Clown in the Moonlight

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The fever takes hold, my heart begins to hammer, and I can taste the sweet dollop of murder in the night. I shake my head and try not to laugh. No matter where you go, what you do, you can't outmaneuver your fate. Linda has a tight hold on my wrist as she leads me through the park into Aztakea Woods. She's a powerful little cheerleader, barely five foot tall but all tendon and tit and muscle, and when we make love on the floor of the gazebo or the back of my Mustang, she nearly bucks me off. I've got bruises and welts all over. So does she, but she likes them.

She's excited now in a way I haven't seen before, guiding me down a barely recognizable dirt trail. She knows where she's going, even in the dark. She's been here before.

The wind's risen and I can hear the heavy lapping of the Long Island sound, the salty scent heavy in the air.

"The Acid King showed me," she says, and there's an odd lilt of laughter in her voice.

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