Hoarder by Armando D. Muñoz Page A

breaths she could, unable to move the tiniest bit or risk Missy’s detection. Dani was impressed with Keith’s improvised explanation for his entry into Missy’s house. Not only might he save himself a criminal charge, his fiction made finding her cat Fiddlesticks a priority.
    Missy’s joyful features twisted with suspicion, and she leaned in closer to Keith. The bills of their matching camera caps were nearly touching.
    “I don’t know. I think you might be fibbing me.”
    Keith looked up wide-eyed at Missy like an animal snared in a trap. His voice that replied was soft and vulnerable.
    “No, I don’t fib.”
    Missy’s suspicious face remained. “Are you sure you didn’t come here just to see me?”
    After an endless pause where all three occupants in the nest held their breath, Missy snorted laughter in Keith’s face. It was a wet chortle, spraying saliva.
    Keith released his breath in relief. He smiled back to indicate he was on her side. It took some effort. Even worse than her sores was her rotten breath, and his nose reflexively wrinkled in disgust. He made a mental note to ask Will if Missy ever bought toothpaste at the Mega-Mart, and then he tore up that note as he realized he’d never get to ask Will anything ever again.
    “I’m fibbing you!” she squealed.
    Missy reached down and tickled Keith’s midsection, startling him and forcing a laugh of tickle panic. His arms pulled in to block his sides from her wiggly sausage fingers. He suddenly felt like a small, weak child confronted by a dog that was bigger and stronger. It was going to slobber on him, and if it wanted to bite, it would bite hard while taking him down.
    Keith’s laugh became a cough as he choked on blood from his broken nose. He turned his head and spit out an alarming clot of blood onto one of the crusty side cushions, Missy’s cushions.
    “I’m sorry about that,” he apologized.
    Missy’s mirth was replaced with concern for Keith’s nose. Somehow she hadn’t noticed it until now, but it was easy for her to overlook when the boy behind the blood was so cute. “Oh, you poor thing.”
    Missy reached down and gave Keith’s nose a hard pinch. Keith yelped in pain and surprise. Why in the hell did she do that!?
    “Oh, that’s a smarty. How did that happen?”
    “I slipped, and a box hit me,” Keith replied. It was partially true. Missy’s hoard was responsible in Keith’s fact and fiction.
    “Well you have to be more careful, Mister Slip-N-Slide. Now hold still.”
    Missy grabbed Keith’s shoulders, holding him in place. Keith’s every instinct told him to fight against her and get loose, and then he thought of Ian getting out. It was better to keep her occupied, and stay on her good side for now.
    Missy leaned into Keith and took a big lick of the blood beneath his nose. Keith squealed in revulsion and recoiled.
    Missy grabbed the squirming boy harder. He was playing hard to get, as all young boys did in Missy’s experience. But boys were just like her cats; there wasn’t one she couldn’t control. This wild boy needed her to help him heal. Plus, this boy was so salty and delicious she had to have more!
    “Don’t worry, I’m not going to eat you. Now let me clean you up. Saliva’s sterile, you know.”
    Keith did know. He knew Missy was full of shit about that. He closed his eyes and tensed up as Missy leaned into him. Her hot tongue, which Keith unfortunately saw had a large yellowish patch in the center and was spotted with its own sores, slapped onto his chin and licked upward, following the blood trail up onto his lips. He clamped his lips closed to deny Missy’s forceful tongue entry into his mouth. Her tongue nearly made it inside, until Keith bit into the inside of his lips to hold them closed. Apparently, his tangy blood wasn’t enough; now she wanted a different juice.
    Denied oral entry, Missy’s tongue continued over his upper lip and up to his nose. Keith cringed, but he could not close those