I’m dreaming of Billy. Billy in his last minutes. Billy as a duck, squawking and flailing about as his wings erupt into flames. I am back there again, in the college cafeteria watching Suzie, Sandra, Moshi, Gul and the others screaming and crying for help as they burn or bleed from their broken bodies. And there was nothing I can do. Because again, I have been blown back from the circle, bodily into a concrete pillar. I am laying on the floor watching them, with a leg broken in three places and a fractured hip. I can’t help, but I can watch, watch in horror as they die. But Billy is the worst. It’s bad enough to die, to burn to death. But to be transformed into a goddamned duck before you’re roasted, that’s just mean.
I awoke from that horrific dream the way I always did, face mashed into a pillow, gasping for breath, covered in a cold sweat. And alone. And that’s probably a good thing, because if anyone could wring out of me why I awoke like I did it was Toni. And I did not want her to.
“It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream, it’s just a dream,’ I repeated, chanting the imagery out of my mind. Yeah, it’d been real, once. But that had been enough to give me nightmares still.
I turned over in the dim light, the words gradually calming down my racing heart. I hated that dream, had hoped I’d never have it again. How long had it been since I’d had it last, shit, five years, six? How could I possibly be having it again after so long.
At least my condition wasn’t a repeat of that terrible night. I seemed otherwise fine. And when I glanced worriedly around my bedroom, there was nothing out of place. No alarm or phone was ringing, the air didn’t smell at all of brimstone and burning human flesh.
And then I remembered what was going on this November A.M.
I looked over at my Android on its stand. 7:56 it glowed menacingly. Four minutes before I the alarm was set to go off. Not unprecedented, And even expected, all things considered.
I had to get up, had to be in the office by nine, and so pulled my unwilling body out of bed, went through all my morning routine, still, knowing I was going to have to face again what forced that 2 AM wake up call. Damn it, the night had started so well. But Toni was long since gone. Her shift at St, Michael’s starts too early for a sane human being to contemplate.
Three days past Halloween.
It was cold for this time of year, the news said five degrees tops, but, in my flannel robe and armed with a hot cup of coffee, I ventured out onto my balcony, into the cold and crisp fall air to look down, and remind myself that this wasn’t at all a good morning to be the building manager of 23 Pangbourne Place.
Yes, the police cars were still there, in fact, they’d multiplied. There were four of them now, and what looked like it could be a crime scene van. There was also a Pulse 24-7 news van as well. Great, we’d be chatted about breezily all through the local the morning news, and virally online to who the hell knows where. That would certainly mean I’d have to ready myself for a long reassuring call to Emily. And what was that among the marked vehicles. Something white and brown, a convertible helping to block the buildings entranceway. Looked like it was long enough to be some vintage 60s classic. For some reason just looking at the thing made the hairs on the back of my neck stand right up.
I shook my head, went back inside and finished my Tarrazu dark roast.
Maybe Teresa would know what kind of ancient muscle car that was. She’d had more than one boyfriend who’d been a car buff, or so she’d claimed.
Ah, Teresa. The moon was still in the sky, low on the horizon. Almost full, really.
How do you tell what time of the month it is? Do you check your calendar, your alarm clock. Do you looked at the top of your newspaper, . Or is there a nice animated object on your computer screen that tells you when you are.
I don’t have to do that. Because I know exactly thirteen times year, where I am shown that there’s going to be a full moon in the sky.
You see, typically, my admin assistant, Teresa, tends to wear, clothes that show a fair bit of skin, albeit usually smooth and attractive olive tinged skin, whether it be a dressy tank top, skirt with a slit, I think you get the idea. Pretty much whatever she can get away with and still look like she works in an office and not a cocktail bar.
Because, be fair, she could easily be described as hot, still a few years shy of thirty and relatively single.. Something that my girlfriend Toni has pointed out, almost jealously, more than once. Not almost at least once. Honestly, I do my best to be a gentleman and a good boss.
So, I’ve always told her not to worry. Why? Because I get a lesson of what Teresa is really like three days a month. And this Thursday, November Second, that lesson would begin repeated as it had over the six months since I hired her.
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This is good stuff man