Letters to Maxine

CHAPTER 16

Kelly's Nightmare - Narration (by me) and Dramatic Video

Roll-call

1

March 21, 14:40 hours

"Kelly, my brother, today is the day," said Keegs. "It's the baby-boot day. What color will you be rocking, blue or pink?"

I was already tired, which made the beginning of another watch a struggle. I was on the tail end of three sleepless nights, my mind haunted by relentless nightmares.

My smile wouldn't suffice for long as my peppy friend was persistent.

"I'm hoping pink because blue looks disastrous."

I pulled my sweater over my vest and bloused it near my duty belt. Taking my .40 caliber pistol from the top locker shelf, I sighed.

"Jesus, I hope it's pink. I can't handle another limp-tard. That last boot almost killed me." I inserted the magazine into the frame with a satisfying click and then used my thumb to pull back the top-notch of the slide, loading a round. "Yeah, pink," I said. I holstered it, closed my locker, and took a tobacco pouch from my back pocket.

Keegs smiled with pursed lips and squinted eyes.

"Especially because the ass on pink is a freaking masterpiece. You'd get to stare at that all day, my man."

"Roll call the bullpen, roll call the bullpen." Lieutenant Chaney boomed over the intercom.

"Hey, Marcello," yelled Keegs. "You owe me for that chicken parm, bro. Where's my money?"

His voice trailed off as he slammed shut his locker door, triggering a grim and macabre dance of death. My body trembled, and my fingers shook. My mind flashed with strange and morbid images so grotesque that I shut my eyes to unsee them.

Last night's dream? Why won't you leave me alone?

I was sinking in the muck of rotting body parts with fires burning from tar and flesh in front of me. The treetops were devoid of leaves, resembling severed heads that hung in nets from branches soaked in blood. As I pushed through the mire, the rotten ash and decay filled the air, intensifying my fear of drowning.

Cries of torment and wickedness screamed from behind the trees.

My fathom, my depth. And among the cacophony of voices, one stood out, raging and dominating the others: My kill, my flesh, will I feed. Together, they melded into a twisted chorus that echoed with every step and struggle I took.

The muck transformed into a pool, its surface adorned with ravaged corpses. The haunting sound of a guttural moan intensified the struggle to keep me from sinking. And that's when I saw Maxine.

She stood at the pool's edge, her foot sinking into the tar intermingled with a repulsive mixture of entrails and ash. She wore a forest green cable-knit long-sleeve sweater dress that hugged her curves. The hem of the garment sloped downward at an angle, giving it an asymmetrical look. As she walked toward the pool's edge, the sound of her black thigh-high laced-up boots demanded my attention.

Her beauty was striking, her flawless figure proportioned, and her voice carried the sweet sound of my name. Stepping into the foulness of decomposed flesh and bone, she stretched out her hand and called for me.

2

Despite being covered in sweat upon waking up, her presence felt like a meaningful portent. Maybe she was the salve that could heal the wounds of my past.