"Sometimes"
by
Anon A. Moose
 
        "Sometimes," Tracy Vetter let out the breath she'd
sucked in before speaking, the cigarette smoke
mingling with the condensed vapor in the cold night
air. "Sometimes I think he just doesn't like me."
 
        "Those will kill you."
 
        She raised her eyebrow at Xavier Vachon.
 
        "If your people hadn't developed a taste for it."
 
        "My people?" Vachon blinked. "Blame the English."
 
        "And you're changing the subject." Tracy took another
drag.
 
        "Have you talked to him?"
 
        " Sometimes, it's like talking to a brick wall."
Tracy stared at the glowing cigarette in her hand.
"And you're right. I gave these up a long time ago.
Why did I buy a pack?"
 
        She dropped the cigarette to the ground and mashed it
out on the slushy sidewalk.
 
        Vachon stood, his face betraying no emotion.
 
        "It's like, there's something, I don't know.
Something he doesn't think he can trust me with."
 
        "I suppose it takes time."
 
        Tracy leaned against the streetlamp. "What?"
 
        "Letting someone in."
 
        "But, I'm his partner. He's got to accept that,
right?"
 
        Vachon smiled.
 
        "What?"
 
        And kept smiling.
 
        "Keep it up." Tracy narrowed her eyes.
 
        "I was just thinking, if you keep making faces,
you'll get wrinkles."
 
        "Why do I turn to the undead for help? What do you
know about the stresses of living a normal life?"
 
        "You're right, you should talk to your partner,
instead."
 
        Tracy nodded. "I'll give it another try."
 
        To her annoyance, Vachon remained smiling.
 
the end.