Seeds of Fear

Please.'

No, Mark, don't. I'm hurt.

Mark stood, his temples pulsing like the throat of a frog. He reached deep into a pocket and pulled out a tear-shaped gold pendant, clusters of dried dirt spilling onto the floor from the movement. 'I'll give you this,' he pleaded. 'I'll trade this for one picture.'

Mrs. Arvin's eyes widened in horror. 'Oh, my God!' she gasped. 'Ralph — it's the pendant Beth wore when she was buried!' Visibly shaken, she grabbed for the gold chain, but Mark thoughtlessly snatched it away.

'You don't understand,' he growled as he wiped his forehead. 'She's lost her looks. I need to remember her like she was.'

Mr. Arvin nudged him toward the door, but Mark stood his ground. 'Get away from here, you maniac!' Mr. Arvin raved. 'You've robbed my daughter's grave!' Then he turned to his wife and stuttered, 'C-c-call the p-p- police.'

Mark's nostrils flared. 'Sure! Go ahead!' he yelled. 'You probably made her dump me in the first place. You never liked me anyway.' Again he stopped for a deep breath. 'Call the fuckin' cops!' he howled. 'You don't give a shit about me.' He stomped maddeningly around the room mumbling to himself, banging a knee hard against the coffee table without even reacting to the pain.

Mr. Arvin backed away, his eyes reflecting horror. Hyperventilating, Mark ripped several pages from the open photo album, rolled them up, and stuffed them into his dirty pocket, the photo of Beth and her husband slipping free and falling to the floor. Mark leaned over to pick it up. 'I hate this son of a bitch,' he growled through gritted teeth. 'She wouldn't leave him, so I took her the only way I knew how.'

Mrs. Arvin squeezed against her husband's side.

Stop it, Mark. That hurts!

'It was no accident, you know,' he admitted, the fear in their faces spurring him on. 'I ran her off the road. There wasn't any traffic. Not a single car came by.' His eyes widened; his cheeks tightened. 'The son of a bitch shouldn't have built a house so far out in the woods.'

'Oh, my God,' Mr. Arvin moaned, a shudder in his voice. He clutched his chest and dropped to his knees as his wife cried hysterically at his side. The fear and revulsion in their faces reminded Mark of Beth's expression as she died, encouraging him to continue.

Don't, Mark. I'm hurt. I'm bleeding.

'Even after her car hit the tree, she was still alive,' he boasted. 'I fucked her right there. For old times' sake, just like I used to do when she was bleeding for different reasons.' His eyes were as big as walnuts, and he hardly blinked. 'She was hurting too bad to resist. Hell, what did it matter?'

Despite increasingly trembling hands, Mark man aged to light a cigarette. Mesmerized by the glow of the lighter's flame, he took a deep draw, then exhaled a plume of smoke. 'I used a rubber, though. She always made me use a rubber. When we were through, she wouldn't stop screaming. She wasn't hurt bad enough to die, so I smashed her face into the steering wheel as hard as I could.' He stopped for another draw that filtered through his teeth. 'I had to save her from that asshole husband of hers. I had to spare her from any more misery.' He stopped suddenly, cocking his head to one side as if straining to hear a voice.

Mr. Arvin fell forward, bracing himself against the floor with his hands and knees. Mrs. Arvin trembled.

Mark flashed a sickening grin. 'It took years, but I finally got her back,' he said. 'We're together again.' He dropped his cigarette butt and ground it into the carpet. 'She's waiting in the car. Would you like to see her before we leave?'

Mrs. Arvin bolted for the kitchen, where a telephone hung on the wall. 'Go ahead. Call the fuckin' cops,' Mark yelled at her. Then he turned his attention to Mr. Arvin on the floor, smiling as the grieving man gasped for air. 'That expression on your face. It looks so painful. Beth looked just like that before she died.'

Finally Mark stood and stretched, gazing out a window at a shovel visible in the back of his Jeep. With the brilliance of lightning Beth's face reappeared and he imagined her sizzling touch. 'I know you're waiting for me,' he said to her. 'I'll be right there.' With a deep breath and a high-pitched maniacal whine he dug into his soiled pocket in search of his keys. 'I enjoyed our visit. It's been a blast.'

At the sound of movement from behind, Mark turned to stare down the wavering barrel of a shotgun.

The wrinkled, tear-streaked face of Mrs. Arvin stared from the other end of the unsteady barrel, her finger poised at the trigger. 'We're still having a blast,' she mumbled.

With an explosive roar and a blinding flash, memories of Beth, as well as half of Mark's brain, were gone.

OVEREATERS OMINOUS Stephen R. George

Agatha's mouth watered as the waitress wheeled up the dessert tray. A slice of Black Forest torte in the center of the spread caught her eye. Dark chocolate, rich cream, ripe cherries. She licked her lips.

'Get it out of your head,' Nick said.

Agatha glared at him and blushed. Nick grinned up at the waitress, a slim, dark-haired girl, whose narrow face was made-up too heavily, just the way he liked it. He looked like he wanted to make love to her.

Agatha looked quickly away. Make love? Nick didn't make love anymore. At least, not to her. Sex between them had degenerated into a biweekly suck 'n' fuck. That's what Nick called it. Hey, Aggie, time for some suck 'n' fuck! They hadn't made love, real love, in years. They'd been married six, and the love had ended after two. After the miscarriage, after the depression, after the eating, after the weight. Love had turned into suck 'n' fuck.

'I'll have that one,' Nick said, pointing to the torte.

The waitress picked up the plate with fingers tipped in long, pink, press-on nails, and slid it in front of Nick, then turned to Agatha with a questioning look.

'Does she look like she needs anything?' Nick said. 'I don't think so.'

The waitress smiled nervously. Agatha could not speak. She couldn't even breathe. Her flush intensified. She felt as if her face were on fire.

'You give her something off that tray, she'll never get out of her chair, right, Aggie?'

Agatha shook her head slowly, mortified, trying to avoid the waitress's eyes. What was the girl waiting for? Why didn't she leave? Agatha turned away and saw in horror that diners at neighboring tables had turned to look. Nick's voice was loud and carried well. A middle-aged woman to Agatha's left smiled at her and shook her head, then leaned toward the man beside her and whispered something. The man, who looked so much like Agatha's father it hurt, smiled, nodded. Nearby, two slim, attractive women, both spooning luxurious-looking desserts into their mouths, looked over at Agatha with frowns.

'Are you sure?' the waitress said to Agatha.

'Doesn't she look sure?' Nick said. 'She eats anything else, she won't even fit in the damned car.'

Now the waitress chuckled. Agatha found her voice.

'I'll just have coffee, please.'

'And make it black,' Nick said. 'She's sweet enough as it is. Isn't that right, honey?'

'Black is fine.'

Nick forked a piece of torte into his mouth. Cream and cherry sauce caught at the corners of his lips. The tip of his tongue darted out to catch the stray cream. Agatha's mouth watered.

'What's wrong with you?' he said, swallowing.

'You humiliated me.'

'Look at you. I can't humiliate you any more than you humiliate yourself.'

'I want to go home.'

'I'm not finished with my dessert, or my coffee.'

'Everybody is staring at me. I want to go. Please, Nick.'

'Staring at you?' He raised his voice, as if astonished, and looked around. 'What the hell would anybody