= 14. =
 As he started to realize too late that she had indeed fooled him, he began to notice signs of drug paraphernalia all around. She must be a medical tech or even a nurse. Under the couches and chairs were torn-open white or plastic bags with industrial-looking medical names on them. Syringes lay strewn about in the carpet. Pill bottles rolled around under the seats.
"Josie!" she called again, then popped up like a cork in a bathtub. "I’m going to tell her a thing or two." She whirled, in a spiral of flowery and leafy cotton, and rushed on shapely, strong legs toward the hallway door. Throwing it open, she strode away into the distance. She became a blur as Martin’s eyes closed.
Hearing a yell, he tore his eyes open and saw that Josie had entered the room. She wore that long dark dress and the orange hair and heavy-rimmed glasses. But she must be Marsha’s twin.
Martin blinked, trying to remain conscious and to make sense of these two women.
It was very hard, but he must try.
It was Marsha, wearing an orange wig and a dark gown. In fact, she wore the gown over her flowery dress. That was Marsha underneath the Josie get-up, stark raving mad.
And she carried a large butcher knife a foot long, with a chopping blade on it about three inches wide. The blade came to a point and curved upward in a razor sharp gutting hook.
Josie-Marsha plopped down opposite Martin. "You fucking guys!" she yelled. "You fucking guys! You fucking guys!" over and over again.
Martin sensed he was tipping to the right, ready to fall over. There was nothing he could do to steady himself, and she was not about to stop her tirade of hate and anger.
Marsh smiled brightly, "Josie is practicing her dance steps. Whoo-hooh!" With that she rose, and started to perform a kind of south Asian dance step with Balinese finger-pinching and Indian neck-twitching while blinking provocatively. She actually almost turned blue in the dim firelight.
Josie said, "You like that, eh, Martin? I am going to gut you like a fish."
No, he thought, I have to get to see Chloë in LA.
Josie danced ever more feverishly, while waving her knife around and making elegant pinching motions with the fingers of her opposite hand. Slowly, the orange wig toppled off, revealing Marsha’s long, mussy graying hair underneath. As she danced, Marsha began using the knife to shred Josie’s long dark red gown, as if trying to free Marsha from being Josie’s prisoner.
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Thank you for reading the first half (free, what I call the Bookstore Metaphor). If you love it, you can (easily and safely at Amazon) buy the whole e-book for the painless price of a cup of coffee—also known as Read-a-Latte (hours of reading enjoyment; the coffee is gone in minutes, but the book stays with you forever). You can also get those many hours of happy reading from the print edition for the price of a sandwich (no, I don't have a metaphor for that, like a 'sandwich metaphor?'). To help the author, please recommend this book your friends, and also post a favorable (five star!) review at Amazon, Good Reads, and similar online reader resources. Thank you (JTC).
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