Pulphouse Fiction Magazine Issue #2: Pulphouse, #2

By Dean Wesley Smith, Annie Reed, Jerry Oltion and 14 more

The Cutting Edge of Modern Short Fiction

A three-time Hugo Award nominated magazine, this issue Pulphouse Fiction Magazine offers up fifteen fantastic stories by some of the best writers working in modern short fiction. No genre limitations, no topic limitations, just great stories. Attitude, feel, and high quality fiction equals Pulphouse.

"This is definitely a strong start. All the stories have a lot of life to them, and are worthwhile reading."

—Tangent Online on Pulphouse Fiction Magazine, Issue #1

Table of Contents

"Identical" by Robert Jeschonek

"The Session" by Stephanie Writt

"The Liar" by Annie Reed

"The Time Cop" by Patrick Alan Mammay

"With Due Honors" by Kate Pavelle

"Dog Steps" by Rob Vagle

"The Distant Baying of Hounds" by J. Steven York

"Heartbreaker" by Kevin J. Anderson

"Pot O' Gold" by Dan C. Duval

"The Gorilla Murders" by O'Neil De Noux

"Thinking Inside the Box" by James Gotaas

"nanoturds" by Ray Vukcevich

"Catastrophe Baker and the Cold Equations" by Mike Resnick

"A Better Man Than You" by Jerry Oltion and Kent Patterson

"Rose in Dreamland" by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

"Minions at Work 2.0: Regime Change" by J. Steven York

• Language: English
• Publisher: WMG Publishing
• Release date: Apr 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386171430

Dean Wesley Smith

Considered one of the most prolific writers working in modern fiction, USA TODAY bestselling writer, Dean Wesley Smith published far over a hundred novels in forty years, and hundreds of short stories across many genres. He currently produces novels in four major series, including the time travel Thunder Mountain novels set in the old west, the galaxy-spanning Seeders Universe series, the urban fantasy Ghost of a Chance series, and the superhero series staring Poker Boy. During his career he also wrote a couple dozen Star Trek novels, the only two original Men in Black novels, Spider-Man and X-Men novels, plus novels set in gaming and television worlds.

Book preview

Identical

Robert Jeschonek

Identical

For the second issue in a row I wanted to start off with this original Robert Jeschonek story. In three issues of this magazine so far, he has had a story in every one. And I hope to continue that streak if I am lucky enough to keep getting stories.

Robert’s wonderful stories have appeared in many magazines and he has published dozens of novels as well as worked for DC comics. I would highly suggest you find some of his work if you like any of his stories here. He is an original voice in fiction.

And as with the first two stories of his that appeared in this magazine, this story is a pure Jeschonek story. And a perfect Pulphouse story.

THE MAN walking toward Emily Bloom could have been a heat mirage. It was hot enough for it, that mid-August day in Barcelona, Spain, hot enough to turn her once-chilled glass of sparkling cava wine unpleasantly warm.

"Hola!" He waved. Quickening his pace through the crowd on the busy shopping street of Las Ramblas, he swooped toward the leafy café where she waited.

Though she had come all the way from Philadelphia in the U.S. to meet him, though she had expected him all along, she still felt the breath rush out of her as he approached her table. She had known—it was the whole reason she had come here—but she had not known. She had not truly known how it would feel to meet him at this moment.

Hello. Her hand shook a little as she put down her cava glass. She was nervous, so very nervous, looking up at him.

His eyes were as blue as the cloudless sky above, his curly hair the flashing gold of the sunlight streaming down. His face was angelic, with a smoothly sloping nose and thin lips that came to a pronounced double peak in the middle. Only his complexion was different, tanned to a deep bronze that brought out his bright eyes and hair even more sharply.

Only that much was different from the look of Steven Bloom, whom she’d loved and married and lost so long ago. He even looked to be about the same age as she last remembered him, in or near his mid-thirties.

May I sit? He gestured at the wrought iron chair across the table from her.

Emily felt like she was in a dream as she nodded.

I am Joaquim Quintana. His voice was deeper than Steven’s, and he had the local accent that came from speaking Catalan as a native—somewhere between Spanish and Italian, but not quite either one. "And you are Emily, si?"

She nodded. Sweat trickled down her back under the pink-and-yellow floral sundress she wore. Her face was damp, too—but for once, she gave no thought to how she looked. She had spent hours getting ready, brushing her long, red hair, applying makeup to her milky, freckled face, picking out the perfect dress for her willowy figure…and now none of it mattered.

How could it when she was face to face with a ghost?

Joaquim pulled out the chair and sat down. His lean, athletic body folded smoothly onto the filigreed wrought iron. So what do you think? He spread his arms and shrugged. Do I live up to the photographs?

You do. Emily’s eyes burned. He was a stranger, but she wanted to throw her arms around him and never let go. You look just like him.

"Magnific. I guess that website really works, huh?" Smiling, he leaned forward, folding his hands on the table.

Everyone has an identical twin somewhere in the world. That old line was the basis of Twinfinder.com, an Internet company using the power of big data, social networks, and image recognition to find those twins who are out there.

For a fee, you could find your own twin…or someone else’s. Twinfinder would search the globe to locate someone as close as possible to the person you wanted to match.

Which, in the case of Joaquim, was so close as to be nearly identical. So close as to be miraculous.

She was already starting to feel at ease with him, as if she were back with Steven ten years ago. As if she were 23 instead of 33, and they had never missed a beat.

You live up to your photos, as well. Smiling, Joaquim reached over and touched her hand. "Molt bonic. Very beautiful."

Emily’s heart raced. This was what she had been waiting for, ever since Twinfinder had matched Steven’s photos. It was why she’d spent so much of the fortune he’d left her to pay for this meeting with his spitting image. It was what she had been longing for since the last time he’d held her hand.

On the day he’d died from cancer.

So what would you like to do first? asked Joaquim. Tour the city? Go to the beach?

Let’s just talk for a while, said Emily. Get to know each other, okay?

When he grinned, his bright white teeth shone like Christmas lights in his deep bronze face. I would like that, Emily.

Emily? Just then, another voice spoke from nearby, also with a Catalan accent. Is that you?

Looking up, she saw a man in his 30s with wavy black hair and brown eyes. He was slim and muscular, wearing a tight red T-shirt and khaki shorts.

Caught off-guard, Emily frowned and nodded. That’s me. And you are…?

Miquel, said the man. Miquel Cardona. I’m the twin you’re looking for.

Joaquim shot to his feet and stood face-to-face with Miquel, staring grimly. Then, suddenly, he burst into laughter.

"Now this is funny! Joaquim thumped Miquel’s shoulder. So divertida! He looked down at Emily. This man looks nothing like me!"

He was right. Even accounting for the black hair and brown eyes, she saw no resemblance to Steven.

Is that so? Miquel ruffled his hair and bent down to gaze at Emily. "What about now?"

Emily stared for a moment, then winced. I’m sorry. I just don’t see it.

Twinfinder.com did. Miquel straightened. In fact, I was their first choice. Give it a little time, and you’ll see. He winked at her.

"All right, amic. Joaquim planted both hands on Miquel’s upper right arm and moved to steer him away from the table. Playtime is over. Go away now. Marxes."

Forget it. Miquel shook his arm free of Joaquim’s grip. "She wants to spend time with the twin of her lost love—and now there are two of us."

"I am the twin. Joaquim jabbed a finger at Miquel’s chest under the red T-shirt. You are leaving."

As the two men faced off, Emily pulled her phone out of her purse on the table. They were still butting heads when she found the number for the local branch of Twinfinder in her contacts and dialed it.

Nobody answered. A voicemail message played in Catalan, which she didn’t understand.

She tried again, with the same result.

That’s odd. She said it loud enough to get the guys’ attention. It’s one o’clock on a Friday afternoon, and no one’s answering the phone at Twinfinder.

Right on time. Miquel flashed a thumbs-up gesture. "Got to get an early start on a festival weekend."

Emily put her phone down, annoyed that she couldn’t immediately sort out the situation. Without definitive confirmation from Twinfinder, how could she say for sure which twin was phony…though the answer seemed obvious.

If there was anything Steven-like about Miquel, she couldn’t see it.

Look at it this way. Miquel snapped the fingers of both hands. "You’ll have twice the fun in Barcelona this weekend…assuming he doesn’t give up and run away."

Joaquim crossed his arms over his chest and laughed. "You’re a real comedian, you know that? A real clown."

Flustered, Emily rose from her chair. They were ruining it—the precious illusion she had craved. Steven wouldn’t have stood there bickering like that.

Okay, then. She waved for the waiter to come over so she could settle the bill. Let’s make the best of it. Where should we go first?

Everywhere Emily looked, there were aliens and astronauts. Little green men danced around with abandon as space-age music played. Creatures with purple or blue skin frolicked, waving exotic-looking ray guns or crazy flags. Astronauts in bubble helmets and spacesuits danced among them, sometimes shooting with ray guns of their own, other times hugging or spinning them around like crazy ballroom dancing partners.

Welcome to Space Street! said Miquel. Our own little corner of the universe!

Emily wiped the sweat from her brow as she strolled through the cosmic scene. "How do they stand the heat in the costumes and makeup?"

Passion. Joaquim took her elbow. It runs high during the Festival of Gràcia.

So does alcohol, said Miquel. Among other things.

Have you ever seen anything like it? asked Joaquim. "Every street in the Gràcia district is done up in a different theme. So creative and fun, si?"

A bunch of kids ran past, colorful streamers flapping from their outlandish alien costumes. The dog that followed them had a fishbowl helmet on its head, complete with jiggling antennae (and air holes).

It gets better every year! Miquel grinned and walked with a bounce in his step. The neighbors always fight to outdo each other!

Even with the intense afternoon heat bearing down, Emily was dazzled. A line of aliens performed an impromptu cancan in the middle of the street. Papier-mâché flying saucers, rockets, and planets hung from overhead wires amid blinking LED stars. Quavering spacey music mixed with ray gun noise, the shouts of children, and the laughter of grownups in silly outfits. The air was thick with the smells of all manner of grilled meat, fresh seafood, roasted potatoes, and fruity drinks.

But the most incredible part of it all, to Emily, was still Joaquim. Every time he touched her, which was often, her pulse quickened, and she shivered with excitement. Every time she looked his way, she felt an aching joy so intense it was almost religious.

What do you think? His smile, when he said it, was Steven’s. Do you like what you see?

She nodded, swept away. The pain of losing Steven was forgotten. The ten years without him were like a fading bad dream.

Here he was beside her, as if he’d never been gone. That was how it felt, though she knew he was a stranger, though she knew he wasn’t Steven.

It felt wonderful.

Then there was Miquel.

Hear that? His eyes widened as a song came on the PA system. "I love doing the Time Warp!"

The next thing Emily knew, he was running over to join a horde of aliens and astronauts in dancing along with the song…stepping one way, jumping another, all gleefully singing along.

As Emily watched, she couldn’t help grinning. Because that was exactly the kind of thing Steven would have done back in the day.

The kind of thing Steven would have loved.

By the time they got her back to her hotel around ten that night, Emily was exhausted. Joaquim and Miquel had taken her through every street in Gràcia, from one elaborate themed display to the next—one world to the next.

Now they stood outside the glass doors of her hotel and said goodbye. But all she kept wishing was that Miquel would leave first so nature might take its course with Steven.

Joaquim, that is.

"Are you sure you’re done festing for tonight? Miquel was still wide-eyed and crackling with energy. The serious parties don’t start till after midnight!"

Sorry. Emily shook her head and yawned. Still have a touch of jet lag.

"Tomorrow is another dia. Joaquim stepped forward and took her hand. Holding her gaze, he bent and kissed it, softly, with his oh-so-Steven lips. I will take you to see the marvels of the world’s greatest architect, Gaudí. I think you will like that, Emily."

Even with the accent and deep voice, the sound of her name on his lips made her feel like she was floating.

That sounds nice. She almost sighed when he kissed her hand again. Her soul and body rang with the softness of his touch, the heat of his breath, the beat of his heart. All reality was forgotten, all caution and rationality thrown to the four winds.

What time? asked Miquel.

Joaquim stayed where he was, holding her hand. Time for what?

For Gaudí, said Miquel. What time are we meeting tomorrow for the Gaudí tour?

‘We?’ Joaquim straightened. The look on his face roared with annoyance, though his voice remained even. I do not recall inviting…

"Then you must have had too many magic brownies back in Gràcia." Miquel winked at Emily and hopped forward to shake her hand…the left one, which Joaquim hadn’t kissed. How does nine o’clock sound?

Emily was still a little dazed. Too early.

Eight o’clock it is. Miquel gently folded her hand closed, then let go of it. Trust me, we’ll miss the worst of the lines that way. And we’ll grab breakfast on the way, my treat.

Emily frowned. Was he always this high-energy? It reminded her of Steven, the way he’d sizzled through the days and gotten hardly any sleep, always burning with contagious enthusiasm, as if he’d known his time was short.

I can sleep when I’m dead, he used to say.

Sleep is overrated, anyway, said Miquel, as he spun and flung out an arm in an after you gesture for Joaquim’s benefit. "But a little won’t hurt, will it, camarada?"

Joaquim glared at him, not with dagger eyes, but flaming broadsword eyes. "Of course not, amiguet."

‘Little buddy,’ is it? Miquel laughed loudly. "Right back at you, minúscul. (It meant tiny.")

Joaquim practically snarled…then took a deep breath. By the time he let it out, there was only congeniality on his angelic bronze face. Eight o’clock it is. He made a little bow in Emily’s direction. "Until then, bona nit i dolços somnis, lovely woman. Good night and sweet dreams."

To you as well. Emily waved with her right hand as the two men walked off into the night—going their separate ways without another word as they crossed the street.

Then, she opened her left hand, where Miquel had pressed a folded square of white paper.

Unfolding the paper, she read the message scrawled on it in loopy, sloppy script.

And a sharp chill stabbed through her body, from her belly to her head. The dreamy haze that had hung over the day suddenly rushed away, leaving her shivering in the sweltering summer night heat.

You are in great danger. Beware the twin.

As soon as she read those words, she looked up, but the men were gone, swallowed by darkness.

The next morning at 8, she greeted them outside the hotel as if nothing had happened…as if there had been no note.

"Bon dia!" Miquel said it with a jaunty wave.

Good morning. Joaquim smiled and bowed. You slept well, I hope?

Absolutely. It was true, in spite of the note. Between the jet lag and exhaustion from the festival, she had eventually cast her worries aside and passed out. The little bottle of Bailey’s from the minibar hadn’t hurt, either.

I hope you’re ready to take in the wonders of modern civilization, said Miquel. "And that’s just breakfast. Come with me!"

As Miquel took the lead, Joaquim hung back and gave Emily a conspiratorial look. "Let’s dump this idiota. What do you say?"

Emily shook her head. For now, she felt safer with both of them. The chances were good, she thought, that the note had been Miquel’s attempt to get Joaquim out of the picture. What else could he do to get the upper hand, given his complete lack of physical resemblance to Steven?

But if there was any truth to the warning in the note, maybe it wouldn’t be so smart to go off alone with Joaquim…though that was exactly what she most wanted to do.

At a hole-in-the-wall restaurant a few blocks away, the three of them had pa amb tomàquet, the classic Catalan breakfast of toasted bread soaked with tomato and olive oil. They washed it down with strong, sweet Catalan coffee, then headed for the Underground station through the already-oppressive heat.

As they waited for the train, Joaquim stood close to the edge of the platform, and Emily stood beside him. Then, Miquel tapped her on the shoulder.

Come here a moment. He gestured for her to follow. I want to show you something.

The two of them walked over to a map on the wall, and he pointed at the next stop along the line. But what he said had nothing to do with the map.

Use your head, he whispered. Don’t put yourself in harm’s way.

"What are you talking…"

One push. Miquel held out a hand and jolted it forward. That’s all it would take.

Just as he said it, the train roared up to the stop. Emily could feel the wind from its arrival washing over her, fluttering her red bangs and loose white blouse.

Hey, guys! Joaquim whistled and waved for them. Hurry or you’ll miss the train!

As they walked up the steps at the next stop and outside at street level, it seemed like the temperature had gone up ten more degrees.

At least they weren’t out in the heat for long. A few blocks from the station, they arrived at their first destination—a seven-story building straight out of a fantasy film, with a blue humped roof like the back of a dragon and window frames and balconies like giant, exposed vertebrae.

Welcome to Casa Batlló! Miquel gazed up at the place with hands on hips. One of the greatest creations of our very own wizard of architecture, Antoni Gaudí.

Inside, the place was even more magical to Emily. She marveled at a ceiling sculpted in an elaborate spiral like the shell of a sea creature. She gaped at the smooth wooden headpieces over the doorways, carved with delicate organic shapes. Then there was the open courtyard with the objects covered in mosaics of multicolored broken tile.

And all through it, as Joaquim stayed close, often brushing against her, Miquel rushed up ahead and never stopped talking.

Gaudí was so far ahead of his time, we’re only just now starting to catch up. Miquel hurried around the courtyard like a child, touching broken tile-covered objects whenever they crossed his path. "He was a true dreamer who incorporated the beauty and symmetry of nature into his work. He was a creative powerhouse. Pausing, he caught Emily’s eye and nodded excitedly. And he is one of my lifelong heroes. He never compromised his vision."

Emily couldn’t help smiling. She remembered Steven talking about Gaudí with equal passion…all the more appropriate since he, like Gaudí, had been an architect. Steven had even worn neckties with Gaudí’s designs on them.

"But his greatest works cannot compare to your beauty, amor." Joaquim drew near and kissed her hand.

This way! Miquel said it a little too loudly as he started up a spiral staircase near the middle of the building. The roof is magnificent!

They followed him up the marble stairs that wrapped around an open well running the full height of the house. The well was topped with a skylight and lined from top to bottom with tiles of pale blue and white, accentuated by raised tiles of a deeper blue. Big oblong windows let in the blazing light at each level, naturally illuminating the structure’s interior.

It’s like something out of a fairy tale, said Emily.

"Our fairy tale." Joaquim took the liberty of wrapping an arm around her waist as they continued to climb the stairs.

She didn’t resist. For a moment, she let herself imagine that was Steven’s arm around her, making her feel so safe and loved.

But one persistent distraction broke the illusion. This way! Miquel looked down from two turns of the spiral above them. "The rooftop of wonder awaits!"

He was right about the wonder. When they’d finished ascending the stairs and walked through the door at the top, Emily gaped at the garden of fanciful features arrayed around them. Drifting out of Joaquim’s embrace, she wandered among the objects, from the cluster of eight peaked chimneys like something out of a steampunk painting to that same humped dragon’s back she’d admired from below. Up close, she could see it was also covered with tile shards, bands of orange, red, and brown instead of the blues of the street-facing side. The ridge of the dragon’s spine was punctuated by polished green vertebrae like ceramic pots, gleaming in the sunlight.

And off beyond those marvels, under deep blue skies pulsing with summer morning sunshine, lay the skyline of Barcelona. Dazzled, Emily glided toward