Mr. Trager

That Side of the Family

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 18th

I was dreaming, I had to be, there was no other logical explanation for the things I was feeling. The room around me was oppressively dark, almost blindingly so, but not quite completely black. The air was void of all sound aside from a low pitched mechanical hum, making the atmosphere eerily uncomfortable. Like the vague unplaceable purr of an engine somewhere in my vicinity. Burning white florescent lights flickered on above me, singeing bars of discoloration into my eyes as they illuminated the dreary space. I blinked away the moment of searing pain, my eyes beginning to adjust to the brightness, when a strange sound caught my attention. To the left of me there was something else now, something that was making a nauseating cracking noise, something that was dripping like a leaky faucet. The kind of ambiance that one might expect from a horror movie, moments before the jump scare. Slowly, I turned my head to look, my eyes jarred by stark blue curtains. They seemed to be enclosing the entire area of interest in a large rectangle, blocking me from seeking the source of the sound on all sides. Dingy blue fabric curtains, they had to be hospital curtains.
Down at my bare feet I could feel something much warmer, wetter than the cool smooth flooring. It was blood. A deep dark crimson liquid that contrasted the old, faded white and green tiles. It flowed from beneath the curtains like a small river, an impossible amount of it pooling around my feet, as it seeped into an open floor drain. I stared down into the puddle that covered my toes, mindlessly, emotionlessly undisturbed by the gore.

"Two down, one to go." A familiar voice echoed from the infinite unseen walls of this place.

A dark figure parted the curtains, stepping forward with a trail of dark red footprints, a figure that I knew. It was Trager that stood before me, a pair of sharp nosed scissors in one of his bloody, latex clad hands. The blood stained his sleeves...

"What's the matter, doll?" He pulled the surgeon's mask from his face with a blood drenched hand. "Somebody scare ya?"

No, I wasn't afraid. Was I? I opened my mouth to speak, to tell him something important, but no words would come out. The brightness was growing, consuming the dungeon like room in a soft white fizz.
I opened my eyes. A ray of light that was gleaming through the bedroom window, warmed my face. My head rested on a clean, champagne colored pillow, in a room that was doused with a comfortable nature light. I was still safely tucked into bed. There was no blood, no obnoxious mechanical whirring, but something else was missing too. There was no Rick.
The glowing red numbers of the alarm clock read two eleven, meaning he had long since left for work without me. I let my body collapse back onto the pillows, eyes pointing blankly at the ceiling. My mind drifted back to the dream I'd just awoken from. Could it really be called a dream? It better fit the description of a nightmare, I thought. Perhaps it was for the best that I'd woken up alone. What would someone like Rick think if he discovered that he had played a center role in a nightmare of mine? Would he assume that I was afraid of him? Would he take pleasure in it? I squeezed my eyes shut, fragments of the imaginary gore bobbing at the top of my subconscious. It wasn't Trager, in that nightmare, that had placed such a fear in my heart. Something else had been present, something darker. That machine like hum haunted my brain.
I swung my legs off the side of the bed, pressing my feet against the luxurious hardwood, a final assurance that I was indeed in the real world. Everything felt filthy, either from having slept in the days clothes, or from the wretched feeling of nonexistent blood on my skin. Regardless of the cause, I needed a shower, to wash away any lingering unpleasant thoughts. That would be enough.
When I finished, I found myself sitting on the edge of the bed, a damp towel wrapped around my naked body. Lucky as I was, severe hangovers had never been much of a problem for me, but I would much rather blame my headache on a night of heavy drinking than accept the alterer cause. Bad dreams didn't cause physical pain, it simply didn't happen... Not without help.
I forced myself to ignore it, instead coming to realization that I was absolutely starving. We'd hardly even eaten breakfast the day before, and though I doubted my ability to stomach anything, I knew that I needed to try. Surely there would be something worth while downstairs. With a deep breath, I carried myself on weak feet, to slip on some kind of clothing. A thin, satiny black robe was more than enough for me.
I tiptoed my bare feet down the stairs, a cold loneliness awaiting me at the landing. Saudade, the feeling of longing. When was it that I had learned that word? It was so overwhelmingly quiet, calm, and lonely without him there. As I walked slowly to the kitchen, that feeling truly set in. The honest truth was that I missed him, and dearly so. For every second that he was gone, I felt that longing for his presence, I was beginning to need him more.
Surely he'd be pleased if he came home to fresh food, kill two birds with one stone so to speak. It'd be an easy way for me to sneak onto his good side. My culinary skills were certainly nothing to be too proud of, but I had was confident that I could pull something together.
Maybe pasta agian? That was within my range of capabilities, and I knew without a doubt that he had everything I needed. However, looking around his kitchen, I quickly discovered that he was in severe need of a shopping trip. That could pose a challenge.
I searched though cupboards, and drawers, and every refrigerator compartment until I'd collected the items that I needed. With everything laid out neatly on the counter, I took a few pots and pans from the rack above the kitchen island, and got to work.
If today was anything like the usual, he would leave Mount Massive at five o'clock sharp, and get home around five thirty depending on traffic. That gave me an hour or two at the very least, I could manage with that. Patience was a simple thing, boil the water, prepare the ingredients.
By the time five finally rolled around, I was nearly done. Two white ceramic plates sat side by side, only two pots left unwashed on the stovetop, one of sauce and the other of pasta. All that was missing now was my company, my Trager. Waiting would the easy part, or so I thought.
With a sigh, took a seat on one of the barstools that surrounded the island, and propped my head up on one hand.
Six days. Not even a full week had gone by since I'd first set foot in his office, and I'd already allowed myself to sink this deep. I wasn't the one with the power to decide whether this was a mistake or a great achievement, only time could tell that far. Time was such a ruthless thing.