Dr. Zachary Klein

I accompanied Murmur Lee’s body to the morgue. Silly, I know. But I just couldn’t let her take that ride alone. Then I went home, poured myself a tall bourbon, and stood on my back porch, unable to go down to the dock, not wanting to get that close to the place Murmur Lee took up the ghost.

The bourbon went down hot and smooth, but it did nothing for the grief. I wished there was a pill I could take. Pharmacology hasn’t come very far, I thought, when it doesn’t offer one damn thing that cures grief.

I hadn’t been with a woman since Katrina died. My hand, as they say, had become my best friend. So I went inside, walked to my study, logged on, and Googled adult chat rooms. Up came something called AdultFriendFinder.com. That’s what I needed. An adult friend. I went to the site, and while my blood pressure rose a hair because my old, expired moral compass was spinning out of control, I filled out all the proper fields. Gave myself the screen name Stallion—now, that made me laugh—and started exploring. I entered a chat room whose description indicated it was a no-holds-barred party place. They weren’t kidding.

BIG DICK 1: I’m looking for some ass to fuck.

PUSSY LICKER: Anybody up for a three-way? Let me shove deep in some bitch’s mouth, way down her cunt throat.

FUCKSOGOOD: Hey, do me. I got wet, wet pussy and the titest asshole Big Dick1 ever seen. I’ll make you cum till u scream.

BIG DICK 1: Bring it on, Fucksogood. Show me that tight asshole.

FUCKSOGOOD: Ok, Big Dick. Here it is. Way up in yur face. Lik it while yur there. Oops! Sorri, I go. My baby is cryin.

Oh my God. I zipped the cursor across the screen, trying to find the button that would log me out. What had I done? I looked at the message on the screen: Come back soon, Stallion. I turned off my computer, pissed that I was getting hard, and headed for the kitchen, where I poured another bourbon. I had to cancel my membership. I could never log on again except to cancel. No. I had to log on and find Fucksogood and tell her that she shouldn’t let men talk to her that way, that she shouldn’t put herself out there as if she was nothing but meat, that her baby needed a mother who respected herself. Out of habit and mental weakness, I stupidly thought that I would tell Murmur Lee what I’d done and that she’d get a big laugh out of it. No, you stupid fuck, she’s dead.

And then I sank to the floor, bottle in hand. I stayed like that, on the floor, drinking, memories of both Katrina and Murmur Lee keeping me there. I held the bottle to the light. The bourbon looked as though it were lit from within. Liquid amber. “You are terminal, my man,” I said to the air, and then I took another swig.