Posted by critmk on May 14, 2003 at 10:44:35:
To view the PICTURES that go with this novel, open a new window to my briefcase at
http://photos.yahoo.com/bc/critmk/lst?.dir=/Sisters+novel&.view=t
Sisters
a story by critmk
Chapter 10: A Dream
They were dead, all of them: the lawyers, the secretaries, the office staffers, the clerks, the Russians, the interpreter.
Barb and I turned crazily giddy in the sudden, eerie silence of the erstwhile law office of Kennet and Sikes. We staggered around the place for a good hour, posing, stroking and stripping our victims, and making crude jokes at their expense.
Then it was time to leave. She told me to meet her at a Holiday Inn near the airport at 11 that night, to collect my fee, plan our next move and fuck our brains out. She left first. I waited 5 minutes, then took the stairway down. I caught a bus to the Delmar Loop, walked to my apartment and flopped into bed. I was asleep and dreaming in minutes.
The dream was almost as bizarre as the day’s reality. I was in some white, featureless building, all corridors and no rooms. I was naked and empty handed. An endless stream of conventionally attractive, nondescript, 30-year-old blonds flowed randomly through the broad hallways. Except for high heels in various colors, they were all identically dressed in white bras, white panties and white pantyhose. Their shoes sounded the rhythm of rain on the hard floor.
[dreamgirls1.jpg goes here.]
The dream women ignored me utterly as they walked. I wandered among them in confused fascination for what seemed a long time, until it occurred to me to touch one of them. I cupped the breast of the nearest passer-by. She stopped and met my gaze without changing her blank, relaxed expression. She went to her knees and took my penis into her mouth.
The weight of a gun, a heavy old Luger, asserted itself in my hand. It was just there, from nowhere, as things can be in dreams. Nothing else changed. The other women took no notice of me, the sex act or the gun. They simply kept walking – not zombie-like, but placidly.
I shot one in the back as she passed in her off-white high heels. The bullet hit her just inside the intersection of the back band and left shoulder strap of her bra. She sprawled forward and landed hard on her face. Blood pooled beneath her – apparently, the slug passed through her – but still the women around show no interest and walked on.
I trained the Luger on a woman in red heels as she came into view around a distant corner and kept it on her until she was very near. [dreamgirls2.jpg goes here.] She showed no fear or even interest. I shot her through the inside of the right breast. The slug tore through it and then through her right bicep. She spun into the wall and went down to her right knee. There was no moaning, no begging, no tears, no wound-clutching. She calmly struggled to her feet and joined the parade for a few steps before I knocked her down with a shot to the center of the white panty triangle. I killed her with a slug to the sternum. She slumped against the white wall. Her eyes were open amid the same calm, vacant face she’d worn before she’d been hit.
I felt curiously detached from my own body as I came in the mouth of the girl kneeling before me. She swallowed and rose.
“I have to leave, now,” she said, flatly. She didn’t move when I placed the barrel of the Luger into the hollow of her throat. Her four limbs kicked out in front of her and she flew backward when I pulled the trigger. She landed on her back, spasmed twice, and died.
I cupped the breast of another passing girl. She, too, stopped; I took her chin between thumb and forefinger and looked her face over carefully. She wasn’t exactly the same as the first, but close.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“An angel,” she said.
“Who are they?”
“My sisters. We’re here to save you.” She went to her knees and took up her work.
The dream went on until dozens of bodies littered the hallway and half a dozen girls had taken me into their mouths, and still the targets came. No further words were spoken; the only sounds were those of heels on the floor and the boom and echo of gunfire.
At 8 p.m., I awoke in a puddle of sweat and cum. I staggered to the shower and felt better after I cleaned up, and better still after a roast beef sandwich and a cold Budweiser.
At 9:15, it was really too early to leave to meet Barbara, but I felt a strong need to get out of the apartment. I got my old Buick Riviera from the parking lot and drove aimlessly for an hour and a half. I parked outside the Airport Holiday Inn at 10:55 p.m. My heart was racing; I couldn’t wait to be with Barbara.