Better off Dead A Lucy Hart, Deathdealer - By Eva Sloan Page 0,8

she stumbled out, her arms full and her feet suddenly slipping-sliding beneath her. She skated and spun across the floor, amazingly missing all the other McDonalds workers, and crashed with a rather loud thud into the opposite wall. Her feet slipped out from under her and she dropped to the fetid tile floor with a sickening crunch.

~*~

“Hey, Lucy...wake up!” The guy’s voice was so familiar, yet it felt as if she hadn’t heard it in years. Her eyes snapped open—Jeff Haas knelt over her. His smile was wide and his eyes so pretty and happy to see her. Then she realized she was laying on the ground...correction, on the tiled floor of Mrs. Henderson’s Spanish class, and everyone from her old school—her old life—was clustered around her. Afternoon sunlight drizzled in sparkling rays through the large unadorned windows. The light played against Jeff’s cheek and made his eyelashes shine.

She felt tears well up in her eyes. She was so glad to see them all and the looks of worry etched on their faces. Had that all been just a bad dream?

“Sorry, Lucy,” Jeff said, running his fingers softly over her forehead. “I was just trying to surprise you for your birthday. You kinda jumped and fell down when you saw it.”

“Saw what?” She was so confused, and her head was spinning.

“Your gift.” Jeff’s smile was so bright and warm she couldn’t help but smile back at him.

Mrs. Henderson prodded her way through the assembled students and stooped down to look her hard in the eye. “The school nurse is on her way, and she’s called your father.”

“Daddy?” The thought of him coming there made her heart tap-dance in her chest. There was nothing she wanted more than to see him. That realization, that he was on his way, made it undeniably true. All of that—the FBI/incarceration/moving to Gram’s/working at McDonalds mess—had really all only been a really horrible, really annoying dream. And now that she thought of it, her head really did hurt. She’d probably hit it when she fell.

“See, Lucy. Everything’s fine. Your dad’s on his way, and it’s still your birthday.” Jeff’s wide smile turned shy and his brow did that sexy furrow thing it does when he’s unsure of himself. “So, you ready for your gift?”

“Presents!” She chimed as she sat up fast and felt her head throb with a burning pain. “Are you kidding? I’m all about the presents.”

“Okay,” Jeff said, and then turned and grabbed up something in his arms. When he turned back to her, Lucy cooed sweetly. In his arms was the cutest little golden retriever puppy. It was one of the few things she’d never been allowed to have. Her father was allergic.

But her smile hastily faded as she really looked at the little golden bundle of boundless joyful energy. It was dead. Not only was it dead, but it was missing an eye and blood was dried in a thick line from its mouth all the way across its chest.

But it was looking right at her, panting with its little puppy tongue hanging out, and its tail wagging.

“How do you like your gift?” Jeff said.

~*~

Lucy clawed and screamed her way out of the dream, her eyes opened wide and her head scalded with pain. She reached up to hold her head, but then her arm joined in on the pain-a-palooza. She was pressed up against the stained stucco wall, the greasy tiles cold and hard against her body.

At first everything else was a blur. Odd shapes hovered around her, and she heard voices. They were all talking about her. The only thing that was clear was a blackness that snaked around the periphery of her blurred vision. It faded into the din as she heard someone say, “I saw her come barreling out of the cooler.”

“Yeah, well, I think she was stuck in there,” said someone else. “I’ve had that happen before.”

“And don’t forget Brad and his pickle mishap. That shit was all over the floor.”

Gradually everything came into focus, and she felt cold and sticky, on top of the pain in her head, shoulder and arm. There was a tangy, sweet, totally nauseating smell. She looked down at herself and saw she was covered in special sauce. It dripped from her hands, was splattered over the black slacks she’d bought on sale at Wal-Mart, and had plastered her McDonalds polo shirt to her chest. She knew without looking that it was dripping from her chin, and a glob ran cold