Nearly Departed, Max Schlienger [the gingerbread man read aloud txt] 📗

was set with two plates, each piled with a generous helping of salmon and rice. Dennis sat down across from Alena, who was already patiently waiting for him. As soon as his fork was in his hand, she began ravenously swallowing her food, pausing only when she saw Dennis staring at her quizzically.

“What?” she asked through a mouthful of fish. Dennis shook his head with a grin.

“Nothing.”

Alena put down her fork and swallowed. “I know it’s something. What?” she asked again.

Dennis shrugged and picked at his own food, peeling a small bit of skin away from the salmon. “I just haven’t seen you eat like that in awhile. Busy day?” Alena rolled her eyes and resumed eating, but at a subdued pace.

“I shouldn’t have taken that extra class on. I know Antonio needs the time, but it’s getting to be a bit too much. I might have to hire another instructor.”

Dennis nodded noncommittally, knowing full well that his wife preferred to work through her troubles on her own. She ran a small dance studio in downtown San Francisco, which kept her active both physically and otherwise. Her partner, a man named Antonio Cortez, had recently been offered a job as a supporting character in a local film, and much of his time over the past few months had been spent in rehearsal and preparation for the role. As a result, Alena had taken over the task of teaching his classes when he was unavailable, but the added effort was having an effect on her free time. Also, Dennis mused, apparently on her lunch breaks.

“Well, I could stop by and bring you something if you want,” Dennis offered. Since the success of his book, he had nothing but free time, which was also a likely contributor to his habit of donning a fake beard and an old hat. Alena continued to eat, shaking her head as she scraped the rice together on her plate.

“Thanks, but don’t you have to see Sam tomorrow?” she sat back and flopped her napkin onto the table.

“That will take fifteen minutes, tops,” replied Dennis. “I can visit afterwards. How about I bring you one of those sandwiches you like? You know, from the place with all the birds painted on the ceiling.”

Alena smiled, but there was a certain weariness to her expression. “I’ll just grab something from the market down the street.” Dennis shuddered inwardly as he pictured the place in question. Like so many similar establishments in the city, the shop Alena was referring to advertised its presence by the means of a large, broken sign that spelled out the words “LIQUOR, FOOD, PRODUCE,” and seemed to cater more to drunks and derelicts than famished dance instructors.

“No, really,” Dennis pressed. “I insist. I’ll just swing by and drop it off, and you can eat it on your break. You won’t even know that I’m there, I promise.” This time, when Alena smiled, the warmth crept back into her eyes, and Dennis could see her relaxing.

“I bet you use that line on all the girls, don’t you?” Of the many things he liked about her, Alena’s wit was probably top on Dennis’ list, and the fact that her jokes frequently caught him off-guard was rather appealing. True to form, it took him a moment to recognize the suggestive tone in Alena’s statement, and she laughed at the expression of dawning comprehension that crossed his face. She continued to tease him as they left the dining room, where the dishes remained on the table until the next morning.

Chapter Two

No matter how many times Dennis visited the office of Doctor Samuel Harding, he always managed to get lost on the way there. Allegedly, its placement in the fifteen-story building had remained unchanged during the duration of Harding’s career, but Dennis had always held the vague suspicion that it relocated when he wasn’t paying attention. Still, his confusion upon looking at the building’s directory was always replaced by a sense of amused shock when he entered the office’s waiting room. Harding had a strange habit of hanging large pictures, painted by his wife, on the far wall. Although they were purportedly of the abstract variety, the assemblages of shapes and colors always seemed to Dennis to have vaguely sexual undertones. The current piece, for example, might very well have portrayed two obese men playing leapfrog in the nude.

There was no receptionist present, which was odd for Harding, who touted an unrivaled hatred of telephones and paperwork. Also, the door leading to his personal office was closed, which only happened when Harding had a patient. Dennis checked his watch, and confirmed that this was when Harding usually took his lunch break. Although he had been warned to never knock when the door was closed, Dennis considered breaking the mandate on the possibility that Harding had merely forgotten about their weekly meeting and had dozed off on his couch. The absence of the receptionist, who Dennis knew to be both young and attractive, also brought forth suspicions of a more sinister nature. Then again, there was always the possibility that one of Harding’s sessions was simply running late, in which case a knock at the door would be an unwelcome interruption.

Not that it wouldn’t in the other case, Dennis thought. He sat down in one of the few chairs that lined the walls of the waiting room, and pretended to browse through a newspaper that had been folded on the receptionist’s desk. He thought that he could hear voices coming from behind the closed door, but it could just as easily have been the sounds of conversation from one of the offices down the hall. With a sigh, Dennis flipped through the paper until he came to the one section he ever actually read, and was disappointed, as he usually was, by the poor quality of the comics that he found there.

The sudden sound of footsteps and the click of a lock being turned called Dennis’ attention back to