* * * *
Tatiana knelt by the young car thief's bed and whispered in his ear. He squirmed in his sleep, but didn't waken. "Repeat after me, " she instructed. "You must warn the people at the lake that there is a monster in their midst."
"Monster in their midst," he mumbled groggily.
"You must be subtle, though," she purred. "You must awaken their fears slowly."
"Slowly," he echoed.
* * * *
Every single night for the rest of the week, Jen found herself haunted by variations of the same dream, the same dark plane, the waves of black sky and water. The unnamed longing and desire. And most important, the same man. The dream grew progressively more explicit, and more sensual. She blushed remembering herself kissing the satin smoothness of his chest and boldly stroking the warm hardness of his arms. It was unlike any experience she’d had in real life. And yet, it was all so vivid, so very real. And at the dream's end, she would feel the same frustration, the despair. "Come to me," the dream man said to her, over and over, the longing in his voice lingering in her mind.
She never quite made out the man's face, but in his arms, she experienced a warmth and happiness never before felt in her life. Each morning, the dreams would leave her more befuddled and tantalized than the day before. Her body and mind ached with frustration and leaden exhaustion. It seemed she could only find fulfillment in her dreams, but the dreams also left her with a sense of bereavement. A wrenching loss and sadness. She awoke increasingly tired, yet oddly restless. It was no wonder that her wakeful nights were taking their toll.
Jen was more and more distracted at work, and made several ridiculous errors, the kind that novices made. But she couldn't dredge up any serious concern about work, even if her job was in jeopardy.
It was depressing that her dream life was more exciting than her real one, but she was helpless, her mind lost in a drifting, foggy cloud. At one point, over a stack of boring rough drafts, she nodded off into a semi-dream. I'm alone, so alone...it's only you that I want. The voice was so visceral, she felt a warmth against her ear. She had started, shaken by the experience. It frightened her that it happened in the middle of the day, but secretly intrigued her as well.
Chapter Four
Joe tapped Jen on the shoulder. "Hey," he whispered, "wake up." She blinked and sat up, stunned and dazed.
She blinked. "Tell me I wasn't sleeping," she pleaded, brushing her hair back.
Joe gave her a helpless smile. "Sorry, but you were down for the count."
"Oh, great," she sighed. She took the cup of tea he handed her.
"I hope the caffeine works. Maybe I should get you some No-doz," he said, and glanced around the room. She followed his gaze.
The other writers had noticed, of course, her less than stellar performance. She'd been overhearing more than a few complaints that she wasn't pulling her weight and knew she had to shape up. This was unlike her. Jen normally was conscientious to a fault, which was how she'd reached her current position as a senior writer.
Joe patted her shoulder and turned to leave. He was her buddy. They were close, allies in a very competitive work environment. Jen knew he partly wanted more than friendship, but felt like his big sister—even though there was only a six year difference in their ages.
Jen watched as Joe walked away, and felt a wave of anxiety. She couldn't afford to lose this job. She had been here too long. The thought of looking for a new position made her sick.
She dragged herself to her aerobics class, determined to snap out of it. As an old Bangles song blared across the gym, she found herself wobbling through the routine and unable to concentrate. Moving like a somnambulist, her vision was starting to blur. Mindy and Lila, the instructors, doubled into four bouncing, smiling, leotard-clad figures. "Walk Like An Egyptian" ended with Jen nursing a twisted foot—she had landed clumsily and offbeat.
"Let's all cool down!" shouted Lila. Instead, Jen stretched out on her mat and closed her eyes.
"Rough night, kiddo?" a cheerful voice asked. Nancy Mann, trim in blue and white tights, plunked down beside her, foregoing the cool down exercises, as well. Nancy was the closest Jen came to having a best friend, though they usually only saw each other at aerobics. Nancy was well-adjusted and successful, a perfect role model for someone like Jen, who often felt lost and confused in her own life.
Nancy was happily married for over twenty years to the same man, had two teenagers and one pre-schooler, and taught advanced math to junior high students. Nancy seemed to have it all. It was enough to make even a friend envious, Jen often thought.
"Yeah," Jen grunted, slowly sitting up. "Actually, I did sort of have a rough night." At Nancy's inquiring, hopeful look, she shook her head. "Sorry, I haven't had a hot date in ages. But, I have been having weird, emotionally draining dreams. I mean, really disturbing ones, Nancy. They've even invaded my waking hours." She stopped to massage her forehead, stalling for a second. "Have you ever had the same dream night after night, that gets more intense each time you have it?" She cleared her throat. Should she tell Nancy how powerful and addictive the dreams were? No, Jen decided. Nancy would freak out and think she was a lunatic.
Nancy scooted closer to be heard over the resounding echoes of voices and disco, her brown ponytail bouncing. "Dreams repeating themselves? Dreams that seem more and more real? Hmmm." She thought a moment, her eyes narrowed in concentration. "Wait, I think I remember something." She suddenly snapped her fingers and opened her eyes wide. "My sister had a book on the subject, and it said repeated dreams have something to do with the spirit world, that maybe someone from the ‘other side’ is trying to reach you." She shrugged and then grinned. "It could be baloney, but it could also be true."
Jen yawned and rubbed her eyes. "I'm willing to believe anything at this point. These dreams are draining me."
Nancy's smile faded. "Hey, if you feel that bad, maybe you should see a doctor. I know society's over-medicated these days, but you look really wiped out." She touched Jen's arm. "It could be anything: diet, allergies or a chemical imbalance. Think about it, okay, Jen?" she said, her voice full of concern.
Jen smiled reassuringly at Nancy. "I will if the dreams don't stop soon, I promise."
Nancy nodded in relief. "Good. You can't be too careful. There are so many things out there that can hurt you that sometimes it feels like the whole world is bad for you."
"I agree, it's easy to feel constantly scared nowadays." Jen thought of how uneasy she'd been feeling. How convinced she was that someone was watching her, someone was lurking around Grenville, someone with malevolent intentions.
Driving home, down the dark, nearly deserted streets, Jen found herself anticipating, actually looking forward to, another night of those dreams. They're better than my real life, she thought, and squirmed in embarrassment. But it was true, her dreams were far more exciting, if disturbing, than her waking hours were. If only the man in her dream would come to life, than they could both be happy, she thought.
* * * *
Dameon was restless. He tightened his hands into fists, and would have driven the desires and the longings away with them if it would have helped. It was wrong to want this. It would be the worst cruelty to pursue it. But, he couldn't stop himself.
* * * *
The duck's throat was cut, and its head nearly decapitated. Something had killed the bird in a terrible, vicious manner. It was a mallard, Jen noticed dizzily. She could tell because the head was covered in green feathers. A human couldn't do this, she reassured herself. It must have been some animal. But how would an animal make such a neat cut? a tiny voice inside of her insisted.
Jen felt sick, her stomach somersaulting at the sight. There were feathers everywhere, but little blood, for which she was grateful. She had come down to the lake for a relaxing little stroll and had stumbled into this. Her neighbors, huddled around the bird, barely looked up when Jen joined them.
The ducks and geese that inhabited the lake were beloved an
d protected members of the community, a pride and joy to the lakefront owners. Jen took one more hasty look at the bird and shuddered. It looked as if the bird had been eviscerated.
Marilyn and Don Lipman were deep in conversation and clearly agitated. They were an older retired couple who lived on the other side of the lake from Jen and kept to themselves. Both wore flushed, anxious expressions and were gesturing wildly.
"This is an outrage," Mrs. Lipman was gasping as she pointed at the dead bird. "They'll have to catch the monster who did this."
Mr. Lipman frowned, peering at the duck over his thick-rimmed glasses. "It seems highly unlikely that we'll ever find the perpetrator," he said slowly, his precise tones reflecting his professorial background. "We must consider, though, that a wild animal killed the duck." He took off his glasses and blew on them.
Rita Irman scowled and spoke challengingly. "What animal would drain the blood?" All eyes swiveled toward Rita. Jen knew Rita only sketchily as a single mother with two boys. She seemed a tough little woman with her permed reddish hair and muscular arms from holding down two bartending jobs. Everyone still gossiped about her, wondering how she could afford the mortgage. Her ex never paid child support. "I've had first aid, so I know a little about biology. I can tell something, or someone, removed most of this animal's blood" Her eyes were glittering and she looked ferocious.
Mrs. Lipman moaned, "Then we have to call the police. We might have a maniac on our hands."
Rita snorted. "Huh, you think the cops will give a damn about a bird? Maybe if it was a dog or a cat, but a duck? Forget it."
Carmen Joslyn clasped her hands together, her face pale. "It's not safe to live anywhere these days. I just want to lock myself in my house and shut the curtains."
Carmen was a retired school teacher, in her seventies and a widow, and one of Jen's nearest neighbor. She lived in near seclusion already, alone with her elderly lhasa apso, Buffy. Jen knew her as a fellow dog walker, who was as much a willing slave to Buffy as Jen was to Cobbs. Their paths had crossed often, and they had cheerfully shared canine anecdotes. Jen worried this latest incident would drive Mrs. Joslyn more deeply into reclusion. She thought of the stranger waiting in the woods, smoking cigarette after cigarette—watching them—maybe this very minute, and her own heart quickened.
A voice broke loudly through their tight little huddle. "You don't have to do that, Mrs. Joslyn. We'll take care of this ourselves."
Rita gave Tom Shlessinger a cold look, and Jen internally groaned. That's just what they needed, a bullying, redneck know-it-all. Tom swaggered over, and shoved his bulk into the group.
"How? It seems to me we'll have to contact the authorities. They're experienced in this kind of thing," Mr. Lipman interjected, eyeing Tom with mild distrust. Tom was a born trouble-maker and they all knew it.
"No need to drag those pansies into it." He was sweepingly scornful. "They'll just slap the creeps on the wrists and send them into therapy." He mouthed the word therapy as if it was an obscenity. Tom crossed his arms over his chest and smirked, obviously pleased with himself. He had been injured on the job years ago and had received a huge settlement, which allowed him to buy a home in the lakeside community. Despite benefiting
from the system himself, he was always on the lookout for those he considered slackers and lay-abouts. He was especially vigilant about "weirdos" and "perverts."
"Maybe, but what can we do?" Rita said skeptically.
"I'm a hunter," he was quick to say. "I'm good at tracking down vermin, even the human kind." He puffed up proudly. With this pronouncement, a furtive look crossed his face. "I saw this kind of perversion before—was a bunch of Satanists that killed an animal just like they did this one."
The others drew closer, unconsciously excited and curious. Only Jen held back, chilled by what was happening. Schlessinger has to be lying, she told herself. He doesn't know anything about cults. The others were intrigued, though, she could tell.
"Come on, and tell us," Rita commanded impatiently.
"Where on earth did you see something like that?" Jen countered. Surely, no one believed this nonsense. She could guess that, by the slight twitch in his eye, he was making most of it up.
Tom shrugged, eyeing his neighbors avidly. "Happened where I used to live."
"Oh, my lord." Mrs. Joslyn was quivering with horror. "You don't think that's happening here." Mrs. Lipman was looking worried, shooting anxious looks at her husband, who appeared unconvinced, thoughtfully polishing his glasses.
Even Rita was biting her lip, looking nervous. "Geez, I hope it's not that. I got my two boys to think of. I got to protect them from that kind of stuff." A vision of Rita's sons, aged nine and eleven, both sporting shaved hair-dos, earrings and skull and crossbones T-shirts brought a tiny smile to Jen's lips.
Which was swiftly erased by Shlessinger's next words. "Let's just remember, this is a Christian town, after all," he ended self-righteously.
Mrs. Lipman was wringing her hands. "My grandchildren come to visit here, too. I don't want them exposed to any danger."
Jen had an unpleasant vision of the community turning into some sort of crazy neighborhood watch gone mad. "Now, wait a minute, we have no proof of any of this," she spoke out firmly, eager to get through to them. "We don't know a wild animal didn't do this." She looked pointedly at Shlessinger.
He ignored her and turned back to the group, who also turned their backs to her. "It's up to you. Just remember what that cult did down in south Texas..." He let his words sink in, invoking memories of mass murder and mayhem.
Jen sought a voice of reason and let her eyes search out Mr. Lipman, who was frowning. He began to speak. "Let's all try and calm down..." His words trailed off as his wife, visibly frightened, pulled on his arm and whispered in his ear. He shrugged in resignation.
They gathered closer into a feverish, vocal knot, and Jen backed off, unnoticed and ignored. She looked sadly back at the poor duck, which seemed to have been forgotten amidst all of the excitement. As she stepped back toward the trees, ready to take the path home, a voice in her ear made her jump.
"Jen?"
She spun around. It was Dameon La Faim, nearly blending into the shadows. He glanced at the group with a question in his eyes. She shook her head and made motion, indicating that she wanted to leave. Her neighbors acted unaware of Dameon's presence or Jen's departure, which made her feel odd, almost invisible. She tried to smile. "I was going to introduce you, but now...doesn't seem a good time." She paused.
"Perhaps not," Dameon answered quietly.
A fragment of her neighbors' conversation drifted through the night, and both she and Dameon fell silent for a second. Mr. Lipman was saying, "We still have to notify the authorities. They'll want to dispose of the duck. Of course, we'll have to alert the other neighbors..."
They heard Tom Shlessinger crow, "Good thinking, we'll have a continuous watch going on, what you call, surveillance...and we can plan our next step."
They walked a few feet when Dameon cast her a quick look. "Something's happened?"
Jen bit her lip, realizing her neighbors were blocking the view of the bird. "Some wild animal killed one of the ducks from the lake, and everyone's upset and getting a little carried away. It was horrible. I've never seen anything like that..."
"I'm sorry. It must have been very disturbing," Dameon said. "Violence in any form is ugly."
"Very." Her voice trailed. For a long second, the only sound was the crunching of leaves beneath their feet.
"I found your keys," Dameon said, holding them out to her. "You dropped them in the woods."
She took them, murmuring a stammered thank you. Remembering how she'd behaved in front of him the last time made her cringe. What had he thought about her racing off without a word when he'd offered her a ride home? She blushed and decided to pretend the silly thing had never happened.
Caught up in her own thoughts, Jen didn't see the branch in her path until Dameon reached to help her as s
he stumbled over it. She stifled a groan. Apparently, she was doomed to be accident-prone in front of this man. She was glad he was quiet. The scene behind her had disturbed her deeply and she needed time to collect herself.
The sun had set and only the faintest sliver of red showed in the horizon. The sky was getting blacker by the minute. Leaves and branches crunched underfoot. She fancied she saw eyes watching them, but it was only the shifting shadows from the branches. As darkness fell more deeply, Jen could barely see Dameon's profile as he walked beside her. He seemed to have no trouble whatsoever in finding his way through the inky night. The path could use some lighting, she thought crossly. A person could easily fall and break her neck. Not a cheery thought.
Dameon moved through the dark as agilely a cat, and seemed equipped with superb night vision.
As they drew closer to her house, the light from the picture window added dim illumination, turning the landscape a ghostly gray. Jen stumbled to a halt, nearly stepping on her own feet, and took a deep breath. Another messy heap of cigarettes was scattered beneath one of the oaks sheltering the pathway. The watcher had been camping out again. A lone piece of cellophane blew in front of them. Jen stared at it, trying to convince herself that she was overreacting.
Dameon noticed her expression and gave her a quizzical look. "Is there something wrong?"
She shook her head. It was too trivial and silly to mention.
As they reached the porch, she hesitated, straining to make out his features. He seemed to blur into the shadows. He turned as if sensing her intent, and she could see the glint of his eyes. She nervously ran her fingers through her hair.
"Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee? It's only instant. I'm a cocoa drinker myself." She got the words out as quickly as possible.
"Thank you, that would be kind. I find I'm quite thirsty," he said, smiling opaquely down at her. As they walked through the door, Cobbs peered up at them from where he was lying sprawled on the couch. His tail switched uncertainly.
Kiss Noir (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 5
