I’m too ashamed to admit the whole truth. That I’m utterly smitten with Angelo. That Clyde sensed it and no longer wants to date me.
“Clyde dumped me,” I sob.
She envelopes me into her arms, cradling me like a child. “Did he say why?”
I hesitantly return the embrace. “No. Said we had to stay friends.”
“I thought you wanted that?”
“I know. But why does it hurt so much?”
“Rejection always does, babe.”
As I rest my chin on her shoulder, my mind berates me for my treachery towards her. Even so, I’m not ready to confess my sins yet.
His piercing ocean-blue eyes dominate my view. There’s no need to glance around. I know where we are.
The smell of saltwater pervades the air. The wind chills my bare arms, bringing goosebumps on my skin, and even the course ground cuts into my naked feet.
Once again, we’re at the harbor.
Angelo withdraws from my view, allowing the scenic skyline kissing the water to replace him. I scan for the boats tied up at the docks and wait for my command to walk to the edge.
He remains silent and I don’t see him nearby. But I approach the edge of the dock, preparing to jump into the freezing water and end the dream.
As always, the waves splash against the dock, soaking me. I embrace myself in the pitiful attempt to conserve the warmth within. However, the flimsy fabric of Alice’s blue dress clings to my body, sealing the chill to my skin.
“Here you are.” A woman’s high, screechy voice cuts through the wind.
Icy tentacles slither around my spine until they find my palpitating heart. In a delirious effort, I implore my limbs to move, to leap into the water and eradicate the nightmare, but they refuse to listen or obey.
An iron grip of steel fingers clamps onto my shoulder, yanking me around to confront my worst fear.
“Hello, princess.” His cigarette bounces from his lips as he talks. “Boy, have I missed you.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. This is just a dream. It has to be.
A stinging slap across my face forces my eyes to open, to acknowledge their presence.
Her rancid breath imbues my nostrils, making me gag. I venture to step backwards. But the iron grip of the man continues to hold me in place.
As she edges ever closer, her sinister eyes bore right into my soul. Her pencil thin lips curve, revealing her tobacco-stained teeth. “I love to hear you cry, little girl,” she snarls.
Whenever I’m in their presence, I fight to conceal my emotions. Yet here I stand like a young child, vocally expressing my fear as I whimper.
“Do you know how long we have been looking for you, darling?” she continues.
“You had us so worried, princess.” The man’s wicked smile gleams.
“Please,” my voice quivers. “Leave me alone.”
She raises a hand, causing me to flinch as I await the second slap that never transpires. Instead, she taps my cheek. “Oh no, we can’t do that. It has taken us so long to find you and celebrate our little family reunion,” she hisses.
Tears slide down my cheeks.
The man wipes a tear away from my cheek with his thumb to taste it. With his vice grip on my shoulder, he leans forward. “I missed the taste of your tears,” he whispers before punching me in the stomach.
I’m released from the iron grip and collapse on the ground, coughing violently as I try to catch my breath. I curl into a fetal position, clutching my stomach and writhing in agony as my tormentor’s guffaw at my misery.
Aren’t dreams supposed to be painless? Yet I feel the pain in my stomach, the pain in my throat, and even the pain in my shoulder from his grip. Maybe I’m not dreaming this time and they have found me and are punishing me for running away.
“Hey,” a voice I recognize and have grown to love calls.
Though I want to stand and run to him, the pain and fear hold me on the ground.
“Who the hell are you?” the male tormentor asks.
“Get away from her!” Angelo yells.
“Who are you, telling us what we can or can’t do with her?” the man asks.
“Eva, are you okay?” Angelo asks, kneeling beside me.
As I open my mouth to answer him, my voice catches in my throat. My eyes slide closed as my remaining energy depletes.
“You’ll wish you never touched her,” Angelo growls.
“Oh really? Why? What are you going to do?” the man asks.
Two gunshots fire, causing my eyes to spring open and witness the bodies of my tormentors falling beside me, dead.
I gasp as I wrench myself from the nightmare. Heavy drops of perspiration drip down my face. I drag my fingertips through my drenched hair.
In the darkness of my room, the only sound I hear is the wild thrumming of my heart. As I lower myself back down, I pull my knees against my chest and secure them with my arms. I count to abate my erratic breathing.
Though my heart now beats a placid rhythm, I remain in my embrace and let my thoughts hammer through my mind. My initial reaction is to head to Alice’s room and reiterate my nightmare, but somehow, it seems inappropriate to reveal Angelo as my hero.
Over the past weeks, I’ve become accustomed to the harbor nightmare and even learned to hold my nose before jumping into the freezing water. But this new twist to the dream is even more terrifying.
Even in the darkness, the blood oozing from their wounds remains visible. Their lifeless eyes remain open and somehow bear deep into my soul, continuing to threaten their torturous acts upon me as they did when alive.
We’re coming for you, Eva, their lifeless lips chant.
Alice says they’ll never find me here. We’re too far away. Nevertheless, I continue to tremble from the immeasurable fear they instilled in me so many years ago. I fear they’ll never stop haunting me, even in my dreams.
I hurry towards the light switch to banish the macabre images that taunt me and hurry back to the safety of my bed, wrapping myself within my feathered cocoon and peering out.
With the winter months upon us, the night sky remains bleak, showing no signs of the breaking dawn. No stars or moon cut through the darkness. Only the eerie glow from the traffic illuminates the fog that rises to my window.
My phone lays sleeping on the nightstand; I bring it into the cocoon. Four o’clock in the morning. It could be worse. The fear of my tormentors ravages my mind and I sing softly to abate my anxiety.
As the morning sun emerges, it obliterates the darkened shadows where my demons hide. I don’t have the courage to confront Alice and her relentless inquisition over my strange behavior this morning. Even if I disguise my disposition behind a mask, she would see right through it. The disadvantage of being so close, I guess. Somehow, I’ve concealed my devotion for Angelo from her. Although this could be because of the secrets she’s hiding from me.
Though I hear her busying herself outside my bedroom door, I stay within the safety of my cocoon.
A light tapping on my door stirs me from my light slumber.
“Eva, are you okay?” her soft voice seeps through my door.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Can I come in?”
No matter how long I hide in my room, I know I must face her eventually.
“Yes, you can come in,” I sigh.
After liberating myself from the comforter, I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed.
“It’s four in the afternoon, and you’re still in your pajamas,” she exclaims.
I glance down at my Snoopy pajamas as if I need confirmation myself.
“And your hair’s a tangled mess. What have you been up to?”
I’d like to kick her back out of my room and crawl back into my cocoon. Instead, I answer her with no emotion. “Had a bad night. I’m tired,” I say in a monotone voice.
Her hand gravitates to her hip. “Get dressed. I’m taking you out.”
“Don’t want to.”
&
nbsp; “Too bad. You can’t mope around here all day.”
My eyes narrow as I glare at her. “Where are we going with no money?”
“I have a little cash in my purse. We can sit at the cafe or something.”
I sigh heavily. I’m too tired to fight with her. “Fine. But I’m not dressing up.”
“Wear something warm. It’s cold out there,” she says before exiting my room.
“Yeah, I’ll wear something warm, like my pajamas,” I grumble.
The cafe is a short walk from our apartment. Adorned in our jeans, thick hoodies and jackets, we brave the frigid weather. As soon as we leave the building, Alice deems it necessary to add restraints by linking her arm with mine.
As we enter the cafe, the clatter of dishes and a low din of chatter penetrates my ears, while the smell of pastries mingled with fried food imbues my nostrils. The warm air saturates my clothing, filling me with gratitude to be out of the cold.
Beside me, Alice flattens her windswept hair as she searches for a free table. A smug smile caresses my lips. Before we left, I tied my hair back in a messy bun to prevent the menacing wind from ravaging my hair.
I scan the cafe and note guests occupy each of the cream leathered booths. I look at the counter; no stools are available. What a shame, we’ll have to go home where I can return to my solitude.
But then Alice obliterates that hope.
“There’s a free table at the back. Come on,” she says.
We slide along opposite benches. The window beside us allows the gray sky to filter in.
After shedding my leather jacket, I rest my hands on the stainless-steel table and interlock my fingers. I watch Alice as she continues to tackle her matted hair. Though bumpy, she tames it enough to tie back into a ponytail.
A waitress in a lemon-yellow dress that matches the walls of the cafe comes to stand beside our table. She wears her mousy brown hair tied back in a neat bun, revealing the fullness of her face. Her features are plump, matching her frame. She has two sparking onyx eyes under a set of blonde eyebrows. As her full lips curve into a warm smile, thick creases emerge around the corners of her mouth, accentuating the fullness of her cheeks.
“Hi, my name’s Patsy. Can I offer you some coffee?” she asks.
“Actually, we would like two hot chocolates and two pieces of apple pie, please,” Alice tells her.
“Ooh, the cook bakes her own homemade pie. So tasty,” Patsy enthuses as she removes a pad from the pocket of her apron to scribble down our order. “I’ll be right back.”
I watch her weave around customers and other waitresses with finesse. My gaze steers away from her once she disappears into the kitchen, where I’m intrigued by the activity behind the bar. Two men, decked in gray trousers and lemon-colored t-shirts dash back and forth, filling coffee pots, delivering plates, and taking orders from customers seated at the counter, while the waitresses collect coffee pots and dishes to offer other customers sitting at the booths. It all appears very chaotic, like a disaster waiting to happen. Yet, as I continue to watch, I notice how organized they are. Their movements are as synchronized as dancers in a ballet.
“Eva?” Alice calls.
I whip my head back towards her. “What?”
“I said, don’t worry about Clyde. Your Prince Charming will come.”
I gather up a stray sugar packet and squeeze the contents between my fingers. “Clyde’s not my problem.”
“Then what is it? Something has you all worked up.”
If I refuse to answer, she’ll continue to badger me until I quench her curiosity. Lying to her is fruitless as I’m a terrible liar. I have no choice but to tell her the truth. “I had another nightmare,” I admit.
She stretches her hands across the table. I abandon the sugar packet and allow her to cradle my hands within hers.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks.
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
She tilts her head to one side. “Want to tell me about it now?”
“It was the harbor nightmare. Only this time, they were there.”
Her delicate fingers tighten around mine as a little gasp escapes her lips.
I fidget in my seat as the images flash before my mind and wish I had the sugar packet in my hands to squeeze instead of her fingers. I scan the table for nothing in particular.
“Angelo was there too,” I say.
When she refuses to respond, I glance at her through my lashes, fully expecting to find her wearing a disgruntled expression. To my surprise, her sea-green eyes glisten, expelling love and sympathy.
“After they beat me, Angelo shot them,” I continue.
“Isn’t that a good thing? They deserve the death penalty after what they did to you.” She grins.
What does she find so amusing? The murder of my tormentors or that Angelo is the killer? I’m sure I resemble a fish gulping for air as I try to speak.
I find my voice. “Even so, it was terrifying. I couldn’t sleep afterwards. I kept seeing them lying there, telling me they were coming after me,” my voice catches.
“Yeah, that would scare me too. But Angelo saved you, right?”
One corner of my mouth hitches up. “Yeah, he did.”
A great sense of relief washes over me, being able to share my dream with her, even if Angelo was the hero. Yet, why had I felt apprehensive to talk to her in the first place? It makes no sense considering Alice isn’t the jealous type. And she would feel pride if her boyfriend came to my rescue.
The idea of Angelo being my knight in shining armor makes my heart flutter.
Patsy returns with our order. Alice releases my hands as she leans back.
“Here we go,” Patsy says in a cheery tone, removing our meal from the tray. “Just give me a holler if you need anything more.”
“Thank you.” Alice smiles at her before Patsy scuttles away.
To my delight, we abandon discussing my newest nightmare as Alice digs into her apple pie. Though I don’t want to admit it to her, I’m glad she dragged me from my bedroom. Even our brief discussion about my latest dream helped abate the frightful images. But now a new question echoes in my mind, though I’d rather not test the theory. Would Angelo be my hero in reality?
“Do you have any plans tonight?” she asks. “Please tell me you aren’t reverting to a hermit crab.”
I lean back, nestling my hands in my lap. “No plans, and no, I’ll spend time outside my room. What about you?”
She collects her mug to hide behind, but the creases in the corners of her eyes reveal her glowing smile. “Actually, I have a date tonight.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Just some guy.”
In other words, Angelo. The sunny disposition Alice instilled in me dissolves. Once again, I scoop up the stray sugar packet and squeeze the contents.
“What’s wrong?”
I look at her.
She returned her mug to the table. She stretches her hands across the table to gather mine, but I refuse to abandon the sugar packet.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I say. “So, who’s the guy? Does he have a name?”
She picks up her mug to hide behind once again. “Just some guy at work.”
Yeah. My work.
“What time is he picking you up?” I ask.
“Seven, but I’m meeting him at the movies.”
My eyes narrow as I chew on the inside of my cheek. “Maybe we should leave soon so you can get ready.”
“Yeah, okay,” she replies solemnly.
We finish our meal in silence.
At six-fifty, Alice leaves for her date. I scamper to the window to search for Angelo’s car, but it’s not there. I watch Alice leave the building and stroll down the road towards the movie theater. I rest my forehead against the windowpane and continue to stare out into the bleak night, even after Alice disappears from my view. Why can’t she just admit she’s dating Angelo?
I trudge over to the sofa and curl up into a ball. I tur
n on the TV to drown out the silence. The images on the screen meld together as my mind conjures up images of Angelo. The images are innocent but soon transform into the nightmare from last night. Angelo stands over the two lifeless bodies with the smoking gun in his hand. No remorse consumes him as he stares at them. But it isn’t Angelo who fills me with dread.
As I watch the lifeless bodies, their eyes flicker open and their lips part. We’ll find you, Eva, they say.
I scramble to sit upright. While taking deep breaths, I rest my elbows on my knees and hide my face in my hands.
“Just leave me alone!” I cry into the empty apartment.
The sound of something scurrying bleeds through the front door. It’s too loud to be the resident mice, and the neighbors are all over seventy and tucked away in their apartments. Only Mr. Thompson is our resident night owl. But he’s just as quiet as the mice as he shuffles around the building.
I glance over to the door, expecting to see someone standing there. Of course, I’m alone in my apartment. Yet the sound persists, nonetheless.
It can’t be Angelo; he’s out on a date with Alice. What if my dream was a premonition and my tormentors have found me?
My heart pounds against my chest and I chew on my fingernails as trepidation seeps through my skin.
Get a grip, Eva. Get up. Look through the peephole, and you will see it’s not them.
I remain seated as I work on the next fingernail.
If I mute the TV, I could concentrate on the sound and figure out the source of the noise. But I’m too afraid of what the silence will bring. The drone of the television brings a little comfort to my ravaged mind.
With my courage found, I cocoon myself within my hoodie and take faltering steps towards the front door. The creaking floorboards announce my approach, but even with my presence known, the scurrying continues. By the time I reach the door, I allow myself a few moments to summon up enough courage to peer into the unknown.
Just as I expected, the hallway is empty.
As I lean my back against the door, I drag my hands across my face. Even though the hallway is empty, the scurrying intensifies. In fact, every noise I hear brings new frightful images.
Twisted City: (Twisted City Book 1) Page 15