Come Down From Your Fences

Chapter 33

"You're not supposed to be here," he slurred, squinting up from the floor, a bright light from above burrowing into his skull like a bullet. His mind was moving like Two-Bit's car - in fits and starts. Her name was on the edge of his brain, but he couldn't grasp it. It was something silly, like a fruit or vegetable. For some reason that struck him as really funny and he laughed, causing a bolt of pain to streak across the back of his head.

"I'm not supposed to be here?" she asked hotly, her brow furrowing in anger. He didn't answer, just stared mutely at the two redheaded visions that swam and swirled before his eyes. That didn't seem right. He was pretty sure she didn't have a twin. Although, he mused, that would certainly make things interesting.

"You've got some nerve, Dallas Winston," she said, throwing her thick hair over her shoulder as she began to pace.

From his vantage point, flat on his back on the cold marble floor, he had an interesting view of her legs and her skirt as it twirled around her calves. There was probably less than six inches of leg exposed, but something about that bare skin grabbed his attention and wouldn't it let go. Sylvia let it all spill out like the dessert case at a cheap diner and he liked that. He didn't need to use his imagination, which was fine by him. Never in a million years would he have thought he'd be turned on by the sight of prissy bobby socks, saddle shoes and a plaid skirt Tim's grandma wouldn't have been caught dead in. Damn broad must have hit him harder than he thought.

The pacing continued and now she was talking to herself, muttering under her breath. He could only make out one word, but one word was all it took. Police.

"Shit," he groaned as he sat up quickly - too quickly. The room spun like one of those rides at the fair that spun around ... in a circle ... whatever, he couldn't think of the stupid name. The edges of his vision started to darken and shrink; his stomach lurched, threatening to spill its contents all over her pristine white floor. Serve her right if he puked all over her perfect house - she'd really fucked him up. Score one for Cherry Valance, he thought.

"Cherry, your name's Cherry," he said out loud without meaning to. Startled, she stopped wearing a groove into the floor long enough to look down at him.

"What?"

"Nothing," he mumbled with a grimace. Reaching up, he gingerly probed the growing lump on the back of his head. It felt sticky and slick and he wasn't surprised to see blood coating his fingers when he brought his hand back. "What the hell did you hit me with?"

"A vase, a very expensive vase." She looked pissed, like it was his fault she hit him with the damn thing. Arms crossed, toe tapping, she seemed to be waiting for something - like she actually thought he would apologize. Not in this lifetime.

"Hate to break it to ya, doll - but your very expensive vase shattered like a fucking fifty-cent bottle of beer." He shook his head tentatively, shards of clear glass dislodged from his hair, catching the light as they fell to the floor.

"That's only because your head is thicker than a brick wall," she said with annoyance. Dally laughed sharply, she certainly wasn't afraid of him - or she was really good a hiding it.

Changing the subject to the one he was afraid she would change it to, she said, "Just what were you doing in my house in the middle of the night?"

"Exterminating ... stuff?"

Rolling her eyes, she knelt down and picked the abandoned pillowcase up off the floor. She opened it, studied it for a second, then flung it at his chest. Instinctively, he caught it but didn't open it. He knew what was inside and now it was covered with his smeared, bloody fingerprints.