6
Nightmares
Destra
Ouch.
My head thrummed and pulsed a tattoo in my mind. I was teaching the patients how to mold clay. Things were going smooth, considering. I didn't have a single smudge of clay in my hair, and that was an accomplishment with this group. But then one of the Ningyos (a Japanese mermaid of sorts...) held up a perfect sculpture of a scared, running me. She smiled gently, and pushed it into my hands.
“I am sorry.” she said, her voice that of a gently sighing breeze. I took it with shaking hands, and turned it in front of me.
My hair flowed backward, my clothing was torn, my limbs were tense, and I was looking over my shoulder, as if someone was following me.
I glanced at the Ningyo, who had gone back to working the wet brown clay, fingering it gently with her long webbed hands, her multiple fins swishing back and forth in the water filled wheelchair. Like when cold water hits you, like when an unexpected shiver dances along your spine, and when a singer hits a high note with perfect clarity, this head ache hit. But it was different from the first ones. This was a good hurt, if that makes sense. I closed my eyes. Images flashed through my mind.
First the girl on the news, tangled and bloody from a month ago. Then a sheet covered figure on a metal table in a sterile room. The face was obscured, but my mind flowed up, up across the body, and to her mangled face, her red hair flowing around her. Her eyes opened, and they were mine. I gasped, as if breaking from water, and clutched the table.
The patients looked at me with varied expressions, but a scary sort of understanding reigned in their eyes. They knew what it was to see what others do not.
I felt a rush of uncontrolled emotions, first anger, then inescapable sadness.
I ran from the room, and to the woman’s bathroom, where I slammed the door after me. I spun around into a stall, and pressed myself against the cool side, heaving uncontrollable. I balled up my fists, and slammed them against the wall, causing it to shudder and shake. Then I slid down until I was on the floor, and let myself crumple into an infant like pose. I sat like that for several minutes.
Then, all of the sudden, I was in control again, like being given the wheel back after your crazy friend has been the one driving the past few miles. I breathed deep, and let myself unwind. Of course, then the smell of bathroom got to me (Even if it was immaculate, there is always that lingering odor.), so I picked myself up, let the bathroom door swing shut behind me, and walked very slowly back to the art room.
I didn't know what that was about, but it had something to do with the murder. Somehow, I was involved. Or was going to become involved.
**
Victim #2
I died on a Thursday, a bloody mess on the grass, shadows all around.
That day I didn't have many plans, just a few errands, then a date that evening. Everything went wonderfully; the guy was tall, dark haired, had eyes the blue of the ocean, and we clicked. After the the renaissance fair and some dinner, he walked me to the edge of the park.
“I'll be fine from here, thanks,” I said, smiling at him in the moon light, and rearranging my shawl.
“Are you sure? I don't want any wandering suitors to come along and sweep you off your feet.” He pulled me in, settled his hands on my hips, and pressed his lips against mine. I felt a flutter in my stomach.
“I'll simply say tell them I'm taken until further notice.” He laughed and spun me around.
“Tomorrow night, same time, same place?” He said. I started to walk along the path into the trees.
“Sounds lovely. Farewell, good sir!” I said.
I heard him laugh faintly.
“Farewell, dear maiden!”
I continued walking along the path, a song in my heart, and let everything amaze me. The gentle breeze whispering through the tall stately trees, the bright sky over head, the scent of earth and distant flowering trees. Coming around a corner, I stopped suddenly.
There was a tall bald man standing in front of me, hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket, small earrings glinting in the moon light. With the moon to his back, he had black holes for eyes, and the shadow made him look like some sort of demon. I slid my hand into my purse for my pocket knife, and carefully pulled it out. The man grinned, and his teeth glowed. Then, his body started churning and snapping, twisting out of shape, elongating, until a mighty cobra rose as high as the trees, scales gleaming like jewels. Vicious green eyes slanted down on me, and I shook like a reed in the wind.
“Little one, why do you wander the dark night alone?” He hissed, swaying back and forth in front of me. I clenched my hand around my knife, knowing it would do little good.
“What are you?” I asked, my voice trembling. He laughed, a vile scraping sound, and began to wrap himself around me, drawing tighter and tighter.
“Please....Please.....Ple--” I gasped, as the dry scaly muscles of the snake started to crush my bones. I could hear myself breaking, and felt hot pain everywhere inside of me. Blood dripped from my nose and mouth, but I did not feel it. He withdrew, and as I lay broken on the pavement, he returned to the form of a man, took my knife from my still clenched hand, and used it to cut a piece of my hair. Then, he turned and left me there, my body twisted and shapeless. I closed my eyes.
My name is Elanor McKinney.
I died on a Thursday, a bloody mess on the grass, shadows all around.
**
Adam
I was laying on the ground in a death-ridden waste land. The female figure approached me, stepping over bodies and debris, swathed in flame, with a jagged-blade clutched in her hand. Blood dripped off the end of the blade, and covered her hands. Her red hair was tangled and matted, her face crazed with blood-lust. A toxic breeze came by, blowing some of her hair into her face. She used her free hand to brush it out of the way, dragging the rust colored liquid across her cheek.
“Son of Adam, you are the last?” She said, tilting her head to one side. I thought about the pun for a moment before answering.
“Well, I suppose so.” I looked harder at her face... It seemed extraordinarily familiar.
She laughed, and it sounded clear and musical, a vast opposite to her evil fiery state. I was very calm, which I found strange, seeing as how I was surrounded by bodies.
“Why did you do this? Why would you kill so many?” I asked. She stepped right over to me, and sat down on her haunches in an animal like pose. She gently slid her fingers through my hair, then grabbed onto it with surprising strength. She brought her face close to mine.
“Humans are weak! They are undeserving of survival!” She spat, pulling her upper lip into a snarl. “Humans have been on this planet far to long, kept our kind dormant far to long. I am cleansing, so that we may begin again.” she stood up then, and drove her sword through my heart.
I woke up sweating again, clutching where her sword had struck. I sat panting for several minutes, making sure my lungs still worked, breathing in the clean summer air.
When I knew that I indeed was not dead, and that it had only been another vision, I looked myself over. Rarely did I remember going to sleep. My suit was more rumpled than usual, and I ran a hand through my shaggy hair. I reached for the bottle of brandy I kept next to my bed, and took a swig, letting the alcohol sear its way down my throat. I stood up, stumbled wearily into the adjoining bathroom. After soaking my head in the sink, and letting the cold water wake me up, I dried my hair, and walked into my office.
If I'm not going to get any sleep, I might as well file.
I stopped at my desk, then went back for the brandy. I pulled the wooden shades all the way up, and opened the windows to let in the smell of green and damp earth. I slumped into my chair, and took a long drink from the small brown bottle.
**
Destra
Around four in the morning, I realized I hadn't taken the garbage out. I muttered a few rude phrases as I tossed my covers aside, and gathered up the few bags from around the apartment. Sliding on a pair of lumpy old boots and a sweater over my pajama pants and tank top, I clumsily opened the door, and headed down the hallway, the bags threatening to burst at the first corner to cross my path.
I made it out to the dumpster in the alleyway without losing any garbage in the halls, so I felt fairly accomplished. As I raised the bags over my head to toss them into the large metal container, someone moved behind me. I squeaked, and dropped the bags, which banged loudly against the dumpsters side and crashed into the other garbage, making quite the ruckus. I spun around quickly, and moved into a fighting stance.
Before my stood a male figure. He smelled of sweat, animal, and leather. His eyes glowed faintly in the dark, and his sharp teeth glistened. His hands were tucked into his brown leather duster, his spiked hair stood boldly outlined.
“I come to warn you, Simmons. Chill.” He sidled over to the wall, and leaned casually against it, a fairly cat-like pose.
“You.... You're the dude from the library!” I moved closer to the dumpster. He clapped his hands slowly and dramatically.
“Bravo! You're a quick one, aren't you?” He said, pointing at me. I flushed, and clenched my fists at my side. I inhaled deep in order to calm myself, and set my jaw.
“What have you come to say?”
He sobered, and straightened up.
“The Fire Dame's servant is coming. You will be the thirteenth. The Host. Prepare yourself." He finished his message, and paused for a moment. "Does that mean anything to you? I've been trying to figure it out all day."
"Who are you with? What are you?" I asked, eyebrows raised. He grinned wickedly and approached me. As it was, I was up against the cool smelly metal.
Obviously this guy has no clue what 'Personal Space' means.....
He stopped a couple inches from my face. He was just a few inches taller than me, but his presence was much larger. His breath cascaded down on me, hot, and sweet smelling. I gulped loudly, and felt around for something large and metallic with which to whack if necessary.
"Can't we just skip the introductions? It might complicate things." He said. I raised an eyebrow suspiciously, and he backed up a few paces. As he started to go, His head swiveled to face me again. "You have allies, Destra. Trust them." He said.
Then he turned the corner, and disappeared into the coming dawn.
**
Destra
I tried to work out the message as I wandered back upstairs. My head started to pound. I knew what was coming.
My head started to ache, not the sharp pain it used to be, just constant and thrumming. I fell onto my knees, and made my way slowly up the stairs. Stumbling along the hallway, I finally came to my door.
Suddenly I was blind to the things around me. Images of the murder passed in front of me. But this time there was another woman. She was laying broken and twisted on a cement path through a copse of trees.... The park. I saw the distant sun glinting off of the buildings, and the mornings first joggers come around some bushes.
The woman shrieked at the sight of the body, and the man's eyes grew wide. He pulled out his cell phone, and dialed. I heard sirens wail. Then it jumped to another woman, alive, asleep in her bed in a small dorm room. Her red hair was short and choppy, and wild with sleep. Then I was yanked back into reality; it was like jumping into cold water.
My senses screamed, and I felt cold and wet all over. I was lying on the old musty carpet of my apartment, shaking softly. My door was still wide open, and I could here people waking up in the other rooms. It was still quite dark out, and shapes weren't much more than gray blobs, so I crawled carefully along the floor to the thin plywood door, and started to shut it.
I only just made it up here.... Zahncliff needs to know.
Pulling myself up right, I grabbed my car keys, headed down to the parking lot, not bothering to change, and slamming the door behind me.
**
Destra
When I arrived at the Institute, it was still and calm. Everything was dew covered, and frost nipped at the grass. The leaves were starting to turn to the shades of autumn, burning scarlet, crimson, and gold, bold yellows and ochers. I could hear distant birds echoing across the sky, and the trees shushing quietly back and forth.
I strode quickly to the employees entrance around back, and threw open the door. I dashed down the hall, spun around corners and up the stairs. I passed rooms with moaning patients, and I could here the shriek of a nightmare in progress. Finally, I found the door to Zahncliff's office, and rapped on the hardwood smartly. I didn't expect him to be up, but he answered the door minutes after me knocking.
“Ms. Simmons? Is something the matter?” He was a mess, worse than usual. His breath stank of alcohol, but his eyes were sharp as ever, piercing green.
“It happened again--” I said. His eyes widened, and he spun me quickly into the dark paneled office. Files were stacked and scattered all over the desk, and an empty brown bottle sat perched on top of a red leather bound copy of Treating The Common Troll Cold. He waved toward one of the chairs, into which I plopped without hesitation. I recounted my nights adventures in vivid detail, cementing the fact that it really did happen.
When done, Adam sat with his left arm supporting his chin, surveying me with an odd expression.
“Well,” he said finally, sitting up straight, “It seems as thought we have our work cut out for us.” He sighed heavily, heaved himself upward, and picked up the phone.
He was about to dial when a call started flashing on the phone base. Adam cocked his head to the side, and answered. Even from a few feet away, I could hear the a loud, irregular booming sound coming from over the line. I couldn't hear what was being said on the other side, but Zahncliff's face became Increasingly ashen colored. He started speaking quickly in what I thought was some sort of middle eastern dialect. Then he jerked away from the phone, and quickly set it back in the base. He stood breathing heavily, shoulders slumped and heaving. I was vividly aware of the buzzing of the computer, and the chirruping of birds outside.
“What's wrong?” I asked quietly. He raised his head, and he solemnly looked beyond me.
“The Middle Eastern Institute has just been attacked. They're all dead.”
**
