Page 1 of Lotus

P R O L O G U E

“GET OUT OF THE ROAD, FREAK!”

I jump back. Vehicles speed past me, loud and obtrusive, flashes of colors and lights. Panicked breaths climb up my throat as I stumble along the side of the roadway.

This is a dream.

There are humans behind the wheels of these vehicles, some hanging out of their windows, pointing a device towards me. They are breathing the air. They are gawking and laughing and shouting clipped words into the dusky evening.

This can’t be right.

I break out into a run, a shot of dizziness funneling through my veins. The sound of my heartbeats nearly detonating in my ears has my legs weakening with every urgent step. There is so much noise, so much chaos. I unzip my hazmat suit mid-run, my insides suffocating, and pull it off as I reach for my mask.

I falter.

The sound of a blaring horn startles me, and I almost trip on the plastic bunching around my ankles, revealing my blood-soaked chest and pants. The cold air shocks my skin.

Before I can think it through, I yank off my mask—my final barrier of protection.

I inhale giant gulps of oxygen, breathing in deep, letting the ice fill my lungs for the first time in decades. God, it is glorious. Unrivaled. I drink it in like water, like sustenance, basking in the earthy winter musk I had long since forgotten.

Then I smell what lies beneath—something astringent. Fumes of some sort. My heart rattles with dread.

Oh, God… fumes.

Bradford was right.

I have made a fatal mistake.

Clutching my neck, I wait for death. Chest tight, lungs wheezing, I fall atop the gravel when my knees give out, hitting hard. Vehicles continue to pass, spraying me with sludge and dirt. Through blurred vision, I see one of them decelerate beside me, feet appearing in my line of sight a few moments later. The feet grow closer, my breaths quickening.

“Sir? Are you all right, sir?” It’s a male voice, similar to Bradford. “I think you’re having a panic attack. I’ll call 9-1-1.”

The voice fades out as I fully collapse, struggling for air. The toxic fumes are consuming me, snuffing out my life. I curl my legs up into the fetal position and whisper raggedly as everything goes dark, “Lotus…”

The Black Lotus has been defeated.

O N E

IDIDN’T MEAN TO FLASH THE NEIGHBOR.

I was only running out to grab the mail, so my robe seemed like an acceptable amount of coverage. My neighbors are used to seeing me in paint-smeared pajama pants, assorted beanies, mismatched socks, and oversized t-shirts with nineties prints on them. Usually, all at the same time.

So, the robe seemed like a step up. I felt good about it.

But then I slipped on a patch of ice and fell spread-eagle on my driveway, facing Lorna Gibson’s house. I was wearing underwear at least, but the tie came undone, and a boob popped out, prompting the old woman to clutch her rosary and perform the sign of the cross a dozen times.

I tuck the girls back into place and climb to my feet, groaning at the throbbing ache in my tailbone. I wave to Lorna, who dropped her own mail and is staring up at the Heavens, surely praying for God himself to strike me down. “I’m okay!” I call out with forced cheerfulness. She ignores me, still chanting her Hail Marys. “The leopard print panties are on sale at Victoria’s Secret if you were curious. Super breathable!”

Lorna gasps with a hand over her heart, shaking her head at me from across the yard. She looks like she wants to personally give me an exorcism. “Blasphemous child,” she mutters before scooping up her mail and racing into the house.

Sydney Neville. The sacrilegious tramp of Briarwood Lane.

I chuckle under my breath, unfazed. Lorna has hated me ever since I politely declined her offer to join her Bible club a few years back. I’m assuming it’s like a book club with only one book—the Bible.

Considering I like to read dark romances with lots of graphic sex and explicit language, I’m certain I would have been sitting there bored, wondering when Adam and Eve were finally going to get freaky.

“You okay, Sydney?”

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