The Beast Read Online Free Page B

again. No body.
                  Finally, after deep fried ice cream, an apple chimichanga, and enough tequila to fill me with warm confidence that the world was still how it always had been, I stuffed my hot laundry into the backseat of my car. The trunk would have to be cleaned some other time.
                  Sandra offered to take me back to her place where they were planning on watching a movie, playing a board game, and utilizing her hot tub. I wanted to decline, to do the responsible thing and go home, maybe to a hospital, and-.
                  And what? Lay awake in fear all night? I couldn’t do that. Replay the previous night over and over in my mind? I didn't want that. I didn’t want to be alone. Besides, it wouldn't be very responsible to drive after three margaritas.
    Like it's better to let someone else drive after four.
                  "Come on," Sandra pleaded, holding my arm with both hands and shaking it. "I'll bring you back to your car later. Please? It won't be the same without you."
                  I laughed and agreed, even though tears of pain welled up in my eyes. It hurt when she shook me, but I didn’t want to stop her and have to explain why. I felt safer around other people. I felt safer with Sandra. "Safety in numbers," like the radio host said.
                  The big TV was already on at her house, set to the news, as every TV seemed to be, replaying the footage from the car fire. It might not have been Simon's car. There were plenty of old maroon colored cars out there. It was Los Angeles, after all. There were a lot of every kind of car. It's not like I had his license plate number memorized. I hadn't even seen it in the daytime. I smiled. How silly of me to jump to conclusions.
                  It promised some breaking news on the Hollywood Killer before Sandra switched it over to a movie.
                  I stared at the screen with my mind distracted, but I nudged for popcorn, held out my glass for more wine, and laughed at all the jokes anyway. When it was over, Sandra opened a new bottle and ordered Jack to bring out towels. She offered me a bathing suit, but the bikini exposed the slashes and bruises decorating my abdomen and I put my clothes back on.
                  "You're not getting in ?" Sandra slurred when I came out, spilling drops of her dark red wine onto the concrete surrounding the pool. "You have to get in!"
                  I caught her shoulder gently when she staggered too close to the pool. "I'm not getting in, but I'll stay. I'll just put my feet in." 
                  I thought of the zombie skin on my calf and wished I hadn't even said that. But she would hold me to it or die trying to figure out why I wouldn’t, so I stripped my jeans off and dropped my legs into the water as quickly as I could and hoped that no one was looking hard enough to see my bruised hip in the dim light.
                  I forced my legs to stay under the hot bubbling water. Above water, salty sweat stung my cuts. After a few minutes and another glass of wine, it wasn't so bad. After we opened the third bottle I couldn't feel much of anything at all. I just leaned back and looked up into the sky. Clouds, trees, her fence, and the neighbor’s lights obscured the stars. I thought about Simon for a moment, but it was easy to push the thought away when I sat up again.
                  When Sandra decided that she'd had enough of the hot tub, we all went inside. The two men stood around in nervous, drunken anticipation until Sandra all but pushed them out the door. She offered me a blanket and the big comfy couch, which I occupied gratefully. The wine had done its work. I was relaxed. Completely devoid of all thoughts of car fires and killers and vampires and werewolves.
                  I squeezed my eyes