Dark as the Night

61

Images flashed at lightning speed, one moment in time melding into the next in the pseudo-natural way of dreams. Paper painted with blood red circles was stretched taught until a blast ripped through it, tearing a hole in its center. A gasp, and the ruined paper was a limbless human torso, the same blood red ink marking vital targets against the grey rubber. A blink, and the dummy had arms and legs and moved as though it were alive.

The cold, sterile walls became trees, and the harsh fluorescent lighting gentled into dappled sunlight. She saw movement in the shadows and took aim at the deer with her crossbow, but the moment she pulled the trigger, a deafening shot rang out and the deer crumpled just as it jumped. She lowered her rifle and crept to her fallen prey. When she looked down at the bleeding, dying animal, it wasn't a deer that peered back at her, but the lifeless eyes of a human dummy.

Movement in her periphery snagged her attention and with her heart slamming into her chest, she spun and lifted the rifle, aimed at the dark shape looming toward her, and fired. Another shot rang out, muffled by the sound-dampening material on the walls, and she lowered the now-pistol. Her blood boiled and her heart pounded a war drum beat as she ran to the little boy, bleeding on the linoleum in front of her.

"NO!" the word ripped from her throat as she threw herself to the floor beside of him. Her hands shook and twisted in terror as crimson poured out of his small body. With stuttering movements, he wrapped his arms around himself. His eyes began to glaze as he stared into space. Her throat felt blistered from screaming as tears ran red down her face.

Then the screaming wasn't her. It was the teenage girl in front of her, curled in on herself, sobbing and vomiting before passing out as crimson darkened the khaki and green of her pants. Red was everywhere, eating up her vision. A pool of blood below the boy's stomach, a pool of blood below the girl's waist, a pool of blood below the doe's chest, a never-ending fountain of blood pouring from her own hands. Screaming, sobbing, anguished wailing coming from the dying doe, the dying boy, the tortured girl, from her own ragged throat.

She thrashed on the floor, her body convulsing with terror. Everywhere she looked, death and agony assaulted her, turning her stomach and twisting her heart. She covered her ears against the sound and screwed her eyes shut to block out the images, but it didn't matter. So she tossed and turned, trying to shake it all away from her.

Consciousness slammed into Odessa along with her bedroom floor. She sat up, gasping through her sobs, and looked around, dazed, to see she'd fallen out of bed during her nightmare. She rubbed the scar on her belly absently as she took deep, gulping breaths and tried to reorient herself. She swallowed down the choking sob lodged in her throat and noticed with relief that it wasn't raw – she hadn't actually screamed. Having to apologize to her neighbors once was more than enough for her.

Bright, cheerful sunlight peeked through a crack in her curtain, trying to inch its way into the bleak shadows of her room. Odessa sat on her floor for a minute, wrapped in her blanket, and tried to sort through her muddled past and present, dream and reality. The phone on her wall rang and, startled, she looked up at the clock: 8:15. She shuddered and stood, trying to shake off the adrenaline still pulsing through her veins, before padding to the ringing phone.

Odessa took a deep breath and answered. "Hello?" She winced at the wobbly, emotional rasp in her voice, then cleared her throat.

"Good morning." Tai's voice, velvety and warm like bourbon vanilla, was laced with concern and she shut her eyes in embarrassment.

"Good morning," she replied, her voice steadier but still slightly hoarse.

Tai paused. "Are you ok? You sound a little rough."