Why can’t I move? I’m not tied. At least, I don’t think I am.
She twisted her neck slightly to the left. Examining her wrists, she confirmed her suspicions. She was in fact not tied. Why can’t I move?
The dark figure raised a ghostly white hand and pointed. It appeared to be glowing, but was actually just the pallor of its skin against the thick darkness. The finger was long, skinny. Amber realized it was pointing at her belly.
You will not interfere.
Lifting her head, she directed her eyes down. Her stomach was bare, but a puddle of black lay on top. She could indistinctly see her navel under the fluid.
That’s my blood.
The wet spot.
Blood.
The pointing finger was joined by the other digits as the hand spread wide, holding the palm straight out. Then a feeble light grew from the center of the palm, casting a small, glowing circle on Amber’s belly. In the glow, Amber discovered that something had been carved into her abdomen under the blood.
A note. A message.
A warning.
More than that, it was a statement. A claim.
HE’S MINE.
Physical proof confirming what the voice in the dream had told her. It wasn’t hard to determine that the he being referenced was David.
Amber sat up, panting. The room still was trapped in the night. Her heart clashed inside her chest while her lungs forcefully tried sucking in air that wouldn’t come fast enough. Daubed down on her face, her hair was matted with sweat.
She pawed at her belly and found no trace of blood or a note of any kind. She glided her fingers across the smoothness of her dampened skin. All seemed fine. There were no scars or letters or scabbed blood. Not even a scratch.
Her belly was perfectly normal.
Except for the tiny hand grenades that seemed to be exploding inside. Twirling around in her stomach, like fireworks on the fourth of July.
I’m going to really regret my binge in the morning.
She was already regretting it now. Her head felt as if something were growing inside, pushing her brain against the front of her skull. The large welt at her temple intensified this even more. Her eyes wanted to pop out of their sockets from the searing tension. Looking around the room, she recognized it as David’s.
It seemed different. Not like it had just been. Before, she’d felt trapped, scared someone or something would reach out of the shadows and pull her in.
It was calm now. Tranquil. Like any ordinary bedroom. In fact, it was even relaxing.
Her mind immediately returned to the nightmares. Plural, more than one. Both nightmares seemed to be telling her two different stories, like two sides of an argument.
In the past, she’d had dreams like these after long drinking binges. When she’d come to, it would feel as if the dream were still occurring. And if Amber drifted back to sleep, like an unconscious serial, the dream would continue with another chapter. This would repeat over and over for the rest of the night, or until she sobered up.
Squinting, she found that a solo light came from the nearby window, beaming a gray pool in the middle of the floor. Moonlight. She wondered what time it was.
Her body looked as wet as if she had just stepped out of the shower. Soaked all over. Her chest felt free, without constraint. Looking down, she saw the outlines of her bare breasts like two black mounds in the feeble light of the room. I’m naked, she remembered. She tried replaying the events of the night to figure out what led her to this nudity in her brother’s bed. She remembered getting to David’s. They had a spat about something, but her mind couldn’t grasp what it was. She had trouble concentrating. It hurt her head to try.
The same was happening with the nightmares. They were fading fast, almost like they were being pulled out of her memory.
That’s impossible.
Unable to remember what was in the dream, she knew that it was about David. He was in trouble. That part was clear.
Now you’re naked, drenched in sweat, with no idea how you got here, or why.
Did David undress her? The idea made her queasy. She felt her body heating in shame.
Amber remembered what she’d been wearing. A skirt slit up to here, with a top cut down to there. Something a sister should never wear to visit a brother. Kicking the blankets to her feet, she spied her exposed nakedness. Head to toe, without clothes or underwear. Her panties were gone, and she wore no bra.
As if being set loose from the confines of the sheets, an odor rose to Amber’s nostrils. She sniffed the familiar odor and cringed.
I pissed myself.
The sour stench of old urine and vomit reeked in the air, in a cluster. Her insides ached from soreness. That must be from the vomiting. Pulling her legs close together, she hugged them tight. They felt cool and sticky. Sweat covered her thighs.
Knowing she’d soiled herself and that her brother had undressed her bothered her. But she knew he wouldn’t have done anything to her that would be considered wrong. The more she brooded over it, she figured he’d done it so she wouldn’t get his bed filthy. He cared that she was sick, but he wasn’t going to let her muddy up his bed.
A moan came from the living room. The door to David’s bedroom was shut, muffling most of it. But she heard it, vaguely.
It sounded female…
He does have a visitor, she thought. This time, David moaned. He was in the living room with someone, a woman.
Her bladder pressed against her sore stomach, demanding to be emptied. Her teeth were floating. Now’s not a good time, she thought. I can’t go out there.
David has company.
The moaning was louder.
Amber wanted to moan also, but from the agony of a full bladder. Her lower back began to ache. She desperately needed to pee. Not wanting to sully herself again, she ran over her options.
She could sneak out of the bedroom and make a dash for the bathroom. It was only a few feet away on the opposite side of the kitchen. But she’d be naked. If David were to see her, it would be embarrassing for them both. He was obviously in the middle of an intimate moment with whoever his lady friend was. If she stumbled upon their moment in the nude, they’d never look at each other the same way again. But she had to do something. She couldn’t last much longer.
Swinging her feet over the edge of the bed, she quietly set them on the carpet. The fabric tickled the bottoms of her feet. The coolness of the carpet felt good against her warm toes. The air in the room was thin, much better than it had been under the blanket. Under there, it’d felt like an inferno.
She stood up, careful to keep the bed from squeaking. She kept weight on it by pushing against the mattress with her hand. It didn’t make a peep. She still had to go from the bedroom to the bathroom without being seen or heard. And, no matter what, she didn’t want to see what David was doing. It was as bad–if not worse–than seeing a parent.
She’d never had to worry about that with her mother. After Daddy died, she never pursued a relationship with another man. To Mom, no one could compare. There weren’t many things Amber appreciated or admired about her mother, but that was one of them.
What if the floor creaks?
Just pause, give them time to go back to their business if they hear it.
They were bound to catch her sneaking by. Then what? Go about as if she didn’t see them? She still had to worry about the door. It was sure to pop when opened. David’s place was old. Everything in an old place pops and cracks.
I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. Right now, I’m worried about actually getting to the door without being heard.
Amber snuck along the edge of the bed, bracing her legs against the mattress as a guide. The room was so murky that she could hardly see a thing. At the end of the bed, her feet kicked against something moist. She cringed so hard it hurt her back.
Using her toes, she nudged the wetted material. It was actually a few separate articles
of clothing. Dry in spots, the majority was wet.
My clothes. My urine- and vomit-caked clothes. Do I dare put them on to go potty?
She dared.
Squatting down, she sorted through them. Her skirt felt all right, just mildly damp. Her panties were soaked; she could smell them from where she was stooped. Deciding against putting her panties back on, she sat on the floor. The fibers nestled against the smoothness of her rump, gently tickling it. Pressing her legs together, she stuck her feet through the top of the skirt and hiked it up. When she got to her behind, she arched her back, lifted her rump in the air, and then tugged the skirt over. She didn’t really need her panties anyway. Her skirt was short, but it covered enough to hide that she wasn’t wearing underwear.
Not like the thong covered much anyway.
Now it was time for the top. She worried it might be spattered with vomit. If it was, she planned to wear it regardless. She briefly thought about digging through David’s drawers for a shirt, but she would make a lot of noise doing that. They’d hear her for sure.
Carefully, she picked up her top, hoping to avoid sticking her fingers in any type of goo. To her surprise and relief, the shirt felt fine. She pulled it over her head and stuck her arms through the holes.
Sniffing the shirt as it grazed her face, she realized it was only sweat.
Strong, sour-smelling sweat, but she could handle that.
The cold clothes made her ache with chills. She felt as if she’d been caught in the rain and was now in an air-conditioned room. Amber heard another moan—the woman’s. It was much louder than the ones before it. She stood up. Fumbling in the dark, she brushed the edge of the bed. Another step forward and she’d be on her own.
Her mission was going to be complicated. At least if they saw her now she’d be dressed. But, them knowing what she’d done while wearing these clothes was just as humiliating.
Leaning against the door, taking deep breaths, she placed her right ear to the wood, listening. The muted noise of wet smacking was mixed with moaning and scuffling sounds.
She slowly turned the doorknob to the right, making a light clicking noise. The moaning continued, uninterrupted by the slight sound.
With a gentle tug, she held the door there to keep it from falling back into place.
Sneaking out quite often as a teenager, Amber had devised a routine. It was a flawless one that had never allowed her to be caught in all the years of doing it. With her hand still on the knob, she lifted the door up—pushing the air away—in an attempt to avoid the pop. It worked.
Like it wouldn’t have.
She heard the air being sucked away. She should have no problem opening the door without a ruckus. Unless the hinges screeched. But that was a risk she’d have to take. She had to pee. It was better doing it in the toilet than on David’s floor. She was certain he’d appreciate that so much more than another stain on the carpet.
As carefully as she could, she eased the door open just enough to see a glimpse of the living room. The sound was louder now, no longer being intercepted by the closed door. They sounded close. It was going to be hard sneaking by without being noticed, but she hoped they were too busy with each other to detect her prancing to the bathroom.
Squeezing her thighs together, she glided the door open wide enough to squeeze through. Thanks to her small stature, it didn’t take much. She slid out, easing the door open farther to allow room for her breasts. She tried to calm her breathing. It felt like she was doing something illegal, like sneaking through a friend’s house when they weren’t home.
The living room was dim with only the light from a lamp on the end table. Amber planned to stay in the shadows, hoping to be hidden from them. When she took a step forward, she quickly saw how wrong everything had become.
There was no longer a living room ahead of her, but a green utopia. Beautiful grass, assortments of flowers so exotic she couldn’t identify them. She smelled the pleasant, misty scent of a spring. Soft splotches of cold water sprinkled on her. Somewhere, she could hear the flowing currents of a waterfall. Mesmerized by its beauty, she nearly forgot how odd this all was. How it shouldn’t be here at all.
The moaning sounded closer.
She looked to her left. There was a springy shrub, tall, nearly scratching the ceiling. The sounds were coming from over there, on the other side of it. No longer caring to be discreet, she walked nonchalantly to find what was going on. Couldn’t be any stranger than what she’d already discovered.
As she stepped around the overhanging limbs, she realized she couldn’t have been more wrong. Everything was so off kilter, she wondered if she were still back in David’s bed, on to segment three of her strange dreams. She should be appalled and shocked, but funny as it was, she was very calm. What she was seeing would haunt her forever, she knew that, but it didn’t seem to matter. Not now, but eventually it would.
David was on his back, nestled in the grass. Completely naked. Soaked in a translucent gel from head to toe. His hands gripped a buttock, spread like talons, squeezing that rump like he was afraid it’d fly away. Which it just might have done considering the female straddling him, thrusting her hips, grinding down on him, had wings. Gray wings that spanned at least twelve feet.
Biting his bottom lip, he grunted each time she slammed down on him.
Amber gagged.
This was real. And it was totally fucked up. Upright on her knees, this woman—angel—continued riding him. The nipples on her large breasts were hard and bounced up and down with each thrust. Arching her back, she whipped her head back, practically screaming at the brilliant, blue sky above them. Her lips curved into a smile.
Feathers, coagulated with orange, yolk-like slime, bulged through the skin of her back, looking like a baby chick hatching from an egg. Covered with the yellow gook, the feathers were falling with each drip. Shedding. The wings didn’t quite seem to be a supplementary part of her body anymore. More like an abscess that was infected.
Amber pushed herself as far against the wall as she could, swallowing the rising scream in her throat. There was an imaginary line separating the two sections of David’s apartment. Side one, where Amber was trapped, was the normal room that had always been. But just on the other side of that line was a scene that you read about only in the Bible.
And she was stuck witnessing an atrocious act. The odor of dying flowers engulfed her nostrils, causing her eyes to water. Putrid and festering—a decomposing stench.
I have to get out of here.
She darted for the front door.
Though it was only a couple of feet away, it might as well have been a hundred. She couldn’t get there quickly enough. She didn’t dare look back. Not bothering to find her shoes, she fled the apartment, unable to care less if she made a sound during her retreat. Surprisingly, they didn’t seem to notice her fleeing.
Wanting to put as much distance between herself and David’s apartment as possible, she ran with nowhere to go. Home was too far away to attempt dressed as she was in the cold December night. She needed somewhere much closer than that. And only one place came to mind, but Amber was certain she wouldn’t be thrilled to have her as a guest.
But that didn’t matter. Amber wasn’t necessarily looking forward to asking her for help, either. As the sun was rising, coloring the night sky in orange and red and purple, Amber swallowed her pride and voyaged ahead to the one person she knew who would help her.
Sam.
Chapter Seventeen
Sam woke before the alarm. Even on her days off she made sure to keep it set, maintaining a tight sleep schedule. When she began her training at the veteran’s hospital two years ago, the C.N. in charge was stern on the gospel of being in bed by eleven and at work by seven. At the time, Sam had disagreed with her. Now it was a code to live by. Living alone, it wasn’t too hard to do, but when she was with David, it was damn near impossible. Always wanting to stay awake, talking with him, she rarely got a dec
ent night’s sleep.
He’d been worth it.
Even now, he still was worth it.
Last night, she’d barely slept, waking every hour, trudging out of haunting nightmares. Around four she’d stripped off her nightgown. The silk garment had become heavy with sweat and saturated against her skin. She’d decided just to sleep naked and toss the gown in the hamper. Now that she was awake, she was freezing.
Tugging the blankets around her, she snuggled against them.
Her mind had been dancing circles all morning, digging into the past and resurrecting a guilt she’d wanted to forget. She’d also been debating calling Detective Stiltson back and asking him not to keep tabs on David.
Stiltson would really love that. He’s doing you a favor.
He’d acted like he didn’t want to do it, though. He’d probably be relieved to know he didn’t have to.
Not likely. He’s sweet on you. Makes the old man still feel like he has something to offer by doing it. Asking him to stop after begging him to do it would be wrong.
Having him follow David around was wrong. He wasn’t the skeptical one.
I am. If David were to have someone follow me around, I really couldn’t say much about it, nor could I blame him.
Especially after what happened this past summer. She cringed. Last summer. Why did she have to think about that?
She wanted to forget about the night she had spent with Charlie Baxter.
Things with David had never been better in the spring. David was happy, Sam was ecstatic. They had an amazing and fun-filled adventure to Green Bay, Wisconsin. Coming home, they’d talked about nothing but the future. Sam had briefly mentioned kids, but the flushing red on David’s face and the tightening of his lips had been enough to show that he wasn’t ready for that conversation yet.
He’d grimaced when she’d asked if he planned to marry her, but answered with a sweet, “Of course.” Even though she’d wanted that answer, hearing him say it had shot a bullet of fear into her chest. A fear that had continued to grow and become infected in the weeks that followed. By the time summer had arrived, she was practically petrified. She loved David with all her heart, but was suddenly afraid of settling down.
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