Dreams and Reality Set 3: Cannibal Dreams and Butchered Dreams

by Hadena James

  “If I’m Mulder, does that make you Scully?” Malachi asked, mostly disinterested in what I had to say.

  “I’m not a red-head.”

  “I’m taller than David Duchovny.” Malachi stood. “Explains why the farmer was spooked. I just can’t imagine where the cows came from. There’s no signs they were killed here, no signs of predation, nothing. It’s like they just appeared in this guy’s backyard.”

  “Here we go,” I crossed my arms over my chest. “We are not going to have this discussion again. They did not appear out of thin air and little green men did not drop them from UFOs.”

  “As a rational, intelligent person, I can’t believe you don’t believe in aliens.”

  “I do believe in aliens. I also believe that if they have ever bothered to visit us, they ran away, because we’re the backwoods hillbilly yokels with no teeth and dueling banjos in this universe. They’d be better off abducting dolphins than humans. Even our smartest human would not be able to hold an intelligent conversation with an alien. As such, I do not believe they are abducting humans and experimenting on them. It seems even more unlikely they would abduct cattle and kill them, unless they were just hungry and lips and assholes were a delicacy. However, if they wanted lips and assholes, they could grab a hotdog at any convenience store.”

  “We did have a report of a UFO the other night,” someone from the rank and file offered.

  “See?” Malachi looked at me.

  “A UFO sighting does not mean aliens dropped dead, mutilated cows from the sky onto this man’s turkey farm. A UFO sighting is exactly that, a sighting of an unidentifiable flying object, unless that object was the cattle, the two are not related.” I answered, getting heated. “You are obsessed with this nonsense. Let’s go see the crime scene.”

  “You are going to call me obsessed? This from the girl who nearly wets her pants every time there’s a case of Bubonic Plague,” Malachi was going to say more, but the guy next to the body stopped him.

  “Excuse me, but if you two are done, there’s something in his mouth.” This guy had to be the medical examiner.

  “It’s his penis,” Malachi answered. “Patterson Clachan does it for effect with pedophiles.”

  A few men groaned in the distance. I had the decency to not throw up. This was a new horror that I didn’t want to think about. We began the trek back to the SUV. Malachi was slow, still fascinated by the cattle. I considered Tasering him again to get him moving, but figured it was a waste of a cartridge.

  Eleven

  Walking into the house where our teacher had been butchered was a grave mistake. Pain instantly pierced my brain, blinding me. My knees gave out and I sank to the floor with a shriek. I quit breathing and willed my heart to stop beating. Arms grabbed me roughly, yanking me up and outdoors. The cold washed over my face, freezing the tears that I hadn’t felt start to fall. A voice drifted into my head, a voice that sounded concerned. I turned my head and vomited.

  Hands touched my hair and I felt myself fall towards the sound of the voice. The body felt hot against my exposed flesh and warm through my coat and shirt. I felt hot, as if I had been set on fire. The throbbing that had once existed had been replaced by a pounding, every beat felt like demons stabbing my brain with pitchforks.

  The voice that was talking was drowned out by my own heartbeat echoing in my ears. However, the pain was beginning to recede. I opened my eyes. The person holding me wasn’t Malachi, it was the unknown captain of the Sikeston police department. After a second, I closed my eyes again.

  “She’s hypersensitive to smell,” Malachi shouted. “If she had that kind of reaction, there is something in there that needs to be cleared with a HAZMAT team. Air freshener will give her a migraine, but that, that was something different.”

  “She popped a pill on the helicopter,” Rollins shouted back. “Maybe she’s having a bad reaction to that. I think you’re getting carried away.”

  “Freon,” I whispered to the captain, the only person close enough to hear me. “Freon is leaking.”

  “She’s saying something about Freon,” the captain repeated. The words reverberated in his chest, I could feel them.

  “I need a bed and some good migraine medicine.” I told him. “First, you need to find the Freon leak.”

  “What?” Malachi asked, he was on the ground next to me, appearing out of thin air. “What’s going on, Aislinn?”

  “There’s a Freon leak in the house. I had a headache, so the reaction to it was much more severe than it should have been, but I’ve smelled it before. There is Freon in the house. As it has evaporated, the fumes have built up in the living room. I do not think it was meant for us.”

  “We should get you to a hospital,” Malachi suggested.

  “Nonsense,” I huffed. “It’s just Freon. I need a bed and a migraine pill. The fresh air is already making me feel better. If I abused the stuff, I’d need a hospital. Of course, I would also blow my brains out because the migraines would be non-stop and I would be miserable.”

  “You’re already miserable,” Rollins said.

  “I’m nothing,” I told him. “Misery requires emotion and most of the time, I feel none. Please get me to a hotel or motel with a bed.” I leaned heavily against the captain. “And you should have a HAZMAT team sweep before anyone else goes back inside. If Patterson punctured a Freon line, the gas was meant to make the Sikeston first responders ill, not us. It’s rarely fatal.”

  “It’s not his MO,” Malachi walked over to me and touched my hair gently. “I’m going to get you to a hotel, where you can rest. I’ll bring you detailed photos of what we find.”

  “We can use this to our advantage,” I told him. “Why kick each other’s asses when I can get sick off a Freon leak and blame Patterson. He’s disturbed by Nyleena’s condition, imagine if he injured both of us.”

  “That’s a pretty good idea,” Malachi started ushering me to the SUV. I didn’t fight him. My head didn’t hurt like it had after entering the house, but it was still pounding. A nice bed and a hot shower would go a long ways toward making me feel better.

  Rollins didn’t feel the need to accompany us. He grumbled about a HAZMAT team. The captain drove us, Malachi packing me into the front seat, him sliding in behind me. I leaned my head against the window and watched the town roll by. It was a nice little town. It wasn’t spectacularly beautiful, but it wasn’t falling into ruin either. Of course, I wouldn’t remember most of this trip when I woke up.

  It used to scare me to have migraines at work. I’d wake up in a strange room, disoriented and panicked. A chunk of my life missing, few to no memories, except the migraine pain. It would take a few minutes for me to remember I was in a hotel room, chasing down a bad guy. Those minutes were hard to explain. Beyond the panic and disorientation was a feeling of foreboding. Sometimes, Xavier or Lucas would hang out in my room while they waited for me to wake. I could handle that. The panic dissipated with the knowledge they were there. It meant I was safe. They’d fill me in on what I missed, I’d chug a soda, and go back to work.

  I wasn’t sure what was going to happen when I awoke this time. Having Malachi in the room might make me feel safe or it might freak me out. Sometimes, even I found him unnerving.

  The captain, whose name I still hadn’t asked and wasn’t going to right now, stopped in front of a real hotel. The kind where all the doors opened onto interior hallways and you needed keycards after certain hours to enter said hallways. I refused to stay in a ground floor room, so did Malachi. Shit happened on the ground floor that didn’t happen on the higher ones, mainly because it was a whole lot harder to scale a building to the second or third story.

  Captain Anonymous walked us into the hotel. He waved at the woman in reception. We took an elevator to the third floor of the Holiday Inn and he pulled out keycards. He held them up.

  “Are the rooms together?” Malachi asked.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “Middle room for Aislinn,” Mala
chi looked at the cards. For the first time, I noticed he was carrying my overnight bag. The captain raised his eyebrow at this. “People will randomly attempt to break into her room from time to time. It’s easier to respond if she’s wedged between law enforcement that expects it. She’s a magnet for yahoos and whackos.”

  I leaned against the wall as Malachi swiped the card. The light turned green and he opened the door before entering. I knew he was checking all the visible area for intruders.

  “I do not actually hunt serial killers, I just show up wherever there is one and they find me,” I smiled at the captain.

  “That isn’t true,” Malachi corrected. He pushed me inside, closing the door behind us. “Well, it’s sort of true.” He said with the captain out of hearing.

  “Great, go get me pictures.”

  “I was going to help you change first.”

  “Uh, no,” I told him, my face drew into a pinched sneer. “You will not use my migraine as an excuse to fondle me.”

  “Trust me, I have no intention of fondling you. In this condition, you’d skip the Taser and go straight for the Berettas or a knife, both of which would leave big holes in me.” He opened the bag and pulled out my pajamas. “Interesting.”

  In one respect, I was a very normal person, almost nobody saw my pajamas. Nyleena, Lucas, Xavier and Gabriel, but the three men were exceptions to the rule. If I would stop waking them up in the wee hours of the morning, they wouldn’t see my pajamas, only Nyleena would know what I slept in. This particular pair had kittens on the flannel pants. The top was long sleeve, also flannel and dead center, it had a large kitten head with a box over its head saying “Purrrfect.” I never bought plain pajamas, they were purchased at an online store that specialized in flannel pajamas, possibly meant for elderly women. I’d gotten my polar bears, kittens, and Halloween themed PJs from the site. However, I was getting ready to place another order, because they had just gotten in new ones that had dancing penguins on them.

  With my life, it really was about the little things; a good meal, a new pair of flannel pajamas, a trip to a bookstore, these were the things I appreciated above all else. While most women preferred silk or satin pajamas, I really did like the soft, downy feel of thick flannel.

  “Do not make fun of my kittens,” I said.

  “Oh the jokes that come to mind,” Malachi looked at me.

  “If you say the ‘p-word,’ I will Taser you,” I warned him.

  “I am aware. Shower quickly, when you are out, I’ll pass you your pajamas through the door, you can dress and I’ll tuck you into bed, then go back to our primary crime scene.”

  As I walked past, I yanked my pajamas out of his hand and gave him the finger. I turned on the shower and the infrared heat lamp in the bathroom after I shut the door. I waited sitting on the countertop until the water began to steam up the mirror. Stepping inside, my skin instantly warmed. I hadn’t realized I had gotten so cold. It was caused by the sudden blood pressure rise associated with the migraine. High blood pressure made you sweat, pain made you sweat, pain also made you not realize you were sweating. I stepped out, wrapped up in a towel and realized there was a problem. I hadn’t grabbed underwear. I sighed and opened the door.

  Malachi shoved a pair of underwear at me without being asked. I was a little unsettled that he had stood in front of the bathroom door waiting for me to request them. I was even more unnerved that he had touched my underwear. I dressed and exited the bathroom. Flopping down on one of the beds, I took a pair of socks from the bag and slipped them on. Malachi handed me a pill and a soda.

  “Eat, drink, sleep,” he told me.

  “Will one make me taller and the other smaller?” I inquired.

  “You won’t be going through any keyholes or expanding through the ceiling if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “At least you got the reference.” I popped the pill and realized I had no idea what I had just taken. “What was it?”

  “Oxycontin,” Malachi told me.

  “Good grief,” I groaned. “I need food and I’m going to sleep for forever. Why would you do that to me?”

  “Because you need your sleep. I need you bright eyed and bushy tailed when we do find Patterson Clachan. That won’t happen if you have the lingering effects of a migraine. If I’d had DHE, I would have injected you myself, but all I have is Oxycontin from being shot by some idiot a few weeks ago.” He put the bottle on the nightstand and picked up the phone. He ordered food from the restaurant in the lobby and said he’d pay extra to have it delivered to the room. I picked up the pill bottle. The label said there were 60 pills inside. It seemed very full, so I opened the lid and began counting. There were exactly 59 left. “I would have to be in some serious pain to take an Oxycontin.”

  “But you’ll push them off on me.”

  “You are in serious pain right now.”

  “You’re a jerk. How long before the food gets here?”

  “Most people would give body parts for an Oxycontin, but you treat it like it’s the most evil thing on the planet.”

  “Food? Here? When?” I asked slowly.

  “About fifteen minutes.”

  “I need milk,” I told Malachi. “My stomach will be upset before the food arrives.”

  Malachi sighed and stood up. He crossed the space between the beds and door in only a few steps. He said something to the officer outside. He left the door open and came back into the room. I moved to the small table.

  Someone who was not the captain arrived a few minutes later with a to-go cup and a Styrofoam box. The cup had milk in it. The box had a chicken sandwich in it. The sandwich had ranch on it, I would have preferred mayo, but didn’t complain. I ate the food and drank the milk as quickly as possible. After finishing, I climbed into bed, just in time for the Oxycontin to kick in. I felt like vertigo was sweeping over me accompanied by an urge to sleep. I closed my eyes.

  Twelve

  A tangy scent filled my nose; sweet tomatoes, minty cilantro, a hint of lemon, and the bite of onion. In other words, someone had fresh Pico de Gallo in my room. This could mean only one thing, someone had Mexican food in my room. My eyelids didn’t want to come apart. My head felt foggy. My body felt tired.

  However, there was hot Mexican food in my room. More smells were starting to filter through the tang of the Pico; chicken, lightly seasoned, grilled corn, green peppers, rice, sour cream, beef, and flour tortillas, to name a few. I pried my eyelids open. A box sat inches from my face, the lid open. It contained all sorts of goodies; a grilled chicken taco still wrapped in foil sat in the lid, Mexican rice, a cheese enchilada smothered in enchilada sauce, and a quesadilla stuffed with mushrooms and onions were in the bottom part. Also in the bottom, on top of everything was sour cream, Pico, lettuce and cheese dip. I felt like crap, but at least I had something good to wake up to.

  I shrugged off the covers and forced myself to sit up. Malachi came into view. He picked up the box and moved it to the table.

  “How do you feel?”

  “You’re a jerk,” I answered. “But at least you brought me Mexican.”

  “It’s Tex-Mex, technically, from a Chevy’s across the street. I figured if it couldn’t wake you up, nothing could.”

  “How long did I sleep?” I stood up, my legs feeling wobbly.

  “Twenty-seven hours, thirty-five minutes, and approximately, forty-seven seconds, give or take a few seconds,” he answered. “The good news is that Patterson hasn’t killed anyone in that twenty-seven hours. He’s called you six times, but he hangs up every time I answer.”

  “That’s because he knows you’re a jerk too.” I bit into the food, savoring the flavors and smells. Malachi stared at me, his food untouched. He kept fiddling with a paperclip. I knew something was on his mind, but whatever it was, I didn’t want to discuss it. I wanted to eat and then, I wanted to track down Patterson Clachan.

  “Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?”

  “What elephant?” I a
sked, annoyed that I was only half way through my meal.

  “August is my uncle and your cousin.”

  “So?” I looked at him blankly. “You and I are not related. You would have to be related to Gertrude or me to Tennyson for there to be a familial connection between the two of us. It’s a fluke. Think about all the people in Columbia that we have turned out to be related to over the years. Remember that girl in junior high that you dated for a week before finding out she was your second cousin on your father’s side, twice removed or some such nonsense? Our families have deep roots in a town of 100,000 people. It really is not that surprising that we share a relative.”

  “It doesn’t bother you that Tennyson fathered August?”

  “Nope, Gertrude and Tennyson would have made a perfect couple. They should have married. They could have spit out dozens of miniature serial killers, all of them sadistic cannibals. Then maybe they all would have been arrested long before now. Why does it bother you?”

  “I don’t know,” Malachi answered, putting the paperclip down, but not picking up his fork. I stared at my friend of more than twenty years and found concern in his face.

  “You are not Tennyson, Malachi. You share one trait with the man, a genetic mutation, nothing more. Do not get me wrong, you can be an amazing jerk, but you are not your grandfather. Every time you need to be reminded, look at me. You’ve never physically tortured me, attempted to rape me, or just beat me up because you could and you’ve had twenty plus years to do it. We’ll ignore the psychological mind games you play just to watch people squirm, I realize that everyone needs a hobby and that happens to be yours. I do not take it personally when you do it to me.” I thought for a moment, “and when you get too out of control, there’s always a Taser handy.”