Deadly Dreamer - Book One ✔️

Chapter 10

I lay there in bed next to Alex, who is already asleep and has been for a few hours now and think over the nights events.

I had initially worried about us having sex because I thought he might see my yellowing bruising, but he was too caught up in his own actions to notice them. So I could happily put my worries out of my mind and just enjoy myself.

Now however, I'd really like to sleep. I'm contemplating making my own descent into la-la land but I can't help but fear my own sleep as it keeps bringing me into bad situations.

I know I can't stay awake forever but I don't know how else to stop these occurrences. I don't know how to control them, IF I can control them and it doesn't seem like I can pull myself out of them either. Somehow I'm just pulled out of them. I can't explain how. Maybe I can learn to control them? There must be a way. They're MY dreams. They're happening to MY life. I think I should get a say in how my dreams transpire.

As my mind is going over the possibilities I start to doze. I mentally and physically shake myself out of it and jolt Alex who grumbles and shifts to his side facing away from me. I watch him a while. Taking my time to appreciate his muscled shoulders and strong back, and wanting to run my fingers softly over them.

Alex seems unaware of my recent troubles and I plan to keep it that way. I just don't know how long I can keep this act up. I'm constantly getting distracted in my own thoughts, I feel the guilt rising daily and feel like I might lose my sanity at some point. I don't know how I'll keep my sanity in check as it is. If things keep going this way I may just lose myself entirely.

I look away from him and towards the roof, losing myself in my own unhinged thoughts once more.

What if I don't happen to appear in some random place? There's a possibility right?

I decide to ignore my inner turmoil and settle in for a couple hours of sleep so that I'm somewhat prepared for tomorrow's work day. It will be Friday after all and I'll be in a world of trouble if I'm falling asleep at my desk. I can't handle much of the boss right now so better safe than sorry. I can't say I exactly trust myself at the moment not to do something drastic in reaction to his pushing.

I stare at Alex's muscled shoulders one more time for a good image to hold in my mind whilst I drift off, then I close my eyes and relax my mind and body when I hear a breeze. I feel the cool night air on my face and can hear the rustling of trees blowing in the wind.

I slowly and fearfully open my eyes to find myself peering through some bushes that I'm crouched behind.

Fuck! My frustration kicks in.

And here I was thinking I might be okay tonight.

Just one peaceful, restful night was all I was asking for, is that so much to ask for?

Dejectedly, I look around me hoping to see some indication of where I might be, but only notice a couple of cars sitting silently on the street and in driveways. The streetlight to my right flickers and a page from a newspaper floats noisily by making me feel like this is a scene from a horror movie.

I focus my attention ahead of me to what must have been my main point of interest when I came to.

I'm looking straight through a small dimly lit window and into what looks to be a basement. The walls are heavily padded, and there's a man sitting directly in front of my line of sight with his back to me. He's staring down at his hands which are holding something but I can't see it from my view.

I look around at the rest of the room.

On the left side of the room is a cabinet, it's locked with a heavy duty padlock. Beside the cabinet is a laundry basin. In the middle of the room, right in front of where the man is sitting is an ancient fireplace. On the right hand side of the room is a work bench, it looks like any other work bench with tools strewn across the top, some nuts and bolts and what looks like grease.

That is until it drips onto the floor, it spatters a little, just enough for me to see the tinge of red in it. I could safely assume that it's still grease but I know blood when I see it.

I cannot however see the source of the blood. No bodies, no limbs. He must have cleaned most of his mess up by now.

I'm about to lean in closer when he stands up suddenly and turns and walks over to the work bench. I see now that he is holding a bloody hand. Not an arm. Just a hand, cut from the wrist. Still dripping slightly with blood. It's distinctly female. This makes my blood boil. My instincts are telling me to run in there and cut off all his appendages and watch him bleed to death.

I tremble. With disgust or anticipation I'm not sure but I'm sure as hell not going in there.

It seems the other part of me feels the same way. It's almost like this was part of the plan.

To watch. To stalk. To prey.

I feel as though I'm on the right wavelength with my thoughts for a change. This was the plan. I'm stalking my kills. I can't tell you how I'm so sure of this but I feel it in the depths of my soul.

The man turns now holding a container which now holds the gory hand. There is something written on the container but it's too hard to read from this distance.

He walks to the other side of the room to a stand up freezer that I hadn't noticed in my earlier inspection. It has a way of blending in with the padded walls. He pulls open the door to reveal more containers and plastic wrapping of different shapes and sizes containing more bloody but now frozen body parts.

I fall back onto my butt in shock.

He's clearly been doing this a while.

Now that I'm sitting I can feel something in the back pocket of my jeans. I reach back and pull the item out. It's a piece of paper with a name on it, followed by an address.

How did I get this?

I've got to be getting my information on my victims whereabouts somewhere, but for some reason that hasn't occurred to me until now. It makes so much sense that I would just so happen to know where these people are at certain times, I couldn't know unless I had been doing my research.

But when?

I have so many unanswered questions, and no way to answer them so far.

I decide to leave my questions for now and read the writing on the paper in my hand.

Charles Porter, 47 De Sales street.

I tell myself to keep that name in my mind so that I can do my own research on it tomorrow to see whether I can get some answers.

Although I have a lead to go on now I'm a bit worried about what I might find.

I creep forward again to peek through the window only to find the man completing the cleaning process.
Lots of bleach, many disposable cloths and some black trash bags for incriminating objects. The man then strips down to his underwear and picks up the pile of clothing that he had dropped his own bloody items onto and wanders over to fireplace, throwing them in on top of the charred wood, dousing them in lighter fluid and igniting them with a matchstick.

He completes the clean up process by pouring bleach over every surface that has been used.

The entire time he is doing this, he is bopping his head and occasionally snapping his fingers. He must have music playing but the padded room keeps all the noise in.

He's very calm, and considering his hoard of body parts, I'd say he has been comfortably killing for a long while now.

He's nearly finished the tidy up, so I sit back on my heels wondering when I'll go back to reality when I hear the sound of my alarm blaring in my ear.

Great.

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Poor Danica. All she wants is some sleep.

I hope you all enjoyed it!
Thanks for reading.

Shantelle 😀