Chaotic (sequel to Psychotic)

Chapter 8

The night rolled by like white clouds in summertime. It engulfed Harry and I in a comfortable bliss, soothing our strained minds and tired muscles. It settled over us through the sound of steady heartbeats and soft blankets and fluffy pillows. Harry's big arms were wrapped around me protectively, as if he were guarding me from the world's dangers. It was the first time we had slept in an actual bed together, and it was the best way I had ever fallen asleep in a long time. Despite our situation, I was completely content, the kind that creates happiness and delightful dreams. So the question was why, then, did I have such horrible nightmares? 

My unconscious mind did not drift to Wickendale or to the woods as I would expect. It wasn't of the woman with the misshapen legs or Mrs. Hellman or James or Norman. 

It was just me. I was standing in a kitchen with sun shining through the windows, the room painted a pale yellow. The countertop was a glossy white wood with a metal sink built into it. Wood cabinets that matched the counter lined the whole room, making it all very happy. It was mine and Harry's house. There was nothing to signify it, I just knew. 

And in that home I was washing a plate. The action felt very wife-like, apron tied around my waist while I did housework. It was as if it were part of a daily routine, washing those dishes. First that plate, then a spoon, then a pan as I put them on a rack to dry. But suddenly something broke my focus. 

Outside the window above the sink I saw Harry. 

He was in a red truck, driving past me through the backyard. And then I was overcome with a sense of dread, as if my dream knew something unpleasant was about to strike but kept it a secret from me. The sunshine ceased and dark clouds emerged outside. He was gone from my vision but I was still aware of him. He wasn't supposed to be home. 

This made me curious, but a curious that was not in hunger of learning or in wonder but one that wanted to reveal the dark secret that I knew lied ahead. So I set down the dish that I was currently scrubbing clean. I turned the water off and left through the sliding door in the dining room next to me. I could see his truck ease away to the edge of property, almost into the woods. And again with that strange sense only dreams had, a bad feeling churned in my stomach. He was parked next to the shed. I had never gone in there before. Harry had told me strictly, about a thousand times not to enter. If I knew one thing it was that the shed was his place; I was not to step inside. But I was fed up with him ordering me around like that, my mind told me, this was my property as much as it was his. Today I would find out what secrets he was keeping in there. 

So I stepped from the porch and into the whirling wind. My feet carried me across the pale grass, but I did not feel the dew that settled on its color with the flats I had on. I continued across the yard toward the little building, my heart beating faster and faster with each pulse as I neared closer. I should not be afraid, not of Harry or his secret. But I was, and it was inevitable. I could not help but be afraid, and although my sleeping mind did not tell me much, it told me that I had a reason to be. 

I was so close now, he would definitely be able to see me. But I had not seen him walk into the building, he must already be inside.  I was at the front door. 

With a shaking hand I reached out, fingers just about to touch the handle. Whatever scenarios played out in my mind - Harry screaming and throwing me out for disobeying his most sacred rule, seeing him with another woman, finding some dark secret of his - did not prepare me for what happened after my fingers clutched that handle. I pulled the door open and stepped into the room, both actions quick and simultaneous before he could throw me out. But after I saw the room, I wished he would. 

There were bodies. Dead bodies. Dozens of them lying along the shed's floor. And they weren't just any bodies, they were familiar. Too familiar, close enough to my heart for me to shed a tear at the sight. Kelsey. Lori. My grandmother. Emily. I didn't need to be told the girls name, but somehow with Harry's descriptions I knew it was her. I just knew, and I felt as if I had personally spoken with the familiar face. But it didn't matter now. All of them were dead, horribly, ghastly dead. Their faces were pale, almost purplish. They looked like zombies drained of blood and robbed of beating hearts. But that was all that was revealed to me, the rest of their frames concealed under dark body bags. And once my eyes traveled to the wall, I understood why.