by Bryan Smith
The only other option he could think of was professional help. Seeing a shrink was what most people would consider the sensible thing to do. But Kyle was terrified by the notion of allowing anyone to know about his dreams. He didn’t talk about them with Carol. He’d never discussed them with anyone at all.
He was a good man.
A decent, honest, hard-working man.
A good parent and role-model with impeccable values.
At least, that was his image in the community. He was proud of that image, and he worked every day to uphold it. He couldn’t stand the idea of that image being tainted. Sure, divorcing his loving wife and abandoning his kids would damage his reputation, but not nearly as much as being outed as a closet sicko.
Which left…nothing.
For the moment, he was out of ideas.
The alarm went off.
Carol yawned and sat up.
Kyle feigned a yawn and rolled over to switch off the alarm. An hour later, he was at work, where he was able to forget about his problems for a little while.
He dozed off on his lunch hour. A round of extraordinarily dull morning meetings about procedural matters concluded just before noon, and he retreated to his office, where he folded his arms on the desk and put his head down for a quick nap.
He experienced a jarring reentry into the nightmare world. He saw his own gloved hand peeling away the scalp of yet another young girl. He heard her muffled scream through the gag and duct tape. Her wide eyes looked up at him with unadulterated terror, the big white orbs dancing wildly in their sockets.
The door to his office opened and he jerked awake with a gasp.
Ann Slattery strode into his office without asking permission to enter. She threw the door shut and plopped into the chair opposite Kyle. This was typically thoughtless behavior for Ann, who, at forty, was not only the company’s first female CEO, she was its youngest ever. Though she had a very cool, buttoned-down public persona, she was extremely attractive in a very icy way.
He wondered how good she’d look with the flesh stripped off those high cheekbones. The stray thought startled him. It was the first time he’d even fleetingly entertained an idea like that outside of his dreams.
Still…he couldn’t shake the image.
He sensed something long-dormant uncoil inside him as he allowed the image to breathe in his mind. He saw Ann tied to a bed. The bed was in a room that was very tastefully, and expensively, decorated. It was how he imagined the bedroom of a woman like Ann Slattery must look. He grew hard as he pictured himself climbing onto the bed with the big knife in hand.
Ann squinted at him. “Kyle, are you all right?”
Kyle blinked.
“Yeah…yeah…I’m okay. Sorry. What’s up?”
Ann frowned. “You had me worried. For a second there, you looked like a drooling headcase in a mental ward.”
Kyle forced a smile. He tried to make a joke of it. “I’m perfectly sane. But now that you mention it, I could use a dose or two of lithium.”
Ann rolled her eyes. “Seinfeld, you’re not. Listen, I want you to have dinner with me tonight.”
Now it was Kyle’s turn to frown. “Are we entertaining prospective clients? I thought there was nothing on the calendar for the next few days.”
Ann stared at him for a while. Her pale blue, intense eyes unnerved him. At last, she said, “That’s what you can tell your wife.”
Kyle flinched.
Ann’s gaze never wavered.
Kyle fidgeted in his chair. He felt sweat form along his hairline and in his armpits. The CEO of the company was propositioning him. It was unethical and risky. And yet, she seemed as supremely confident as ever. It distressed him.
Ann sighed. “You’re about to miss your chance. I’d like an answer now, Kyle.”
It occurred to him there was a possibility he might really get to see the inside of Ann’s bedroom tonight.
He swallowed hard.
And he said, “Okay.”
Ann smiled. “Good boy.” She rose from the chair and glanced at her watch. “I’ve got another meeting in a few minutes. But we’ll work out the details later today, okay?”
Kyle nodded.
He felt numb.
Ann walked out of the office and closed the door behind her.
Kyle loosened his tie. “Oh my god.”
And he thought, I can’t be thinking what I’m thinking.
I can’t be about to cheat on my wife.
That was bad enough, but even more disturbing was the memory of the fantasy he’d had about enacting his dream-world perversions on Ann. He’d long been convinced there was no sexual element to the strange obsession. The dreams were about achieving some weird state of elevated consciousness via an even weirder brand of murder alchemy. And yet, there was no denying the blatant sexual aspect of the Ann fantasy. And could it be just coincidence that his dream victims were always attractive young girls?
And always slender.
Always blonde.
Sweet, delectable nymphs.
Kyle felt sick.
He’d been deluding himself all along. Not only that, but his long-suppressed sick desires seemed to be surging to the surface.
He thought, When I see Ann again, I’ll tell her I’ve changed my mind.
Yes.
And later in the week he’d get with a lawyer and file the divorce paperwork. The way he saw it, the level of danger to his family had just increased dramatically. He couldn’t afford to procrastinate any longer, he had to take himself out of their lives.
Permanently.
In which case…well, maybe seeing Ann tonight would be okay.
He remained sitting in his chair long after lunch was technically over. Misery engulfed him as he contemplated the hopelessness of his situation.
There was no way out.
No possibility of escape whatsoever.
He stared at the black screen of his computer monitor. He wasn’t sleepy, but he was zoning out. He was aware of no conscious decision to slip back into the fantasy.
But at some point he stopped seeing the computer monitor.
He saw himself in Ann’s bedroom.
With the knife pressed to her hairline.
Fresh tears leaked from his eyes even as the fantasy progressed.
Kyle spent the rest of the work day mired in a state of frustrating indecision. One moment he would resolutely declare to himself that he could not, under any circumstances whatsoever, ever allow himself to be alone with Ann. He doubted he would actually kill her should she entice him to her home after dinner, but there was no reason to tempt fate by putting himself in that situation.
But the events of Ann’s proposition and the sudden intrusion of the dreamland blood mania in his waking life combined to overwhelm his inhibitions. He not only wanted to go out to dinner with Ann, he wanted to see her sans clothes, wanted to lick every inch of her luscious body. He wanted to throw her down on the nearest available flat surface and fuck the living shit out of her.
Sure, he could do that.
And it would just be sex.
He wouldn’t kill her. It was absurd to even think that.
Perhaps. Or perhaps not.
Inevitably, as he went round and round on the subject, he would be faced with an unpleasant reality. Regardless of whether Ann would survive a sexual encounter with him, he would be an adulterer.
Something he’d always believed was no step below pond scum.
Thinking this, he would experience a flush of shame.
But his thoughts always returned to Ann and what he wanted to do to her.
He would plead with God to make the images go away.
Prayers that went unanswered.
The day was nearly over. There was just one scheduled meeting left on the day’s agenda. A budget meeting. Ann would be there. He was sure she’d try to catch him alone after it was over.
Kyle rose from his chair, snapped shut his briefcase, and walked out of the office.
He took an elevator to the ground floor, nodded at the guard on duty at the security desk, and strolled through the lobby until he exited the building and stepped into the late afternoon sunshine.
He got in his car and drove away.
He was probably committing career suicide. He was expected to be at that meeting. Vanishing without a trace wasn’t something that could be easily explained.
Not that it mattered.
He wasn’t going back there, anyway.
The realization made him laugh. Not because it was funny. There was clearly no humor to be found in this insane thing he was doing. He didn’t even know precisely what he was doing. He only knew he wasn’t going back to work and he wasn’t going home.
As he steered the car down the interstate ramp, a rush of fear made his shudder. This was the end result of a long struggle, yes, but until today he’d managed to live his life normally. He’d succeeded in holding the darkness within him in check. The dizzying, precipitous speed of his mental decline unsettled him.
So he had to go.
He was depriving his family of its provider, so he felt some guilt over that. But Carol was a strong woman. She had many people who cared for her and the kids. They would have a support system. They would be okay.
And, with him gone, they would be safe.
He drove and drove down the interstate. He didn’t stop until he pulled off the highway to refuel at a convenience store a hundred miles east of home. The stop helped him focus. Okay, so he was diving headfirst off the deep end, but there were some practicalities to consider. He needed money. He already had a substantial amount in his wallet, but he would need more. At some point tomorrow he’d have to stop at a bank branch and make a withdrawal. Not enough to harm the family’s finances, but enough to keep him comfortable for a while.
And then…well, he didn’t know what would happen after that.
He could go to a Wal-Mart and buy a tent and some other supplies, whatever he needed to live off alone in the wilderness somewhere. The idea was a little nutty. He’d never been the survivalist type. But the more he thought about it, the more it appealed to him.
He could do it.
It was his duty as a human being. As long as he drew breath, he was a danger to anyone he encountered. Therefore, he would send himself into exile.
Back on the road, he continued to drive through the night.
After a few more hours had passed, he realized how exhausted he was, mentally and physically. He had to get off the road. So he started scanning the dark roadside for a green sign with lodging icons.
He saw something else first.
His headlights picked out a solitary figure on the roadside. A small person in baggy clothes and a cap with the brim pulled down over the top half of his face. Kyle was surprised to find himself slowing down and he watched the slow-moving man, who also had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
The person turned in his direction.
And stuck out a thumb.
Kyle felt his mouth go dry as he pulled over to the shoulder. He didn’t know why he was doing this. He felt like a pawn being manipulated on the chessboard of fate. This was his role to play in the great mystery of life, and he had no choice in the matter.
He thumbed a button and the passenger side window slid down.
The hitchhiker hefted his duffel bag and came running up to the car. Then he leaned down to smile at Kyle through the open window. “Hey, sweetie. Givin’ me a ride?”
Kyle swallowed a lump in his throat. The hitchhiker wasn’t a man after all. The baggy clothes and the ballcap had effectively disguised her gender.
“How far are you going?”
“As far as you can take me.”
Kyle leaned across the seat and popped open the door.
The girl hitchhiker dumped her duffel bag into the back and slid into the passenger seat. She pulled the door shut and offered her hand to Kyle. “I’m Lindy. That’s short for Melinda.”
Kyle shook her hand. “I’m Kyle.”
Then he put the car in gear and pulled away from the shoulder. He glanced at Melinda and felt sick as he got a look at the wisps of blonde hair sticking out from under the ballcap.
She smiled again. “So, Kyle, where are you going?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
An odd thing to say. The kind of statement that should arouse suspicion.
But her smile didn’t falter. “Nothing wrong with that. I don’t know where I’m going, either. I’m just seeing the country while I’m young and free.”
She liked to talk. That much was obvious already.
“Can you at least tell me what you do, Kyle? You look like a successful guy. Nice car, nice clothes…wedding ring on your finger.”
“I’m a truth-seeker, Lindy.” Another odd thing to say.
She laughed. “So am I, Kyle, so am I.”
He sounded solemn when he spoke again. “I’m on a journey. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know what’ll happen. I’m in the midst of a process of self-discovery. Somewhere along the way, maybe, I hope, I’ll find that great truth I’m looking for.”
“Well, I wish you luck in your mission, Kyle.” She yawned. “Jeez, I’m so tired.”
“You’re welcome to stay with me tonight.” He laughed nervously when he saw her raised eyebrow. “I’ll get you your own room, if you like.”
She frowned. “Why would you do that, Kyle?”
He tried to sound nonchalant. “Because I’ve been on the road alone for a while. I like your company. Like you said, I’m successful. I can afford an extra room, no problem.”
She seemed to relax. “Cool. Whatever. You don’t have to get an extra room. Just don’t try any funny stuff.” A mischievous grin brightened her already pretty face. “Unless I ask you to, of course.”
Kyle smiled.
He checked them into a motel a few miles down the road. One room.
While Lindy took her first shower in days, Kyle went back out. He bought some more supplies at an all-night convenience store. When he returned, he wasted no time showing Lindy his latest acquisitions.
The roll of duct tape.
The rope.
And the knife.
He explained the true circumstances of his flight from his unmanageable life. He left nothing out. He was surprised by how readily she agreed to his proposition. “It’s the only way,” he said. “I’m tired of fighting it. I’m tired of everything.”
When she had him secured to the bed, she said, “Don’t act so surprised. I told you, baby—I’m a truth-seeker, too. But I’m the real deal. Not like you, you wimp. I don’t flinch from truth.”
Then she affixed the duct tape to his mouth and showed him her own knife.
A knife that was an exact replica of the one from his dreams.
No, he thought, it really is the one from my dreams.
This is the truth.
This is what I was always trying to see.
I dreamed the future in reverse.
When he felt the first slice of the knife, he felt a profound gratitude.
Melinda, a child abuse and rape victim with a long history of mental illness, said, “Here’s your truth, Kyle. I am the great avenger. I am the equalizer. I go here and I go there, hither and yon, and everywhere I go, I punish men for the sins of mankind.”
But Kyle didn’t care about her psychosis.
All that mattered to him was that his suffering was nearly at an end.
About that, though, he was mistaken.
She was very skilled, very practiced.
She worked on him for a long, long time, slicing him with her knife long past dawn. Then she took another shower and left him before the maid arrived. When the cleaning lady entered the room, she loosed a shrill scream that brought her fellow workers running.
Several people crowded into the room.
A desk clerk vomited.
A guest from the room across the hall said, “Oh, that poor man.”
&n
bsp; Somebody else said. “Christ, call 911, he’s still alive.”
When the duct tape was stripped from his face and the gag removed from his mouth, Kyle pleaded with them to kill him.
“He’s delirious,” somebody said.
“The pain’s making him crazy.”
“God, I hope the paramedics get here soon.”
Kyle cried out in agony.
He pleaded with them some more.
And he went right on living.
While all these strangers kept gazing upon this hideous, nasty, ugly, inescapable truth.
His nightmare revealed.
By the time the stolen Lexus swerved to the side of the dark back road, Mitch MacCaffrey was a broken man. Every ounce of false bravado was gone. He was done with the flippant remarks and the impotent, pseudo-tough guy threats. The barrel of Logan Caine’s Glock pushed harder against his side.
Mitch screwed his eyes hut and waited for the explosion.
For that horrible moment of mind-bending agony.
He heard a door open, the front passenger door from the sound of it. Then a crunch of shoulder gravel beneath booted feet. The door to his right came open and he was yanked out of the car.
Logan Caine scrambled out after him.
So they wouldn’t do it in the car. Of course they wouldn’t. The Lexus wouldn’t be a known stolen vehicle for some time, but they wouldn’t want to drive around in a bloody mess of a car. Too conspicuous.
So Mitch had a reprieve.
Probably a very short one.
A few precious seconds, maybe. The notion that his time on earth was down to that terrified him. The unfairness of it was too much. He wasn’t a bad guy. He’d made a few mistakes, errors in judgment, but he didn’t deserve this.
Nobody should know this kind of terror.
This helplessness, this total, soul-baring emasculation.
Mitch opened his eyes are saw Derrick Mullins aiming the barrel of a Sig Sauer at his forehead. Mitch cringed and saw it happen in his mind, saw the muzzle spit fire and saw this bullet punch through his forehead and blow his brains out the back of his skull. Tears streamed down his cheeks and a snot bubble swelled out of one nostril and popped.