DISPATCH Three

dispatch three, "Girl" by Elizabeth Ellen, is a tale of sex, ghosts, and intrigue. Here is the first paragraph:

I found Jeremiah at the edge of the diving board, his back rounded to me, contemplative. I held an open bottle of wine. It was late October. We weren't prepared for the cold. I reached into his shirt pocket, retrieving the cigarettes I knew him to keep there. I shook two into my palm and transferred them to my mouth, waiting for a light. Our bad habits had brought us together: our chain smoking and tendency to continue drinking into the night. It was a small town in which we lived, a small circle in which we socialized—and most of those who made it up, our spouses included, had believed us for some time to be having an affair. We weren’t. The irony is that the two times we’d tried, once a year ago in the front seat of Jeremiah’s truck and now on the floor of the abandoned room, we’d failed in frustration. The first time had been easily rationalized: too little space, too little time, nervousness, fear of being seen, of being caught. Out here, these excuses didn’t hold. Ninety miles from our homes, holed up in a deserted motel few people knew about or remembered. And yet, even here, with all the time in the world and no one but the universe to record our sins, we’d failed to complete the act they’d already begun punishing us for.

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