Insidious Nightmares

by Ellabee Andrews

  Before Jase can get to his feet, I stand and wrap my hand around his ear tightly.

  “What the fuck, Laurie. That shit hurts,” he says, but I don’t listen as I use his ear to guide him over to where Mike his leaning over, his hands braced against his knees.

  “Laurie… Don’t even think about it,” Mike warns when he sees me coming with Jase trailing behind in his hunched position, but I don’t heed his warning.

  He goes to straighten, but I’m faster than he is and I shoot out my hand and grab him like I do Jase. This leaves me standing between the two as they bend to keep from yanking their ears off. I give a short shake to convey my displeasure.

  "Alright you big crybabies, listen up. We have shit to do and people to save. Whatever it is between you two can wait until after we clean up our town. You got it?" I ask, but when neither responds, I jerk on their ears again.

  “Damn it, Laurie, we got it. Let go,” Jase says, face turning red. I turn to face Mike.

  “Do you got it?” I ask, and hardly stop a shiver from racing down my spine at the dark promise I see in his eyes. It’s not pain he’s silently offering. Not completely. It’s more than that. It’s power, and punishments all rolled up into a ball of pleasure I can imagine would leave me shaking from the need to repeat the action. He conveys all this without a single fucking word, and when he nods, I drop his ear without knowing what to say.

  How does one reply to that? I have no damn clue. I just wish my legs weren’t quivering with the urge to wrap around his broad waist and beg him to make every dark desire that flashed through his cavernous gaze a reality.

  A slow clap comes from behind the table, pulling my gaze from Mike’s unrelenting stare, and I see Fred grinning maniacally as he looks between us. When he catches my gaze, he throws me a suggestive wink, before lifting a single black disk into the air, and with a skill I didn’t know he had, makes it twist where he balances it on a single finger.

  "As entertaining as that was, you're both wrong about what we need to play. I'm thinking we need to consider more than just a quick beat, but a little something-something for those of us that like some showmanship with our mass slaying of the dead," he says, and I see the guys tense up out of my peripheral vision. Hoping to stop another fight, this one involving Fred who I'm not sure would survive, I lay a hand on both of their arms.

  “And what do you think we should play?” I ask sweetly, giving Fred a pointed look. He doesn’t seem to take the hint.

  Hopping up onto the desk, and spinning so that his legs are on our side, he lifts the vinyl record and reveals the label. It’s hard to read at first, but when we take a step nearer, I hear Mike’s grunt. It’s Jase that speaks.

  “Well, shit. Marilyn Manson, it is.”

  Fitting.

  11

  Jase and Fred work better together than Jase and Mike, and it’s clear the two, for as opposite as they are, click. If anything, out of the three, I’d have thought it would have been the two of them always at each other's throats, but that’s just not the case. Mike and Jase act like they don’t even like each other half the time, and I’ve pondered more than once how they’d all ended up in a band together.

  “You should get some rest. We leave in an hour to head back to town. It’s going to be a long night.”

  I move my head as I see Mike join me outside in the hallway where I’d decided to keep watch. My experience with equipment is limited to straighteners, microwaves, and the Tamagotchi I had when I was twelve. The wires and dials they’re fiddling with are far beyond my skill set.

  A yawn stretches my lips at his reminder, and he gives me a pointed look. “I can’t sleep right now. Too anxious. What about you? They seem to have this part under control. Why are you still awake?” I ask, genuinely curious.

  Jaw clenching, Mike almost appears angry when he meets my gaze. It's a hard enough look that I almost back away from him. He's on edge about something. That much is obvious. I just don't know what.

  Rubbing his hand down his face, Mike lifts one hand and reaches out to take my dark hair between his fingers, twisting it back and forth under the light. Having him touching me so gently, while he looks so fierce, is like emotional whiplash, and I have no clue what to make of his odd behavior, so I remain still and try not to spook him. Finally, after holding my breath for too long, I release a sigh when he drops the lock of hair.

  “Things have never been easy for me, Laurie. Things will never be simple. I’m not like others. I have a past,” he says, and the topic is so far out of left field, I find my brows furrowing as I take him in.

  “We all have pasts, Mike,” I start, but he lifts his hand and my words die on my throat.

  “No, I don’t have just a normal past. I have a criminal past. I was in Juvie until I turned 18, and my job with the garbage disposal crew is court-ordered. I did some bad shit when I was younger, and because of that, I'll spend the next fifteen years pissing in cups, wearing an orange vest as I clean up people's trash, and never allowed to leave the state. Getting close to me is a bad idea. Those that do always get fucked up in some way or other."

  My first instinct is to run when he mentions his past, but for some reason, I don’t. It might be because I have nowhere to go, but what I think it is, is that while he may have done some questionable things when he was younger, he’s done nothing but protect me since we met. For me, his actions speak louder than his words, and maybe it’s because he seems so vulnerable in his naked honesty, but I lean forward and capture his mouth in a kiss.

  Mike’s body doesn’t tense or pull away. No, he responds instantly, pulling me into his lap as he wraps me in his arms, and parting my lips with his tongue he takes what he wants with his kiss, and I eagerly let him have control. I’ve never been one to just sit back and allow others to run my life, but it doesn’t feel like that with Mike. It feels good, great even letting him set the pace, and I could stay like this for the rest of the night, but someone clears their throat, and Mike’s hands that are tangled in my hair, tighten almost to the point of pain before leaving my head completely. He looks up with a frown.

  “What do you want?”

  At the gravel sound of Mike’s voice, I wish for the ground to open up and swallow me whole, but when that doesn’t happen I know that I have to face the music. Cutting my eyes toward the door, and the figure who stands there without speaking, I bite my lip when I see that the person is as broad as the door frame.

  Since there are only two men I know that are that broad, and I’m currently sitting with one of them, it means that Jase has caught me with Mike’s tongue down my throat and I have absolutely nothing to say for myself.

  I won’t apologize because I'm not sorry for how Mike makes me feel. I don’t wish I didn’t react to Fred’s ability to be both shy and naughty at the same time. And I don’t regret any of the kisses I’ve shared with the three of them today. There’s a good chance that we may die tonight. I don’t want to go out being ashamed of what I did, or regretting the things that I didn’t do.

  Bolstered by these thoughts, I turn and look directly into Jase's face. He doesn't even meet my eyes. His attention is firmly planted on Mike, and a glance at my side reveals that Mike is giving just as good of a blank face as Jase is giving. I squirm and go to stand up, but Mike's arms sliding around my waist keeps me from leaving his lap.

  “Mike, I want to–”

  “No. No hiding. I’m not exactly sure what it is going on here, but it’s obvious you like me, so no running because Jase is here.”

  I squirm some more and give up. Unless he wants to let me go, I'm not going anywhere, so I sigh and look into dark eyes. I doubt he's going to like what I have to say.

  “First of all, when I want to get up, you don’t stop me. If I wanted a caveman, I’d hit up the museum,” I say, and look pointedly toward his hands on my waist. His grip loosens. “And secondly, just because I kissed you doesn’t mean you are all the sudden entitled to me or something. I’m not property. Besides, I
kissed Jase and Fred too. I like you, Mike, but that doesn’t negate how I feel about them.”

  If smoke could pour from Mike’s ears, I’m pretty sure it would right now, and with how tightly Jase is clenching the door frame, tight enough to make the wood groan, he’s not a happy camper either. It’s only when I hear a deep inhalation of breath that I look over and see Fred’s wide eyes from behind Jase and realize the other two men hadn’t known about him. Oops.

  “Fred kissed you too?” Jase asks through clenched teeth, and I try to think of something to say to save the smaller man, but panic makes my brain slow and nothing comes to mind. Nothing I can do to stop what’s going to happen now.

  It’s as if Jase and Mike share one mind when Mike lifts me to my feet and rises beside me. They step in synchronized steps, slow but measured as they walk toward where Fred is backing away with a sheepish grin.

  Somehow, I feel like my ‘I am woman hear me roar' speech has been lost on deaf ears as they stalk him until inspiration hits me. In the few self-defense classes I took with Liberty, we were always taught to hit our attackers where it hurts, and run away while they're distracted. But I don't think I can get out in front of them to plant a good kick into their balls, and I'd have to jump to try and reach their ears, so this leaves me with few options and less time as they near Fred where he's backed into a wall of records. Without a plan, I run forward, intent only on stopping this madness once and for all.

  I blame stress, fear, and hormones for what happens next. Never on any other day would this be my solution to a problem, but as I scramble for ways to end this, it's the only thought that sticks and before I stop to examine why that is, I've grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it up to my neck.

  As my hands move up, I catch the bottom of my bra and take it with me, freeing my heavy breasts, and the guys practically run headlong into the wall as they stare with their mouths hanging wide open.

  “Ok, now that I have your attention, can you all get the fuck over yourselves?” I ask breathlessly, even though I’ve only moved a little. Still, with adrenaline riding me, and the pounding of my heart as I bare myself to them, I feel as if I’ve run a marathon. None speak. “Well?” I say, tapping my foot. I don’t think about how the motion will make my breasts bounce as well, their heads following the motion like a pendulum.

  Clearing his throat, Jase tugs at the collar of his shirt before giving a solemn nod. Behind him, Fred mouths a ‘thank you’ my way, but Mike doesn’t say or do anything but slide his gaze slowly up and over my body to land on my face.

  “So…” I say, feeling awkward now that they’re no longer fighting, and begin to pull my top back down. I’d like to say that I make the motion sexy, but that would be a lie. The bra and shirt and rolled up together, and I end up having to yank and twist on the bottom until I can free them and cover my breasts. Once I do, I pretend I didn’t just do a jig with my tits out, and smooth my hands down over my shirt. “Who’s ready to kick some ass?”

  Finally, Mike’s expression changes from the unreadable look to something darker, almost excited. It causes a shiver to race along my spine and goosebumps to rise over my skin. He’d warned me he had a tough past. The enthusiastic cast to his face makes that evident. I look away.

  “Kick? Don’t you mean, kill–”

  “We should be on our way,” Jase says, interrupting what I’m sure Mike had been about to say was ‘killing.’ Which is strange since I’d already guessed as much. If those infected by whatever it is inside the essential oils are already dead, then killing them doesn’t even make sense. They’re already gone. I’m just telling myself that we’re saving them by ending their undead lives.

  When I cut my eyes toward Jase to say this, to tell him that I don't need to be shielded, he gives a subtle shake of his head, like he's telling me not to say more. I consider his silent warning and let the subject die. Instead of making more conversation, I move over to the small table I'd left my drumsticks on and lift the light weight into my hand.

  It’s probably not my best idea leaving them lying about with all the craziness the oils had caused going on, but switching to the “being on alert at all times” mindset has left me feeling restless. That paired with the whiplash of flitting between three guys, and I’ve never been so reckless.

  Pushing all these thoughts aside, I turn to others with confidence that I don't feel, and square my shoulders. So far, I've been the weak link. The one not capable of contributing... but not anymore. Liberty is out there, maybe suffering, and that time has to come to an end.

  As if able to read the resolve on my face, Fred slips his hand into his pocket and brings it back out encased in the brass knuckles. Jase lifts his blade from a chair and swings it in from of him a few times before lowering it to his side. And Mike, his stare the most full of light as I've ever seen it, holds his knife up and in front of his face, letting the light gleam along the blade that rests between his eyes.

  The edge is dark with the blood its already shed tonight, and he twists it back and forth a few times before stepping to the panel of buttons and hitting a large black one on the side.

  When he does this, the scratch of records and a rustle of movement occurs within the console, and in no time, the electric beats of the guitar start to float around the room, imbuing us all as it airs across the town.

  If there’s a radio on, it’s blasting what we chose, and tonight, Insidious Nightmares and the current talk of the town are the ones that are going to bring down the house.

  12

  It's eerily quiet as we drive through the once teeming streets of our little town, to find them deserted. Not even the stray cats that normally roam about, well-fed from all the business owners who toss them scraps, are out, and the whole place has an almost palpable feeling to it.

  There’s danger in the air. The pressure from it thick enough to cause my breaths to enter and exit my lungs in harsher draws than it should, and my hands hurt from squeezing them so tightly into fists. But if the guys notice any of this, I can’t tell.

  They’re practically bouncing in their seats. Maybe it's nervous energy. Maybe they’re just psycho. Either way, I’m glad they’re on my side. The deadly gleam in their eyes is not one I’d ever want to see coming after me in the night.

  "Hang on. I see some people up ahead," Mike growls from the driver's seat, bringing me out of my reverie, and both Fred and I move from our spots in the back to kneel between Mike and Jase. There's a group of at least fifty people up ahead.

  “What the fuck are they doing? Are they normal? Or whacked like the others?” Jase asks, and Mike shakes his head grimly.

  “Don’t know. Too far away to tell, we’re going to have to get closer to find out.”

  Jase turns his head to look at Mike as he says that, and I feel Fred’s hand wrap around mine softly. He doesn’t glance at me, but he gives me a gentle squeeze, and it helps to alleviate some of the tension running through my spine. I’m not alone.

  Van slowing, until it eventually stops about twenty feet in front of the mob, Mike switches his headlights to high beams, and when he does, I gasp.

  Everyone I've ever known is there. From Mrs. Frankie, my kindergarten teacher to Dr. Shelly, the only pediatrician in town. They're all there. All staring our way. And all dressed in some tattered Halloween costume that's been made even scarier by their hanging tendrils of skin, or their entrails trailing behind them.

  Some of their faces are pale with paint, others just from death, and most have dark red smeared around their mouths. The color almost an exact match to the shade their eyes have become.

  “Guess that answers that question,” Fred says with a snort, leaning forward to peer closer.

  “Yea. Guess it does. Y’all ready for this?” Jase asks, but all eyes turn on me, the one the question is really for. Instead of shrinking away from their questioning looks, I pull my hand from Fred’s and lift my broken drumsticks out in front of me. One is darker with dried blood.

  “I�
�m ready,” I tell them with more confidence in my voice than I feel. After a long beat of silence in which they all keep focused on me, they turn in their seats to face forward again, and we all startle.

  “How the fuck did they get here so quickly?” Jase asks, the words barely leaving him before the van starts to rock back and forth from the hands of the townsfolk as they beat against the sides.

  Gritting his teeth, Mike narrows his eyes on the clown that is smiling wildly as it bangs against his window. A small crack begins to spread along the surface like a spiderweb from the force.

  “Doesn’t matter. This changes nothing,” Mike says as he twists in his seat to face the smaller man.

  “Is it time?” Fred asks, almost vibrating with anticipation. His face lights up when Mike nods.

  “Fuck yes! Let’s waste these bitches!” Fred shouts over the sounds of the moans coming from outside as he moves to the side of the van, and the large amps that have been stacked along the wall. With a few twisted knobs and press of buttons, the bass hits harder than the infected outside, and the van shakes harder.

  The result is instantaneous, the effect undeniable, and it's terribly awesome to watch the shift come over those that were only seconds before trying to tear their way inside.

  “Wow. I knew the music worked on the kid, but I didn’t… I never…”

  “Yeah. I don’t think any of us really knew if it would work on this many,” Jase says from his spot in front, having to shout to be heard over Marilyn Manson’s, Sweet Dreams.

  The song is as fitting as it is loud, and I can't help but think it was the right choice for the occasion. Not only does it have the townsfolk twitching from the repetition of beats, those still able to move, and almost as if they are doing so in slow motion, but the lyrics themselves, those of ‘sweet dreams' are too true.