28 November 2009

Ch.1: Friday: Part Two

After my meeting with some very perturbed upper management, I made it home, driving the whole way in my bare feet of course. I once heard that driving barefoot was illegal, didn't know for sure. Wonder if I could get out of the ticket if I explained to the cop I accidentally stood in someone's brain matter and threw the shoes away. I had to pull over and catch my breath. I was dizzy and on the verge of hoarking all over again.

Once home, my truck all locked away nice and safe in the garage, I sank into the sofa, my body and mind trying to let go of all I'd seen. Mike said the murder was consistent with the other three, but the dumping wasn't. I tried to erase the picture permanently scorched into my memory, I tried to convince it to wash itself away but without any luck.

My living room was silent. Like I like it. No sounds except for what was happening beyond my walls and my breathing; there was nothing to accost my hearing and make me jump. I began to relax further into the couch, letting my thoughts wander which I never should have done, no matter how tiring it was to block out the earlier event. I fought with my subconscious and I lost. I fell asleep with a waking nightmare in my mind.

*beep* *beep*
A car alarm being set. Breathing. Heavy breathing.

"What the hell?!"

Someone didn't sound too happy. I got closer, I felt really dizzy, nauseatingly dizzy. I didn't feel like I belonged there at all. I felt so out of place, I didn't even feel like myself. I reached down to touch my arm and it tingled, reverberated. What the holy hell? I held my hands up so I could see them and they were shimmery, they didn't look right. My examination of my situation was interrupted.

The man's car wasn't starting. I heard the door open and slam shut. The hood was popped open. I got closer, "Do you need some help?"

He didn't seem to hear me.

"Hey, guy! Everything ok? You need a jump?"

He pulled out a handful of wires. They looked like a rat made a meal of them.

"This is just effin great!" He slammed the hood and punched it. Why did guys always overreact to cars? Was it in their DNA? Since early man. A horsey got a limp and it got an uppercut?

"Howdy, mister, looks like you're havin a bad day. Whatcha got there?" She smelled different. She really wreaked. Her eyes flashed a brilliant red in place of the blue and her pupils were gone. That was so not right.

"Sir, she's ... there's something not right with her!"

He ignored me and laughed sheepishly, running his free hand through his hair. His hair. Oh shit! His hair!

My phone is ringing! I needed to tell the man to run, albeit from a happy lil southern belle, but he needs to run and my phone is ringing.

My phone was actually ringing outside the messed up dream. Shit. Mike. Obviously calling to discuss the fax. I send the call to my voicemail and sigh. He'd probably show up. The time on my cell says eight. Eight? PM? Crap.

I made my coffee, turned the television on and flipped through all hundred plus channels. Nothing. So, radio it was. At least until ten. That gave me time to check email, maybe find something that resembled food and start reading the entire forest that Detective Hart sent me. Well, he sent Mike and I accidentally may have given the wrong fax. Ohh! I should remember that for later I thought.