Short Stories from Wing's Authors.

The Nightmare

by

Joan Conning Afman

He woke up thirsty. He lay there, sleepy and at the edge of a dream, cursing himself for having drunk so much at the Sidebar last night. Now he had a mouth that tasted like the inside of a trash can. Ugh. His head swirled with images—the red van, the man with spiky blond hair and the awful, menacing grin-- and the big, black gun…

He padded into the bathroom and used his toothpaste glass to gulp two glasses of lukewarm water. It had a little film of minty toothpaste around the rim, which, although disgusting to contemplate, was not unpleasant with the water.

He unscrewed the cap on the mouthwash bottle, poured some of the green liquid into it, and swished it around in his mouth. Hhhmmm. What was the name of that hot redhead who kept egging him on? Something Greek, like Athena, or Aleta. Like Prince Valiant’s wife, wasn’t it?

His thirst satisfied, he yawned and headed back to bed. A glance at the dresser clock told him it was 5:17, much too early to get up on a Saturday morning.

He had one knee on the bed, his hands already gripping the pillow, when he caught just the hint of a movement outside his window. He stood up and peered out into the mist.

His head throbbed and every muscle in his body ached. All he wanted was to crawl back under the covers and sleep, even if it meant continuing the nightmare. The blond man had just said, “Hold it right there, Guy—“

And he had stuttered inanely, “I’m Jack. You’ve got the wrong man.”

The man had grinned, teeth missing, an aura of evil intent curling from him like smoke from a cigarette. He had jerked a gun from the pocket of his black leather jacket and pointed it at Jack. Jack knew, in one of those sudden, unexplained moments of total clarity, that he was about to die.

A sudden noise, a muffled clang of metal on metal and a guttural voice jolted Jack back to semi-consciousness. He hobbled around the bed and drew the partially-open blinds fully back from the window.

Squinting, he barely made out movement beside the water. A streetlight cast a dim aura over the pier which stretched out into the Intracoastal Waterway.

“None of my business anyway.” He let the blinds drop back into place and stumbled back toward the bed. Just as he moved, however, the fog shifted and out of the corner of his eye, he caught the sense of movement outside the window. He turned back and again looked out into the night. Two men emerged from the mist and lumbered onto the pier. Their movements were slow and clumsy, as if they carried something heavy. Jack froze in disbelief as he saw that they carried a woman’s body. She was naked. The streetlight fluttered, licking at the curve of her breast, a streak of her thigh. One arm swung loosely as they carried her. Jack heard the splash of her body as it hit the water.

He grabbed the phone. He had enough presence of mind, even at that hour and in his befuddled state, not to turn on the light. He held the phone close to the illuminated clock so he could see to punch in 911 with his trembling fingers.

The dispatcher didn’t sound convinced. “You sound sleepy, Sir. Are you sure you didn’t have a nightmare and imagine this?”

“They’re right outside my window!” Jack yelled. “Two men just dumped a naked woman into the Intracoastal Waterway.”

“What’s the address, Sir?”

Jack told him.

“Is the woman alive, Sir?”

“Are you nuts?” Jack yelled. “Do you think I’m going to go out there and check? The guys are still here.”

“What are they doing?”

“Standing on the pier, looking at the place where she went down. One of them just lit a cigarette.”

“What do they look like?”

“Come on, come on, we need help here,” Jack pleaded.

“Yes, sir. The police on their way. Can you tell me what the men look like?”

The two men retraced their steps along the pier and as they passed under the streetlight, Jack strained to look at them. He stepped back as far as he could, not wanting to appear even as a shadow in the window should they glance up.

“Uh, one is short, black hair, short beard. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and jeans.” He tried to focus on the other, the taller man who’d lit the cigarette. “The other guy is about six feet, I guess, wearing a black leather jacket. He has spiky blond hair. His mind stopped in its tracks. Why did that guy seem so familiar? Had he seen him around before?

“Is there a car?” the polite phone voice asked. When Jack didn’t answer immediately, he asked again, in a sharper tone. “Sir! Do you see a vehicle?”

Remembering the sound of clanging metal, Jack leaned closer to the window and searched the shadows. The men left the pier, picking up their pace, and disappeared into the fog. Jack heard a car door open, then close.

“Sir? A vehicle?”

“Just a minute, damn it!”

Lights flicked on and the engine grumbled into life. Jack barely made out the shape of a mini-van. It backed up slightly, just enough that Jack caught a glimpse of the dark red color. It slid off into the darkness.

“Dark red mini-van,” Jack muttered. His head felt fuzzy and he hardly got the words out before a dizzy spell claimed him. He dropped the phone and fell onto his bed.

~ * ~

Sometime later, the police knocked at his door.

“I think I had a nightmare,” he apologized. “I’m not sure it happened at all.” He rubbed his eyes and forced a smile. “I was pretty hung-over.”

The older cop didn’t crack a smile. “It did happen, Sir.” Middle-aged, he had a slight beer belly; or was it a doughnut paunch? “We pulled her out of the water a couple of hours ago. Thanks to you, she’s going to live.”

~ * ~

Rested and showered, Jack felt much more like himself. He searched for the scrap of paper the redhead had given him with her name and phone number on it. Yes, it was Athena and she lived in a nice new development, not too far away. He decided to go jogging, for exercise of course, and if he happened to stray into her neighborhood…well, anything could happen, couldn’t it?

A man stepped into his path as he rounded the big banyan tree near the edge of a man-made pond. Jack stopped in his tracks. His perception of reality shifted so fast he felt his head spinning.

“I’m still dreaming,” he said aloud. “This is one of those—what do you call them? --lucid dreams, when I’m dreaming but I know I’m dreaming.”

The man blocking his path was tall with blond hair that stood up in pointed clumps. Even though the morning was warm, he wore a black leather jacket. A cigarette dangled from his mouth. With one quick motion, he jerked a snub-nosed pistol from his pocket.

He tossed the cigarette away and grinned, Teeth missing, an evil glint in his eyes. He pointed the gun at Jack.

“Hold it right there, Guy.”