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As I Die Lying Lost Chapter

As I Die Lying Lost Chapter

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A chapter from the thriller "As I Die Lying," in which the four people living in a man's head try to write his autobiography...the people he loves keep turning up dead...he may be possessed by a soul-hopping evil spirit...and here comes the woman of his dreams.
A chapter from the thriller "As I Die Lying," in which the four people living in a man's head try to write his autobiography...the people he loves keep turning up dead...he may be possessed by a soul-hopping evil spirit...and here comes the woman of his dreams.

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Published by: author Scott Nicholson on Sep 27, 2010
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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As I Die Lying Lost ChapterCHAPTER TWENTY-NINEBeth opened her door with a smile. A lying smile, but a smile nonetheless. Ithought about kissing her cheek, but I wanted Loverboy to sleep for now. The apartmentwas cramped, piled high with books and rolled-up prints. Wine bottles with candlestapering up from their necks sat on every flat surface. The walls were covered with cracksand movie posters and crayon drawings. The room smelled of wax, patchouli, andfermenting fruit.I sat on a plaid sofa that was leaking cotton from its arms. Beth sat in a stiff-backed chair and leaned forward, clasping her hands.“You’re looking well,” she said, but I saw the lie in her eyes, saw the lie sitting onher tongue. I was a cancer patient, a crash test dummy, a burn victim, a serial suicide.
Small talk 
, Mister Milktoast advised.
 Electron particles, shrimp, dust motes
Oompah Loompahs
. “So. . .what have you been doing with yourself lately?”“The usual. School. Got exams coming up. Working on my thesis.”“I meant, what have you been doing for fun?” Loverboy wanted to ask whoseone-eyed pony she had been riding, but I shoved him in the broom closet. “I haven’t seenyou at the gallery.”Beth looked away. Without the brown hat, her head seemed too small for hershoulders. The hat now adorned a Styrofoam head that stores used to display wigs.
Paintbrushes had been poked into the invisible white eyes.“I’ve been busy,” she said, standing up and walking across the room to thekitchen.I spoke to her back, keeping Loverboy’s eyes above the waist. “With Ted?”She opened the refrigerator and ducked her head. A magnet fell off, and acharcoal sketch fluttered to the floor. She stooped to pick up the items and Loverboyleered at the arch of her thighs while Little Hitler giggled at the faint strip of exposedflesh between her blouse and pants, where a blue butterfly tattoo lay with dead wings.She pulled a beer out of the refrigerator and twisted off the top.“I’d offer you one,” she said, “but I know you don’t drink.”Little Hitler, the bastard son of my father, would have made a championalcoholic, but in this case had been outnumbered by those who would allow no dulling of sensations. We didn’t want to miss a single second of this life, because who knew whatwould happen next? Plus we needed the extra chapters, because those big-time New York agents said the ending had been anticlimactic. If you black out, you lose big chunks of your autobiography, like we did with Shelley Birdsong’s murder.One of three doors opened at the end of a short hallway. A woman who lookedslightly younger than Beth stepped out, tall and thin with curly black hair. The skin onher face was taut and pale, and her cheekbones angled like cliff shelves. Her full lipscurved out, a softening complement to the harsh planes of her face. Asian eyes with anAndromeda glint.
“Hi there.” She stepped into the kitchen. “Pass me a brew, sister.”“Witches’ brew,” Beth said, opening the refrigerator. They both laughed.Bookworm wondered what the joke was.I watched Monique with amusement and a twinge of Loverboy’s lust as she took three deep swallows from the bottle that Beth gave her. She was wearing a black T-shirtand a black skirt. She looked good in black.“This is Monique,” Beth said, taking a sip from her own beer.“So you’re the lucky one,” I said, pretending I didn’t already know all about her.“The one who gets the daily pleasure of Beth’s company.”Monique laughed. She preened with confidence, her back straight and her hipcocked, like a model. “I think the pleasure’s all hers,” she said, looking at me with eyesthat were like coal mines, deep and dark and dead-end and likely to contribute to globalwarming. “At least, I get to buy all the beer.”“This is Richard,” Beth said. “He works at the bookstore in town.”“We’ve met, sort of,” I said. “Over the phone.”“Beth told me about you,” Monique said. “Good to meet you, finally. You guysgoing out tonight?”I had been wondering that myself. Beth’s eyes crawled over the walls as if she’dnever seen any of the posters before.“No,” I said. “I just stopped by to say hello.”“A shame. Good night for a walk. The moon’s almost full. And it’s that time of 

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