AC > “That’s right. It’s time to act.”
Drake > “What do we do?”
AC > “You know what to do.”
Drake > “No, I don’t. Tell me.”
AC > “It’s time to go live with this thing.”
Drake > “You mean…?”
AC > “Yes.”
Drake > “But, it’s too early. This could jeopardize the project!”
AC > “Some things are worth the risk…”
There was a long pause, and then Agent Cupid stared at the screen from the other side for the first time. He was now in the flesh, and he felt the sweat trickling down from his massive new forehead, onto his meaty upper lip. He felt the heavy rasps of his chest pumping the cool air in and the hot air out. He paused in place for just a moment to acclimate, then stood up from the custom made office chair and backed away from Drake’s computer.
His first audible words were, “There now, it’s about time.”
AGENT CUPID STRUGGLED WITH the stretchy tights. They had been purchased from Party People Warehouse, with special embroidery done at Lonny’s Tailors. He heaved and pulled, stretching the heavy duty spandex in stages, sliding it over a new fold of fat with each, mighty tug.
Once finished, the superhero incarnate stood in front of Drake’s full-length mirror. The vision before him was spectacular; a powerful man, legs and arms of Mr. Universe. The chest pumped upward, yielding the six-pack any woman would crave. He turned his head for a look at the facial profile. Under the mask, a powerful jawbone angled into a proud, protruding chin. He grinned, revealing pearly white teeth, and they glistened under the closet light.
LEIGHTON PARKED THE CAR on the hill leading to her apartment and went around to Patrice’s side to open her door.
She stepped out and with a warm smile, said, “Thank you.”
He pierced her eyes with a deep gaze. He was fatefully perfect tall, dark, and handsome. Smooth, confident, refined. There was an enchanting sparkle in his eyes. Her nervousness subsided. She now felt uncontrollable warmth growing in her heart. She wondered if he could be her one and true soul mate.
He held his arm out and she hooked hers through his. They climbed the hill toward her apartment entrance. They passed a funny looking pink Scooter and they both gawked at its absurdity.
“Interesting seat,” he said, which ignited a rash of giggles from both of them.
They reached the front door. She stepped up and turned to face him. Their eyes met again, and his sparkle returned.
He leaned forward to kiss her, but then he pulled back. She detected deep concern. He glanced down and then restored his focus into her eyes. He spoke with a new, cautious tone. “Patrice, I have to be completely honest with you. I lied on my Securedate application. I’m not divorced yet. It’s a nightmare situation that still has a way to go. I was swept up by a conniving woman and I allowed her take advantage of my inexperience. I caught her cheating and since then, she has gone to every length to discredit my reputation and destroy me. She won’t settle. She’d rather clean me out in court, even if she gets less that way.
“It’s been so bad that I picked up and moved here to get away from it all. I’m looking for the one person who will dispel this horrible chapter of my life. I can’t stop this hopeless romantic inside that tells me you’re the one. I tell you this, praying you’ll forgive me. Hoping you’ll…”
She lifted her forefinger and gently touched his lips. “Shhh. It’s okay.”
She raised her own lips up to his face, gently pressing them to his. But something told her she pressed too hard, because his eyes opened unnaturally wide, bulging from their sockets. His head tilted backward, then rolled off of his shoulders behind him. It made the thunk of a cantaloupe as it hit the sidewalk. His body fell forward into her arms, quivering in shock, the open neck resting against her chin. Blood surged from his jugular into her nose and mouth. Choking on the stream, she held her love for a brief moment, then dropped his spasming corpse to the concrete. She coughed up a glob of thick gore and looked out to see Leighton’s open-eyed head rolling off the sidewalk into the street. Each time it made a full rotation, his frozen eyes seemed to glance at her.
Under panicked arrhythmic breathing, she looked up to find a giant man in a tight, hot pink suit. Folds of fat from his feet to his chin were covered with tired spandex. An equally bright cape covered his lumpy shoulders and arms. There was a large, red heart embroidered on his chest sporting the initials “AC.” A mask covered his eyes, each side in the shape of hearts. Heavy sweat trickled from under the tight mask and white spittle clung to the corners of his mouth. His right arm was holstering a large, blood-soaked Odachi Samurai sword to his left hip.
Once he completed sheathing the sword, he dug his fists into his waist.
Agent Cupid said with a deep, resonating voice, “Good evening, ma’am. This mendacious client will no longer be a threat to you or any other female patron of Securedate.com. You may now carry on with your quest to find the perfect love through the exclusivity of the safest dating service in the land.” He saluted her. “My work here is done.”
With that, Agent Cupid turned and burst into a dramatic, broad stepping run. He mounted the love bike and once again, it roared to life. He made his escape, slowing and swerving momentarily to avoid Leighton’s rolling head. His long, sleek cape caught air and flapped upward, revealing that the love bike’s funny seat had now hidden itself under a magnificent, hot pink ass.
FACE
by Patrick Shand
The face stared at him from the foot of his bed.
Logan wanted to look away. He wanted to throw his legs over the bed and run like hell—but he couldn’t. He was frozen there, staring back at the shiny black eyes. It was a child’s face. A little girl. She had fat cheeks that were alive with maggots and worms, and her smile was black. Her hair was matted to her head as if she’d just come out of a bath.
Logan’s wife lay next to him, snoring.
When he’d first seen the face out of the corner of his eye, he tried to blink it away. Whenever the lights went out, Logan always thought that he saw something that wasn’t there. One night he flicked out the lights, settled into bed, and screamed when he saw a tarantula, just inches from his face. Leaping up, he slammed on the light switch with his balled fist until it finally came on, and he saw that, with the glow of the lamp, his tarantula was just a scratch on the wall.
But that was different—now as much as he blinked, as hard as he looked, the face didn’t go away. The eyes that bulged out of the tiny sockets didn’t turn into a shirt thrown over a chair. The worms that writhed from the flesh didn’t reveal themselves to be the shadow of branches moving with the wind.
The face stared at him.
Beginning to get short of breath, Logan elbowed his wife. “Ash,” he said. She stirred. “Ashley,” he said again, and this time it sounded like begging.
She groaned. “What? What?”
“Ashley,” Logan repeated. He closed his eyes, looking away from the face, and put his forehead on his wife’s shoulder.
“Ugh, Logan… Stop saying my name,” Ashley said. “I need to sleep. We have to get up early and… and get stuff ready for the party. Why do I have to explain this to you at three in the morning?”
Logan stretched his arm across the bed and slowly pointed.
“There,” he said. “Look.”