Demon's Door Read Free

suppose it means that whatever we do we cannot avoid the consequence.’
    Jim said, ‘I have class today. I’m going to be late. I’d better take Tibbles inside.’
    â€˜Do you want me to arrange the funeral for you? I have a friend who works for the Los Angeles Pet Memorial Park. His name is Albert. You have to have a funeral.’
    â€˜Violette, he’s a cat.’
    â€˜I know. Do you want him buried or cremated? What sort of casket would you like?’
    â€˜Violette, I just ran him over and killed him. I’m very upset.’
    â€˜I understand, Jim. He was your companion.’
    â€˜Yes, he was. He was interesting. He was funny. He was intuitive. I think at times he even liked me, just a little.’
    Mrs LaFarge stroked Tibbles’ ears. ‘All the same. Le pauvre . He must have a funeral.’
    Jim was very close to saying something that he didn’t want to say. But he took a deep breath, and said, ‘OK . . . let’s talk about it this evening, when I get back from college. Right now, I don’t think I’m in any fit state to talk to anybody about anything.’
    Mrs LaFarge leaned forward and kissed Tibbles on the nose. ‘ Au revoir, mon petit chaton. Safe journey. There is a golden basket waiting for you in heaven.’
    Jim climbed the steps back to his apartment and opened the door. He carried Tibbles’ body through the living room, opened the sliding doors and laid him on one of the sunbeds on the balcony.
    He stood there for a while, half-expecting Tibbles to jump up and give him one of his disdainful looks, and then start licking himself. But Tibbles stayed there, not moving, not breathing. He had been flattened by a two-ton automobile, and Jim had to admit that he was dead. Blood was leaking from his anus, and dripping on to the sunbed.
    â€˜Why did you have to do that, Tibbles?’ he demanded. ‘Why did you have to come after me?’
    He turned around and punched the wall, and said ‘ Fuck! ’ because it hurt so much.

TWO
    H e arrived at West Grove Community College fifteen minutes late. As he walked along the corridor, his sneakers squeaking on the freshly waxed tiles, he could hear Special Class Two from more than a hundred yards away. Shouting, laughing, hooting and playing gangsta rap. He stopped for a moment, next to the lockers, and thought: You don’t have to do this, Jim. You could turn around and walk away and never come back. By this time tomorrow morning you could be fishing for steelhead on the Umpqua River in Oregon.
    He was still standing there when the classroom door next to him opened and Sheila Colefax came out. Sheila was a petite bespectacled brunette who always dressed in pencil skirts and formal blouses, with a brooch at her neck, as if she were attending court. Jim always fantasized that she wore a black garter belt and black stockings and black lace panties underneath her skirts, and that once she had taken off her spectacles and shaken her hair loose, she would be a tigress in bed.
    â€˜Ah, Jim. Do you think you could keep your class a little quieter, please? We’re trying to discuss our Spanish reading list for the coming semester and the noise they’re making. It really is very distracting.’
    â€˜Sure. Yes. Sorry, Sheila. How was your vacation?’
    â€˜My vacation?’
    â€˜Yes. How was it? You have quite a glow about you. Did you go someplace exotic? Bali, maybe?’
    â€˜Sherman Oaks.’
    â€˜Oh. Oh, well. Staying at home, that’s always pretty relaxing, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Not really. I was taking care of my mother. She has Alzheimer’s, and she’s doubly incontinent.’
    â€˜Oh. Sorry to hear it. I’ll – uh – tell my class to put a sock in it.’
    â€˜Thank you, Jim. I’d appreciate it.’
    Sheila Colefax went back into her classroom and closed the door. As she did so, however, she looked back at