Night Terrors

by Mark Lukens

  But she still felt that constant feeling of dread hanging over her, pressing down on her. It hadn’t been this strong for years, not since she was sixteen years old, but it was back now.

  She couldn’t help but think that the person who killed Jen last night was the same one who had killed her parents, the same killer who had searched through her parents’ house for her, leaving bloody footprints behind in every room. She couldn’t help thinking that this killer had come to Florida to find her, that he had come back to finish the job he had started years ago.

  As Tara got into her Jeep and started it, she didn’t notice that across the parking lot, near the edge of it, a man sat in his car watching her.

  4.

  Tara got back home and went to work in the guest room that she used as her office and art studio. She worked as a freelance artist. She got some work through her website and other websites that she advertised herself on, and over the last year she had built up a group of consistent customers. She did book covers, media designs, illustrations for books, whatever customers wanted.

  She did much of her work on the computer, but her latest assignment sat on the easel in front of her, illustrations for a children’s book – these had to be hand-drawn and then scanned into her computer.

  After a few hours of working and touching up, she sat back and stared at the drawings. But she couldn’t focus completely on her work today; her mind kept returning to her dream last night, to the murdered girl, to the sketches on her desk.

  Tara took a break from her assignment and laid out all three of the sketches on her desk. They were quick sketches, but they captured the terror in Jen’s eyes during the last moments of her life. She hated seeing the horror that she’d drawn, but she needed to see the word and the two numbers that she’d scrawled down on the edges of the papers. A three. A five. And the word: Run.

  In all the years that she’d suffered through night terrors, she had rarely drawn sketches in her sleep, and she had never written down random numbers and words.

  But I don’t think these are random numbers and a random word. They mean something.

  Tara nearly jumped out of her skin when her cell phone rang on the desk beside her. She checked the phone and saw that it was her Aunt Katie calling from Boston.

  “Hey, Aunt Katie,” Tara said as soon as she’d caught her breath. She got up from the desk and left her office. She paced across the living room as she talked.

  “How’s everything going down there?” her aunt asked.

  “Fine. Everything’s great.”

  “You staying busy with your art?”

  Aunt Katie always called it Tara’s art, like this was some kind of hobby for her and not a profession.

  “Yes,” she answered with a smile. “I’m as busy as ever.”

  Tara walked to the front door and checked the door locks – something she did about twenty times a day. Then she walked over to the window that looked out onto the small front porch and the parking lot beyond. She pried the blinds apart and peeked out. She saw something to the right that caught her attention.

  “I heard about the murders down there in Tampa,” Aunt Katie said, getting right to the point. “Those two teenagers.”

  “Wow,” Tara said, “I guess a murder in Tampa is big news in Boston.”

  Aunt Katie didn’t respond.

  And Tara didn’t need her to. She knew that her aunt scoured the papers and internet, watching for stories of violence, watching out for Tara in case the Shadow Man ever decided to come after her again. It had been the reason they moved around so much when Tara lived with her. Aunt Katie had become certain that the killer would come after Tara one day to finish the job, and she didn’t want to make it easy for him by staying in one place too long. It might seem crazy to some people, but Tara loved her for it.

  “I just want you to be careful,” Aunt Katie finally said.

  “Always am,” Tara said with a smile, hoping her aunt could hear the smile in her voice.

  Tara still had the blinds on the window pried apart and she watched Mel, the building maintenance man, talking to another man. They stood near a dark blue pickup truck that must be the other man’s vehicle. It looked like Mel had just given the man the tour of the empty apartment next to hers. The apartment had been vacant for over a month. A young couple used to live there but Tara hadn’t really gotten to know them too well – she hadn’t gotten to know any of her neighbors too well over the years. The couple partied a lot, and then they argued. And then they left. Mel told Tara that the couple had left the place a mess. He had ended up having to repaint the whole apartment and lay down some new carpet.

  Tara stared at the blond-haired man who was talking to Mel. The man was tall and lean, and he was dressed casually in jeans, sneakers, and a long-sleeved shirt, but he had the shirtsleeves pushed up to his elbows revealing muscular forearms.

  She could tell that the man was being polite by listening to Mel, who Tara knew could go on and on forever. Mel had come into her apartment a few months ago to fix the garbage disposal and after a few hours Tara knew everything about Mel’s life and all of his opinions on all worldly matters. He was a sweet old man, but you couldn’t get him to shut up.

  And then Tara’s heart skipped a beat – Mel and the blond man started walking towards her apartment.

  “Hey, Aunt Katie,” Tara said into the phone after she let the blinds pop back in place. “I gotta go, there’s someone at the door.”

  “You make sure you look out the peephole before you answer it,” Aunt Katie said.

  “I will,” Tara said and smiled. “Thanks for calling me.” And thanks for always worrying about me, she thought.

  “I love you, and be careful.”

  “I love you, too,” Tara told her and hung up her cell phone just as Mel pounded on the front door.

  Tara unlocked the deadbolt and turned the twist lock on the door handle and opened the door. She stared at Mel who had a big grin on his face. He was short, bald, and overweight. But he didn’t seem to feel self-conscious about his appearance in front of anyone – he didn’t seem to feel self-conscious about anything. Sometimes Tara wished she could be like that, someone who didn’t care about what other people thought, someone who didn’t worry about anything.

  “I wanted you to meet your new next door neighbor,” Mel said in his heavy New York accent. Since the garbage disposal date they’d had, Mel had become Tara’s new friend whether she wanted him to be or not. And Tara didn’t mind at all – she only had one other friend in the world.

  “Thanks, Mel.”

  Tara smiled at the other man. “Hi. I’m Tara. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Steve,” the man said and offered a hand.

  They shook hands and Tara felt a split second of electricity surging across the palm of her hand and into her body; it was a jolt, like static electricity, but not an unpleasant feeling at all.

  Her new neighbor Steve was even better-looking up close. He was toned and muscular, but not bulky; he had the body of a swimmer or a long-distance runner. And his skin had a golden tan to it. His eyes were dark, a contrast to his nearly bleach-blond hair, and his smile was easy. He exuded confidence and grace.

  “Tara’s been here a few years,” Mel said. “My best tenant.”

  “Thanks, Mel.” Tara could feel herself blushing.

  “Tara’s an artist,” Mel blurted out.

  Steve raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh really. I’d love to see your stuff sometime.”

  “I … uh … I’m just a commercial artist,” Tara finally stammered out. “Nothing really special.”

  “No,” Mel shook his head. “Don’t sell yourself short, kid.” He turned to Steve. “I saw some of her stuff on the kitchen table when I was here to fix the garbage disposal, and it was really great.” He smiled at her. “You remember that garbage disposal? What a pain to get it off of there.”

  Tara nodded. She remembered.

  “I don’t want to hold you up,” Ste
ve said quickly before Mel got going on another rant, almost like he could tell that Tara was slightly uncomfortable in front of a stranger. “I’m sure you have things to do. I’ve still got a few more truckloads to bring over here.”

  “It was nice meeting you,” Tara told him.

  They walked away and Tara watched them for a moment, and then she closed the door and relocked all of the locks.

  5.

  Hours later, after attempting to get some more artwork done, Tara cooked dinner for herself: baked fish with a side of pasta and steamed broccoli. She prepared a plate and sat down at the small table in her kitchen – a setting for one. She poured herself a glass of white wine to go with the meal.

  The food was good. She had learned to become a good cook through the years because she hated going out to a restaurant by herself and she rarely ate fast food. She downloaded cookbooks on her Kindle and tried out different recipes.

  She ate a few bites and listened to the silence of her apartment. With her noisy neighbors gone now, the place was so quiet. The older man in the apartment on the other side of hers had only moved in a few months ago and he kept to himself. Just like Tara. She saw her future in that old man – living alone, keeping to herself, cooped up inside a small apartment.

  Tara tried to push the thought away and wondered if she should turn on the radio just to have some background noise.

  Her thoughts turned to Steve. She had peeked out the windows over the last few hours, but he hadn’t returned to start moving in. She took the garbage out to the dumpster, thinking she might see him pulling in, but she didn’t.

  What was she thinking anyway? Why was she even letting the thought of a relationship, no matter how platonic, enter her mind? It would never happen. It would never work out. It never did.

  She took another bite. The fish melted in her mouth. She just wished that she had someone to share her dinner with, but she needed to be realistic. She had to be tough. She had gotten used to being alone. Like everything else in her life, she had forced herself to accept it. And on some level she was proud of herself, proud of her strength and her discipline to keep herself away from others, to protect others from the damage she could do to them in the middle of the night, sneaky damage, a shadow creeping up on an unsuspecting person in their weakest and most vulnerable state – sleeping. And she in her most destructive state – sleeping.

  Tara finished her meal. She rinsed her plate off in the sink and stored the rest of the dinner in a rectangular Tupperware dish for tomorrow’s lunch. She did the dishes, cleaned off the counter, and had one more glass of wine.

  She didn’t usually drink too much alcohol, but a few glasses of wine or a few beers could take the edge off a little. And tonight she needed to relax, she’d hardly been sleeping, and when she did manage to fall asleep, she would wake up an hour later from a nightmare.

  It was dark outside now, and Tara kept the light on over the stove. She got her pillow and blanket from her bedroom and she settled down on the couch in front of the TV. She usually slept in her bed with the TV on, but sometimes she felt better in the living room on the couch. But if she had another sleepwalking episode tonight, then she knew she would have to sleep in her bed with the rope tied around her ankle so she didn’t wander outside.

  Her ringing cell phone made her nearly jump off the couch.

  She saw that it was her friend Lorie calling. Lorie had just met a new guy, and she was sure that he was the “one” for her. She wanted Tara to meet him, but he was always so busy.

  Lorie had some free time tomorrow and she wanted to take Tara out to do some shopping.

  Tara tried to get out of it, but Lorie was too persistent. And besides, it might be good to get out of the house for a little while. Get away from the dark feelings that pressed down on her constantly.

  She hung up the phone and smiled as she watched TV. And soon she drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  1.

  The next morning Lorie drove her little red Mazda Miada down the busy Tampa Bay street, weaving in and out of traffic. She took the last drag from her cigarette and flicked the butt out the window. She made a left turn just as the light turned red and stomped on the gas pedal. She drove for a quarter of a mile until she came to The Garden Apartments – the neighborhood that Tara lived in. She turned into the entrance, her tires squealing in protest as she took the turn a little too quickly. She passed the lush landscaping and headed to the parking area in front of the two buildings which each housed four spacious apartments. It was a nice area, close to downtown Tampa, and there was a large pond in the back with no neighbors nearby.

  Lorie parked next to Tara’s older brown Jeep Cherokee. She wondered why Tara kept this old hunk of junk; it looked like some redneck’s truck to her. Lorie tried her best to help Tara with her sense of style. They had met in art school and became quick friends even though they were complete opposites. Tara was shy and Lorie was loud and gregarious. But there was something about Tara that Lorie loved even though she couldn’t explain it to herself. Tara was quiet and could sometimes seem vulnerable, but there was this strength inside of her. Even before Lorie learned about the death of Tara’s parents, she could tell that she’d been through a lot in her life already. One night, after a few too many drinks (Tara didn’t overindulge much, but this time Lorie had coaxed her into it), she had opened up to Lorie about her night terrors and about her psychic abilities. Lorie had always felt so bad for Tara, but Tara didn’t want sympathy, she didn’t want any pity, she just wanted a friend. And Lorie was her friend, but she couldn’t resist trying to “fix” Tara up a little and get her hooked up with somebody so she wouldn’t have to be alone.

  The blaring music from Lorie’s car stereo was silenced when she shut off her Miada. As she got out, she noticed a man moving into the end apartment right next to Tara’s. The man was tall with blond hair; he was athletic-looking without being overly muscular. A total babe, Lorie thought and smiled.

  “Hey,” Lorie said to the man as she slammed her car door shut. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

  The man was about to take one of the many cardboard boxes out of the back of his dark blue pickup truck, but he stopped and smiled at her. “Hey, thanks.”

  What a smile, Lorie thought.

  Lorie smiled back at him, and gave him one more glance as she made her way to Tara’s front door on her spike-heeled shoes that clacked on the walkway.

  2.

  Tara jumped when her doorbell rang. She exhaled a breath, glad that she hadn’t let out a scream. She looked around at the living room. She was still on the couch; the blanket kicked off of her body in the middle of the night and crumpled up on the floor. The TV was still on, but the sound was turned down almost all the way. The nearly empty bottle of wine and a plastic cup (how fancy) were on the coffee table near a drawing tablet, a notebook, and a few magazines.

  She sat up as the doorbell rang again. She panicked for a split second as the remnants of the dream held on to her like a psychotic lover’s hug. But she couldn’t remember exactly what she had been dreaming about.

  And maybe she should be happy about that.

  She looked at the wine bottle. She couldn’t remember having more glasses of wine in her favorite yellow plastic cup, but apparently she had.

  A slight headache spoke to her from the back of her head and she touched her fingertips to her temples for a moment, and then fixed her sleep-wild hair as best she could with her hands.

  The doorbell rang again.

  It was Lorie – she was the only one who could make the doorbell change its sound and seem more insistent every time she jabbed the button. Tara got up and walked to the window and peeked out. Even though she was certain it was Lorie, she still never answered the door without checking first. She hurried to the front door as the doorbell chimed again. She unlatched the deadbolt lock, twisted the lock on the door handle, and opened the door for Lorie.

  Lorie entered Tara’s apartment like she ente
red any other place – like she was a Hollywood starlet fresh off the red carpet. She gave Tara a disapproving look. “You’re not ready to go?” she asked.

  “Almost,” Tara said sarcastically as she closed and locked her front door, re-locking the deadbolt.

  Lorie was used to Tara’s obsessive door-locking routine. She walked away from the door and smiled at Tara. “I saw your cute neighbor moving in next door.”

  “Who? Steve?”

  Lorie couldn’t hide her disappointment. “Oh, you’ve already connected? And you didn’t tell me?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a connection. He just started renting the place and Mel dragged him over to introduce him to me.”

  “See, I’m not the only one who’s trying to hook you up.”

  Tara shuffled into her kitchen and turned on the coffee maker. A cup of strong coffee would chase the wine fog and slight headache away. “You want coffee?”

  “No, thanks.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe Steve asked Mel to introduce him to you. You ever think of that?”

  Tara didn’t respond – she really didn’t think that was the case.

  “He could’ve been flirting with you. You should pursue it.”

  “Won’t get far. Never does.”

  Lorie glanced at the couch – Tara’s bed last night – and frowned at her. “You feeling okay? You don’t look so hot.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I haven’t been sleeping too well these days,” Tara said from the kitchen as she brushed her hair back with her fingers. “I woke up in the bathtub the other night.”

  “You had another one of your … your …?”

  Tara nodded. “Yeah.”

  Lorie was suddenly fascinated. “Did you have a dream? I mean, did you see anything?”