Shock Totem 8.5: Holiday Tales of the Macabre and Twisted - Valentine's Day 2014

by Shock Totem

  But not last night. Barry removed her shoes, set them neatly on the fountain’s edge, lifted her as though she weighed little more than dandelion fluff (though her scale at home told a different story). He then lowered her into the water as gently as if he were placing a rose in a vase. She waded tentatively at first, then grew bolder. Finally, they were splashing and kicking water at each other like children. And just like in a movie, a police car came cruising by and they got out of the fountain quickly, laughing as they drove away in bare wet feet.

  Barry then told her to drive to the small airfield on the outskirts of town. They parked where they could see the runway and watched planes taking off and landing, car windows rolled down so they could hear the throaty rumble of the engines. They wondered aloud at the identities of the pilots and passengers, who they were, where they were going or where they had been. Kristen was surprised at one point to look down and find herself holding Barry’s hand. She didn’t remember him taking it, but she didn’t pull away.

  After the airport, they drove to a park. The sun had set by then and the gate at the entrance was closed and locked. Barry was undeterred, though. He had Kristen pull over down the road a ways, and they climbed the fence and entered the park. Moonlight cast diamond-glitter on a small pond while bullfrogs and crickets called out to potential mates.

  It was here, at the edge of the pond, water whispering encouragement, that Barry kissed her.

  She knew all the clichés from her romance novels and from the movies every boyfriend she ever had referred to as “chick flicks.” But the earth didn’t move, her breath didn’t catch in her throat, and he didn’t touch the core of her womanhood in a way it had never been touched before. Barry’s kiss did more than these things. It was as if the moment their lips touched she were made complete, a partial soul finally reunited with its missing half.

  She lost no time getting Barry back to her apartment after that, and they made love. Barry had been considerate, thoughtful, attentive...so much so that he took care of her needs in lieu of his own. She lost track of how many orgasms she had. After the last time, he held her, stroked her gently, asked if she would stay awake with him and watch the sun rise. Unfortunately, that was the last thing Kristen remembered. She fell asleep.

  But that was the only flaw in an otherwise absolutely perfect night, the best she had ever experienced in her life. And, unless her nose was wrong, it smelled like Barry was making breakfast. She wondered if he was as good at cooking as he was at everything else. Only one way to find out.

  Even though Barry had explored every inch of her body quite thoroughly last night, she still put on her robe. Now that it was daylight, she was more than a little self-conscious about the extra weight she carried. She shuffled into the bathroom, peed, brushed her teeth, attempted to do something about her hair. Not that it helped; she still had a terrible case of bed head. Then she walked down the hall and into the kitchen.

  Barry stood at the counter, dressed in the same outfit he wore last night. Kristen wondered if he even had any other clothes. His pants and shirt looked as if they had been freshly ironed, despite the fact that Kristen knew they had been tossed onto the bedroom floor last night. After all, she’d been the one doing the tossing.

  Barry was busy chopping a green pepper with sure, deft motions. He’d already sliced an onion and a red pepper, their pieces collected neatly in separate wooden salad bowls. On the kitchen table, an omelet rested on a china plate, a sprig of parsley on the side. A cup of coffee and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice completed the meal.

  He looked up as she approached, smiled. “Good morning, Love. There’s a ham and cheese omelet on the table waiting for you, and there’ll be a western omelet, too, as soon as I finish chopping this pepper.”

  “Those are my two favorite breakfast dishes,” Kristen said. “I can never decide between them.”

  “I know. But today you don’t have to decide. You can have both.” Barry returned to slicing the pepper.

  Kristen felt a sudden hollowness in the pit of her stomach. “You really are Barry, aren’t you? The Barry, the one from my dreams. That’s how you know about the omelets, and that’s how you knew I’d love all those things we did last night.”

  “Yes.” He finished with the pepper and reached for an egg. He cracked it on the counter’s edge and emptied it into a mixing bowl. He discarded the shell in the sink, then added the onions and peppers to the egg, humming as he stirred. He poured the mixture into the pan, and the omelet-to-be hissed and popped as it began to cook.

  Kristen reached for her coffee with trembling fingers, lifted the cup, held it in two hands to keep it steady. “I guess I knew it all along. I mean, I recognized you when you walked into the bar.” She took a sip of coffee. It was perfect: not too strong, not too weak, not too hot, not too cold. “But I really didn’t think about what it meant. Everything happened so fast...I was swept along and didn’t question what was happening or why it was happening. It was like—”

  “A dream?” finished Barry. He lifted the pan off the burner, tilted it over a plate, and the omelet slid out easily. He set the pan back on the burner, turned it off, then placed the western omelet on the table next to the ham and cheese. Barry pulled the chair out for her, invited her to sit, and she did. He took the chair opposite her, and she noticed there was no plate for him, no coffee, no juice.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” she asked.

  “I don’t need to eat. You didn’t dream me with an appetite.” His smile held a hint of a leer. “Not for food, anyway.”

  She took another drink of coffee as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I’ve been dreaming about you ever since I was fourteen,” she said finally.

  “Thirteen,” he corrected. “You were thirteen years, seven months and eight days old.” She must have looked doubtful because he added, “A man doesn’t forget his own birthday.”

  “I dream about you every night. Sometimes we ride horses in a meadow of flowing grass that ripples like the surface of a green ocean. Other times we go for long walks in an autumn wood, the leaves on the trees just beginning to turn colors. And as we stroll, we talk. No matter how trivial the topic I bring up, how silly I sound even to myself, you always listen, always make me feel like the most interesting person who ever lived.”

  “That’s because to me, you are.”

  He had always been there for her, through a painful acne-scarred adolescence when boys wouldn’t look at her, through college when the boys who asked her out did so only because they wanted to get into her pants, and on into an adulthood of diminished expectations—a boring job, disastrous dates, body beginning to sag, hair starting to gray. But none of that mattered when she went to sleep because Barry would be there waiting.

  Except now he wasn’t there anymore, was he? He was here.

  “How is it possible? Dreams—literal dreams—don’t just become real one day.”

  “They do if you need them to badly enough. You’ve dreamed about me every night for twenty-one years. Each night you invested a little more of your mental energy in me, until finally there was enough to allow me to cross over to your world.”

  Kristen frowned. “I just realized something. I didn’t dream about you last night. Instead, I dreamed about...” She struggled to recall. “Trying to find a parking place at work. I drove for what seemed like hours, but all the spaces were filled, so all I could do was keep driving and looking.” She grimaced. “It was so boring!”

  “You didn’t dream about me because I’m not in your head anymore.” He spread his arms. “I’m here.” He stood, came around the table, placed his hands on her shoulders and began massaging. “And I’m going to take care of you from now on.”

  Kristen thought she might melt under the warm pressure of Barry’s hands.

  “Now eat your eggs; they’re getting cold.”

  Kristen picked up her fork, took a bite of the ham and cheese omelet, chewed while Barry continued kneading her shoulder muscles. She s
miled. Maybe this was a dream come true after all.

  • • •

  “Aren’t you supposed to be paying a visit on Adkins State?”

  Kristen jerked awake and nearly fell out of her chair.

  Lauren smirked. “Sorry to interrupt your nap.”

  Kristen turned in her chair to face Lauren, hoping she wouldn’t comment on the haphazardly stacked reams of paper that cluttered the desk and floor of her cubicle. “I haven’t been sleeping too well lately. I think I’m coming down with something.”

  Lauren took a half step back. “Whatever it is, don’t give it to me. Now about Adkins State...”

  “You’re right, I was scheduled to visit the sociology department today.” She rubbed her eyes. They felt sore and red. She hated to think how they looked; good thing there weren’t any mirrors in her cubicle. “But I was feeling so lousy this morning that I decided to stay here and try to catch up on some paperwork.”

  Lauren glanced at the mountains of paper that threatened to take over Kristen’s cubicle. “I can see you’ve made a lot of headway,” she said in a sarcastic tone.

  Kristen wished she could come up with a smart comeback, but her brain was tapioca. “I’ll try to do better.” Lauren had been on her case ever since that night over a month ago when Barry had insulted her. The last thing Kristen needed to do was give the woman any more reason to harass her.

  “You certainly couldn’t do much worse.” Lauren turned to leave, then stopped. “By the way, how are things with you and Barry?”

  Lauren’s voice was neutral, but Kristen knew what game she was playing. She was hoping to find out that they’d broken up and Barry was available. Lauren was the kind of woman who wasn’t turned off by a man insulting her. If anything, it made her even more determined to conquer him. Kristen started to say Fine, everything’s great, couldn’t be better, but the truth came out instead.

  “Not so good.”

  “Really?” Lauren leaned forward, all attention.

  Kristen didn’t know why she was telling Lauren this. Maybe she needed to confide in someone, needed someone who would listen to her the way Barry used to in her dreams, even if that someone was an enemy.

  “Do you think there’s such a thing as a man who’s too perfect?” Kristen asked.

  Lauren laughed. “Honey, if there is, I sure haven’t met him!”

  “Barry does everything for me. He cooks all my meals, washes the dishes, does the laundry, cleans the apartment—including the bathroom—does the shopping, changes the oil in my car—”

  “Good God, and you’re complaining? Most women would kill for a man like that. I know I would.”

  “He insists on going out every night, and he always wants to do the same kinds of things—buy a bunch of balloons and set them free, go to a pet store to see the kittens, ride merry-go-rounds, sip wine by moonlight, take walks in the rain...”

  “That all sounds very romantic,” Lauren said wistfully.

  “It is—the first few times you do it. But it starts to wear thin after a while. Sometimes I’d just like to stay home and relax, you know? And he doesn’t talk to me; he just listens. He hangs on my every word as if it were a revelation from above.”

  “I’ve never had a man who listened to me like that.” Lauren’s voice was thick with envy.

  “It’s not the listening that gets to me. He never has anything to say—beyond talking about how wonderful I am, that is. He never has any thoughts or observations of his own to share.”

  “Some men aren’t good at expressing themselves with words.” Lauren paused, as if deciding if she should ask her next question. “What about the physical side of your relationship?”

  “Boring. It’s the same thing every night. He always wants to take care of ‘my needs’ instead of his own. Don’t get me wrong, he’s good at what he does, but would a little variety now and then hurt?” In addition, Barry had never climaxed during their lovemaking. Kristen wondered if he were physically capable of orgasm.

  “Have you tried to talk to him about how you feel?”

  “Of course. But he says he can’t help it, that it’s just the way he is.”

  “Then stay home. Tell him to sleep on the couch for a change.”

  “I’ve tried. But Barry can be quite...persistent when he wants something. He won’t take no for an answer.”

  I can’t help it, he’d said once. I can only be what you’ve dreamed me to be.

  “Kristen, no offense, but you’re certifiable. You’ve got what every woman fantasizes about, and all you can do is complain. Why don’t you tell Barry to dump you and give me a call? I’d sure appreciate him.” Lauren turned and walked off, shaking her head.

  “I would if I thought it’d do any good,” Kristen whispered. She hadn’t told Lauren the worst part because there was no way the other woman would understand. In the few hours of sleep Kristen got each night, she still dreamed, but now instead of strolling through an autumnal wood with Barry, she dreamed of stupid, mundane things: trying to fit into jeans that were one size too small, walking along a sidewalk without making any forward progress, trying to read a book in which the letters were all jumbled nonsense. Her dream life with Barry had been her escape from reality, her refuge from the day-to-day banalities that everyone had to endure. But now that Barry had crossed over into the physical world, she had nowhere to escape to.

  She couldn’t go on like this. She was always exhausted, her work was suffering, and not only didn’t she love Barry anymore—if she ever truly had—she was starting to actually hate him. Her dream had turned into a nightmare.

  • • •

  “Hi, Sweetheart. How was your day?”

  The apartment was immaculate as usual. Nothing out of place, no lint on the carpet, not so much as even a speck of dust on the furniture. The faint smell of cleaning chemicals in the air reminded Kristen of a hospital—antiseptic, sterile and cold. Barry puttered about in the kitchen, dressed in the same gray shirt and pants which never needed cleaning or pressing. She’d tried to get him to go out shopping for some new clothes (she was so sick of that damn gray!) but he’d politely refused.

  “I’m making stir fry for dinner tonight. How’s that sound?”

  “Fine.” She slumped wearily onto the couch. “Could you come in here for a minute? We need to talk.”

  Barry responded so quickly it was as if he’d materialized on the spot. “Yes, my love?”

  She patted the cushion next to her. “Sit.”

  He did so, sitting with perfect posture, hands folded on his lap. He looked at her expectantly, his attention completely focused on her. Just once she’d like to see a hint of distraction in his expression—a glance off to the side to check what was on TV, a tightening of the lips as he fought to suppress a yawn.

  She felt an urge to take his hands, decided against it. It was best to maintain some distance right now. “Barry, I’m afraid I’m not very happy.”

  His face clouded over. “What’s wrong? Is it something at work? Don’t tell me that bitch Lauren has been pestering you again.” His hands curled into fists. “I’ll go in with you tomorrow and tell her to back off.”

  “No! Uh, I mean, it’s not work. It’s...us.” She sighed. “Actually, it’s you.”

  “That’s not possible,” he said simply. “I’m everything you’ve ever wanted. I exist only to make you happy.”

  “There’s such a thing as being too happy. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I need a little bit of mess and uncertainty in my life. Hell, I’d be happy just to get a good night’s sleep for a change. You’re smothering me with love and attention. Can’t you understand that?”

  He looked at her blankly.

  Evidently not. She tried another approach. “I miss the way things were before you entered the real world. Isn’t there some way you can go back to where you came from? Back into my dreams?”

  Barry shook his head. “I may not be exactly human, but I am flesh and blood
.” He tapped his chest. “As long as I have corporeal existence, there’s no going back. But I understand what’s bothering you now, and I think I can fix it.”

  She smiled hopefully. “You do? You can?”

  He nodded. “I haven’t lived up to your expectations of me. I need to work harder to please you: keep the house cleaner, come up with more interesting things for us to do, be a better lover. From this moment on, Kristen, I will rededicate myself to your happiness. I will shower you with love such as no woman has ever known before!”

  Kristen started to protest, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. “That sounds...wonderful.”

  He beamed. “I’m so glad we had this talk.” He gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Now I really must get back to making dinner. I thought we might go wading in the fountain again tonight. We haven’t done that for a while.”

  “No, we haven’t.” If four days counted as a while.

  Barry returned to the kitchen, whistling tunelessly as he began chopping ingredients for the stir fry. Kristen closed her eyes and wondered what she was going to do. What if she told him point blank to get out? No, he’d probably just rededicate himself to making her happy all over again. She supposed she could not come home tomorrow. She could stay in a hotel for a while—days, weeks, if necessary—and wait to see if Barry left the apartment on his own. If not, she could always cancel her lease and let the apartment manager worry about throwing Barry out. But she doubted even that would get rid of him. He’d found her in the bar, hadn’t he? What if there was some sort of connection between them which allowed him to hone in on her, to track her? If that were true, she’d never be rid of him. No matter how far she ran, eventually he’d find her, more determined than ever to make her happy.

  She thought back to something Barry had said. As long as I have corporeal existence, there’s no going back. She realized then what she had to do if she wanted to be free. She stood and walked into the kitchen. Barry was slicing a boneless chicken breast into bite-sized chunks on the cutting board.