Sleep Don't Come Easy by Victor McGlothin Page A

there. That’s what I’ve heard.”
    Hot tears filled her eyes. Ivy couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried, but the thought of leaving here terrified her and threatened to steal away the last bit of hope she clung to. If she remembered how, she’d have prayed and begged God to save her. But God didn’t come to basements and He certainly would never hear her small voice when everyone else was shouting to Him from the rooftops.
    At first, she thought the noise outside the small window over her head was a rat or a cat or dog until he spoke.
    â€œGood. Good. Where the other one? Don’t nobody throw away one without the other.”
    No one ever came down that alley. Cars and the garbage truck drove through it long enough to empty that dumpster, but no one ever stopped by her window before.
    â€œThat’s nice. I like that. I like that. I do—for real.”
    The light coming from the lamp near her bed wasn’t very bright. She picked it up and held it up so that she could see better out of the window. He must have seen her too, because he stopped, stepped back and stared back at her, and for what seemed like an eternity, their gazes locked and each of them froze.
    Â 
    Lazarus couldn’t tell if she was real or not. Light bounced off dull green eyes and translucent skin. Stringy brown hair framed her thin face, but she had the most beautiful lips he’d ever seen, full, pink—they looked like pillows. White girl. White girl with big lips. He smiled. “Ain’t that some shit,” he muttered. It was the way she stared at him that sent a shiver through his bones. Tears glistened in her eyes and filled them with more sadness than he’d ever seen before. Lazarus caught his breath, and he wanted so badly to turn away but he couldn’t.
    â€œAhhh!,” he heard himself say. He clutched at his coat, and pulled it tight around him.
    His gaze fixed on her pretty mouth that was moving, but without sound. He studied her, absorbed this image haunting him from that small window, seeing her narrow fingers spread flat against that dirty glass, and all of a sudden, he realized what she was saying.
    Help me. Please. Help me.

Man on Fire
    F atema had been called into her boss’s office as soon as she’d walked in. She hadn’t even put away her purse yet when he commanded her presence and demanded that she close the door behind her.
    â€œSo, imagine my chagrin when I get this call from the mayor’s office”—he feigned a quick smile—“asking me when the mayor could expect to see his interview in the paper.” Todd swiveled back and forth in his black, worn leather chair wearing sarcasm like a cheap, wrinkled shirt.
    She was definitely in trouble and from the look on his face, for real this time. “Todd, I—”
    He held up her hand to interrupt her. “Funny. I don’t remember telling you to interview the mayor. As a matter of fact, the last story I think I assigned to you had to do with food poisoning at a vegetarian restaurant in Cherry Creek or something mundane like that, you know—to help you get back on track and all because I’ve been so concerned about your well-being.”
    â€œI needed to talk with him,” she said desperately. “I have reason to believe that he and Toni—”
    â€œFatema, I really don’t give a damn what you believe right now.” Todd’s face turned red.
    â€œBut—”
    â€œYou put my ass and reputation on the line! You put this paper’s reputation on the line!”
    â€œWhat? All I did was tell him I was a reporter! I never said that I was going to print anything!”
    â€œThe man is expecting an article about him! And he believes it’s going to be published in my paper, Fatema! He’s the fucking mayor for crying out loud, and you really put me out there this time.”
    â€œHe’s the Mayor of Denver, Colorado,