No1 - The Psycho Surrealist

Prologue - Dahkma

I wonder if he will love me when he finds out my secret. Sandra Janesko swam from her deepest daydreams to wake up in the dimly lit Red Dawn bar. A candle's fire flickered before her as a cold draft brushed her neck. She trembled as she waited for her date to show up, her thoughts drifting to her daydreams of the blond man.

An old claustrophobic downtown LA bar full of wood and garish neon spoke of a desperate act—unless one took into account she was twenty-nine. Why, out of all places, was it destined to start here? She just hated fate.

Sandra—as her closest friends called Alexandra—was acutely aware of her surroundings. She sat on a stool, ordering a martini, when he appeared through the door. She sipped a little more of her martini, smoothed out her delicate blue dress, and waved a hand at him.

Clutching tight to a dozen roses, he approached her, shook her hand, and grinned. "Sorry I didn't get a chance to tell you my name. Peter Suyderhof."

Sandra had met him earlier in the afternoon at a Huntington Park Starbucks. Sandra had been understandably cautious at first; Peter looked nothing like the headshot Janine had given her. Then again, Peter was a high-profile scriptwriter who needed all sorts of disguises to keep others from knowing who he was.

While the headshot showed Peter with sharp, brown eyes, his eyes were enchanting blue. His broad smile was the only thing that translated from photograph to life. His hands were soft. And his hair was like a wide field of golden wheat; he was not brunette.

Her heart fluttered. "I'm Alexandra Janesko. You look nothing like the photograph that Janine gave me, Peter. You're more beautiful than your picture."

"Working in Hollywood, one has to use all sorts of disguises to keep from being hounded." Peter shrugged. "I try to be modest. Oh, here." He handed her the roses in hand.

Her hands tightened around the thornless stems.

Peter looked over all the patrons, then nodded to a corner table. "We should have a more private setting." Like a true gentleman, he helped her to the booth.

The two took a seat. Sandra sat across from Peter. Peter ordered a beer from the waitress, who appeared somewhat inattentive. Coors. He stared at Sandra the entire time. So deep were his blue eyes one could drown in them. Sandra mainly giggled out of nerves, sipping on her martini.

"So I heard from Janine that you were a fan of horror movies," Peter said, ratcheting his hands around his frosty mug of Coors. "Have you ever watched the Lovecraft adaptations by any chance?"

"Yeah. I own a lot of his stories. My favorite movie is Beyond the Walls of Sleep."

"You know, it may come as some surprise, Alex—"

"Call me Sandra," she said, tipping her head. "My mother calls me Alex."

"Sandra, I must confess the man who directed that movie, Yurian Miron. Well, I know him personally—"

Sandra coughed up her martini. "Wha'? No way," she said hoarsely. She glared quizzically at him. "You know Miron?"

"If I were to tell you that I'm good friends with him, would you think me a liar?" Peter asked, his hands swiftly moving for hers.

She spasmed, her hand retracted. Is this even real, or is it just a part of my fantasies?

"Janine did tell me that you were...well, that you had money. I figured that you were going to perform here. But I was picturing more of a rocker. You know, someone that plays at bars or something. After this was over."

Peter laughed. "Oh, Sandra, I hope it will last more than this. Besides, I'm a rocker, just not that type of rocker. I'm a man who creates waves, who rocks the boat. My medium is acting, and my canvas is well...." His hand reached out for her. His embrace was soft, warm, and tender. "You're nervous, aren't you?"