Part 8
“I am in a car. An Oldsmobile. In the front seat. The passanger seat. I glance to my left. I am driving. I am dressed in jeans. Cinched with a blue cloth belt. Red T-shirt. Peeking through the neck of a leather jacket. Black socks. Grey runners. We are driving on Glemore Trail. About to go around the corner to Crowchild. And, an close encounter. Of the fatal kind. The bus stop waits. The concrete wall is approaching. Fast. Fast. Fast. A crash is inevitable. I can do nothing. Trapped. Helpless. Trapped. Helpless …”
I wake. Another fucking control dream. It’s two o’clock in the morning.
“And I need you now.” My dendritic brain skates to Lady Antebellum’s song. Of the same name. A song that aches in my heart. And brain.
I played that song endlessly. Over and over. In the dark. Hunched over my laptop. Ear buds inserted. Must a been a thousand times. Well. Maybe a hundred. Before the crash. The almost fatal crash.
That was to ultimately muliply my pain. But, intended to kill me. As the Scots say, of intentions and other plans, `gae oft a glae`.
I got out of bed. The usual way. Walked through the darkness. Of my apartment. Though not stygian dark. I did not have any drapes. The street lights shed their amber glow. Through the windows. And, the glass balcony doors. Turned into the bathroom. Peed. Pivoted. Proceded. To my left. Another quick left. On the carpeted floor. Stepped right. Onto the linoleum. Of the galley kitchen. Opened the fridge. Stared into it.
No orange juice had magically appeared. Left by the faeries.
I closed the fridge door. Pivoted to the right. Reached up. To the cupboard over the sink. Opened the cupboard door. Reached in. Took a blue plastic glass out. Pushed the door closed with the glass. Ran the cold water for two. Or three minutes. Put the glass under the faucet. Filled it. Shut the water off. And, drank the water down.
And, filled another glass. In the same way. And, drank it down. Too.
Pivoted three sixty. Retraced my path to the bedroom. Laid down. Tried to sleep.
The bedroom light came on. In the window of the apartment next door. Just four feet from my window. I had looked into that window. Countless times before the crash. But never saw a soul.
This time was different.
A young woman had entered the bedroom. Raven haired. White as porcelain. Clad in a pink towel. And, nothing else.
It reminded me of the opening scene in Bedroom Eyes.
`Richard saw a light come on in the second storey bedroom across the alley. A young blond woman was standing there. Clad in nothing.Naked. Great tits. Brown nipples. Like silver dollars. American silver dollars. The blond was scrubbing her hair dry. With a large white towel. Slightly jiggling her breasts. Great tits.
Richard couldn`t see her …`
I had written that novel beginning thirteen years ago. Now it was coming true.
Or, so I thought.
Pre-publication Draft – Copyright Lyle T. Lachmuth, ALL Rights Reserved
