| |
SUSAN LAY NEXT TO DAVID on the bed with her eyes closed against the darkness and her body sheeted in sweat.
We just made a baby, she thought as she rested her hands on her belly. She could still feel his warm seed within her.
The bed shifted as David got up. He leaned over and kissed her forehead before disappearing. She could hear him moving away from her to other parts of the room. There was silence for a moment and then she heard running water. She dozed listening to his bath sounds. The hush of the shower soothed her for a while.
Again, there was a moment of silence and then the hum of an electric razor pushed her to the edge of sleep and wakefulness. All the sounds were muffled as if heard from down a long corridor. Her mind could no longer focus on anything with detail; all became a distant melody of sounds so comforting that she finally fell into full slumber.
When she opened her eyes, she was in what appeared to be a barn. It was old, but well cared for. The wood had been refinished and repaired in many places. The loft looked as though it were recently rebuilt. There were no windows, but there was another room on the west side, although she could not see what the doorway opened into. There were no farm implements in the barn; any hay, tractor, or animals. In the center of the barn, like its heart, the black sports car sat.
She immediately noticed the vehicle was mint. The paint was flawless and the deep shine as good as a mirror. Light bounced off every surface of the car, even off the shiny chrome wheels. The Mustang badge gleaned prominently on the vehicle’s hatch and the word Obsidian blazoned in stainless steel letters, just above the carbon fiber taillights. Twin stainless-steel rectangular mufflers extended from beneath the vehicle. She’d never seen mufflers quite like these and could not comprehend the purpose.
She approached the car and touched the cold, smooth surface. It felt slick to the touch; the color so rich, it appeared the car was not covered with paint, but instead covered with silk.
The windows were tinted black, so dark it was difficult to see the interior of the vehicle, even under the bright florescent light overhead. She moved further along the vehicle’s left flank, her finger trailing behind her, gliding over the buffed surface. At the driver’s side door, she reached for the handle, but her hand froze in midair. The color of the handle was different, as if the red had faded and lightened with age. The color was not consistent, which was odd, because the rest of the car was mint. She touched the handle with her finger, and the surface was not smooth, but sticky. She held her finger up in front of her and saw the color transferred to her finger.
She pulled the door open and looked inside. The interior was cool. Black leather covered the futuristic dashboard and the door panels. The seats were also supple black leather with strange buttons on the right side of the seat. There were dark spots drying on the back rest the color of rust. She realized the stains were blood. The door handle also had blood on it. The blood was on her finger.
She rubbed her finger desperately against the leg of her pants, trying to scrub the blood away. Suddenly, she felt an uncontrollable rage swelling in her head. Her temples throbbed and her heartbeat heavily in her chest. She felt feverishly hot, as if her blood was boiling. She moved slowly away from the vehicle as horrible thoughts ran madly through her head: smash, kill, destroy, mutilate, pound, stomp, tear, gouge.
Before she got more than a few feet away from the Obsidian, an excruciating pain tore through her skull, as if she were struck from behind with a club. She reached behind to feel the wound, feeling for the sticky wetness of her own blood. Her vision swam and faded. She thought she heard the car roar to life. The sound of the exhaust filled her ears. The thought it would be louder given the size of the muffler, yet it sounded like a men’s electric razor.
She opened her eyes and stared blankly at the white ceiling of the hotel room. She looked down at her hands but the blood from her dream did not exist. She gingerly prodded the back of her skull and winced at the tender spot where she banged against the headboard.
She’d been with the killer again.