took the couch, Robert the chair beside the coffee table. “I went to see Matt this afternoon.”
    “Oh,” she replied. “How come?”
    He stretched back, pointed at the node.
    “Infection?”
    “Come on. It’s huge.”
    “What did he have to say?” asked Veronica, looking at the carpet, the couch, anything to avoid looking at him.
    “He checked my prostate. I think he felt something.”
    “Robert, don’t self-diagnose. Remember what Matt told you last time.”
    “He asked me to get a sub for tomorrow. He just called my cell, gave me an address.”
    “Okay,” she said.
    “The address is the Simola Straight Cancer Center. I looked it up.”
    Veronica stared at him for a long time, then fell back, crossing her arms. “Shit,” she mumbled. “One thing after another. Does it ever end?”
    * * * * *
    Later, Robert slumped into his pillows. His mind wavered on the edge of sleep. He tossed and turned. All his life he’d figured that if God existed, He’d created life by accident. Maybe knocked over a bucket of paint, and—Oh, shit! Look what I did! Life was a