Theresa Weir - Bad Karma

“Premonition?” Beau asked, fresh panic setting in on top of an already fragile state of mind.

Daniel rubbed the gooey stain stick across the front of Beau’s shirt, wondering how in the hell it would get rid of the stain. “Yeah, I was going to tell you, but then I forgot, what with all the shirt business.”

He brought the two sides of the shirt together, trying to grind in the stain remover.

Beau and Premonition followed him to the laundry room where Daniel stepped over piles of dirty clothes, tossed the shirt in the washer, poured in some liquid soap, and turned the machine on, dropping the lid with a bang.

This was exactly what he’d feared would happen, that Beau would become attached to the dog. It had just happened a little faster than Daniel had expected. He turned to Beau, all set to explain that Beau couldn’t keep the dog, but then his words tangled in his throat.

Beau was crying.

At that very moment, someone pounded on the front door.

Cleo knocked on the door again, then stepped back and tucked the plastic straw in the corner of her mouth, sucking the last bit of Tastee Delight vanilla shake from the bottom of the cup.

The door opened. Daniel stood there looking at her through the screen.

“Remember me?” she asked. “You were supposed to give me a ride so I could get my dog.”

He scratched his head. “Yeah,” he admitted with a distracted air. “I’ve been a little busy.”

“I walked, if you’re worried about how I got here. I can see you are.” In truth, she hadn’t been able to stay in the motel room one more second.

Since he wasn’t going to ask, she had to. “Can I come in?”

He pushed the screen door open. “Sure.” He didn’t sound sure at all.

She stepped inside the cool, welcoming room. “Where’s Premonition?”

In the distance, beyond the kitchen, she heard a washing machine. It was a homey sound.

Daniel crossed his arms high over his chest. “Listen…about your dog.”

The empty paper cup she was holding fell from nerveless fingers, hitting the floor with a hollow sound. “Oh, my God. Something’s happened. He’s been hit by a car!”

“No, no,” Daniel quickly assured her. “He’s fine. It’s just that, well, Beau’s become attached to him. Really attached, and I was wondering if you’d sell him to us. After all, you were going to leave him here, anyway. So what would it matter? This way you can actually get something out of it.”

Sell her dog?

Sell Premonition?

Earlier she’d planned to leave him with Beau, but that was because she’d thought it would be best for everyone. Selling him had never been part of the equation.

Cup forgotten, she strode past Daniel, intent on stepping into the backyard to get her dog. But when she reached the screen door, she stopped.

In the semidarkness just beyond the illuminated circle cast by the porch light, Beau knelt on the ground, his arms around Premonition. And he was crying. There he was, a man who was getting gray at the temples, hugging her dog, sobbing his heart out.

She should never have come to this place.

Everything was wrong. It had been wrong from the beginning.

“I’ll sell the dog.”

The words were out of her mouth before she’d even assessed them. Why had she said that? She would give Premonition to Beau, but she would never, ever sell him.

Without appearing to give Cleo a second thought, Daniel cut in front of her, slid open the screen door, and stepped outside. “Beau!” he shouted, moving toward his brother at a half run. “Good news. You can keep the dog.”

Beau looked up and said something Cleo couldn’t hear.

Daniel nodded.

Beau’s smile, when it came, was brilliant. Dazzling. He jumped to his feet, laughing, Premonition dancing around him, letting out a couple of excited barks.

Tightness gripped Cleo’s throat, grief was coming on.

Moving with a jerky awkwardness, she turned and walked across the living room to the front door. Blindly she groped for the handle, found it, and tumbled onto the porch, almost falling to her knees. Recalling the way Daniel had come after her before, she hurried down the steps. Instead of taking the sidewalk, she ran across the street, disappearing into the darkness between two houses. She kept running. Past houses casting warm light, past barking dogs, through backyards and front yards, until her side ached and her lungs were raw. She stopped, her breathing harsh in her ears, hands braced on her knees. Then, with a palm pressed to her side, she walked.

She couldn’t go back to the motel room. Not yet.

She passed an old cemetery. The iron gate was open. She took that as an invitation, and was soon wandering among the moss-covered tombstones. Gradually her lungs began to feel better. She collapsed in an open area, the grass cool under her cheek, the ground beneath her smelling like a mysterious concoction of things old and new.

In the peacefulness of the cemetery, she drifted off to sleep…

Daniel Sinclair was lying on the grass beside her. He pulled her into his arms, pressing his mouth to hers. Somehow their clothes disappeared, and his body touched hers, hot skin to hot skin. As she looked into his eyes, he filled her, a confident smile on his face, a man in total control. Let go, he told her without verbal communication. Just let go.

She felt herself letting go, falling away, while he continued to smile at her, cool as could be.

She woke up with a start, the slanted, erotic mood of the dream still upon her. It took her a moment to realize she was still in the cemetery. She groaned, her body stiff, her clothes and skin covered with dew. How long had she been there? She pushed herself to a half-sitting position. It had to be late. There were no lights in the nearby houses. There was not a single sound of a vehicle anywhere.

Off in the distance, sounding miles and miles away, a dog barked.

She got stiffly to her feet and began moving in the direction of the motel. By the time she reached the highway that led to The Palms, she still hadn’t seen any sign of life. Rather than walk next to the highway, she clung to the ditch. At one point, a lone semi moved in her direction, the headlights cutting through fog she hadn’t realized was there until that moment. She jumped behind a tree, waited for the vehicle to pass, then continued to the motel.

No welcoming beacon lit the way. The neon sign that announced the name of the motel had long ago ceased to work, and, like everything else around the place, no one had bothered to fix it.

Gravel crunched under her feet as she approached her room. Suddenly she spotted a dark form uncurling itself from her door, then a voice came to her out of the darkness.

“Get lost?” The voice and shape belonged to Daniel Sinclair. She was too tired to deal with him now.

“What do you want, Sinclair?”

“Jo would like you to come in for another reading tomorrow.”

He could have called to tell her that.

“And to find out what you want for your dog. How about a hundred bucks?”

She couldn’t talk about Premonition. If she did, she’d start crying. “I don’t want anything.” She bowed her head over her bag, acting extremely interested in finding her key. Her fingers came in contact with the slice of plastic, but she continued the pretense of a search.

“Oh, come on. I know better than that. You always want something.”

She unlocked the door and flipped on the wall switch, revealing the room in all its squalid glory. Nothing looked out of place, and yet she got the impression someone had been there.

She dropped her bag on the bed. Daniel was right behind her, closing the door with a solid click, sliding the chain lock. He tossed something beside her bag. A packet of rubbers.