November 2008

Comet Press open for submissions

Our print division, Comet Press, is currently accepting submissions for horror, suspense, and dark crime novels and novellas. Visit www.cometpress.us for details.

Available for order from Comet Press

DEADLINES: AN ANTHOLOGY OF HORROR AND DARK FICTION, will be released in November of 2008! Visit www.cometpress.us

The Waiting Room
by Gary J Beharry

Now.
Regrets. She's gone. My heart beats for the last time. Explosion. Death.

Five Minutes ago.
Tears streamed down my wife's face. I clawed at the chains wrapped around her body again, careless of the bomb intertwined within the chains, mocking me with its tick- tock countdown. They didn't budge. The red welts on her skin forced more anger to rise, but soon, my hands became as raw and red as her welts. The gash on her head was still bleeding. "Save yourself. There's nothing you can do!" Suzie cried.

Three hours ago.
"You bastard! Did you really think you could just use me and set me aside? Well, Gerry, now, I have taken everything from you!" I stopped the tape. Chantille's voice was like ice. I looked down at the blood spotting my living room carpet. The amount was small, perhaps quarter of a shot glass, but it was my wife's blood. Suzie's blood. The woman I loved, the woman I betrayed. I continued playing the tape. "If you want her, come get her. As you know, I'm very sentimental. It shouldn't be too hard to find her. And if you don't, not only will she die, but everyone will know. There'll be no hiding from me, ever!"

Eight Days Ago.
It was a mistake. That happened over and over again. Legs and hands fidgeted as I sat in the The Waiting Room diner. Chantille finally arrived and I waved her to a dark corner of the eatery, probably where all the secret lovers eat. Jeez, how long had it been since I'd been in here, in The Waiting Room? Since in my college days, when I met . . . Suzie. A place for first loves. Today -- a place for saying goodbye . . .

Five months ago.
She bucked up and down, around and sideways. I felt like a mechanical bull rider. She was insatiable, clawing, biting, choking, and biting some more. I had never experienced anything like it. It wasn't love.

Six months ago.
"Gerald, this is Chantille. She comes highly recommended from Research. Well, I'll leave you two to it." Mr. Farnsworth patted me on the back, winked at me, and then waddled his oppressive body out of my office.

Low cut red dress, high heels, ruby red lipstick, roman nose, bangs, blue bow in her hair.

I fixed my tie with one hand, got up, and stuck my other out. She waved me down, and then came to me. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Brock. It's going to be a pleasure working with you."

It didn't matter that I had a wonderful wife or a decent job. That first touch ended my life. And I knew it.

Thirteen years ago.
"I now pronounce you man and wife, you may kiss the bride." Suzie and I had done more than that in our two year courtship. But that kiss, the one that made it all legal, was like starting all over again. I wanted to shout, "Good night and go home!" and take Suzie away, me and her . . . just me and her.

I had never seen her look so beautiful. And she was Crying, and I was crying. Her father, General Christopher Lassiter himself, even shed a tear. Of course, my mother and father had already cried a river. I kissed her again, and again, and again. We were in love and we would be together forever.

Fifteen years, and 3 months ago.
"I'll have a ginger ale," I said, seated at the counter of The Waiting Room diner, my favorite cheapo dive.

"Me too," a feminine voice said from behind.

God she looked like a geek to the eighteenth power. Her acne blemishes were still apparent, greasy face, and unkempt brown hair. But when she smiled, God Dammit, it was like an eraser whitewashed all the negative away.

I knew I was done for.

We talked and held hands, and touched noses like a pair of Eskimos. I would have proposed right there, but as it was, I could barely pay for the ginger ale I had bought. I was living on oatmeal and scholarships. My school load was such that I couldn't even get a job.

But, at least I had someone to share it with now.

Approximately 4.7 billion years ago.
Explosion. Life. Regrets.