Three years passed since the accident in Clark County. Charlie Brock is a former secretary and her career is in ruins and her life is not great, living in the dirt of San Francisco. But throughout years, her nightmares never stopped, she keeps seein...
Charlie wakes up but kept her eyes closed. She waits for the flashing nightmares to come back; it felt so real that nightmare that her head is pounding and blood is rushing. As she slowly regained her senses, ignoring the throbbing pain in her head, she feels something on the pad of her tongue. It slids in and out shallow until it went to the black depths at the back of Charlie's throat. Charlie coughs, chokes, and her eyes flutter open.
Jerry's pretty sure Bambi never looked quite so enraged, however.
He pulls his fingers back, slick with saliva, and offers a grin that is sharp with teeth. 'Good morning,' he says, while true consciousness starts to chase the vague fuzz from Charlie's eyes.
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'Thought I'd lost you for a minute there. I got bored.'
Charlie's eyes narrow and then her hand moves towards the knife on the ground, swinging it down, and Jerry is not in front of her. She whips her head to see Jerry is up and on the other side of the room.
Grinning, Jerry gets ready for round two. They're going to have a lot of fun before he finally gets around to finishing this one off. Her heart jack-rabbits, old fear surging up, surging forth, blocking her mind and her thoughts and everything, everything, is wrong.
He's dead, she thinks as she stares at the black eyes of the man staring her there. He's supposed to be dead.
"I killed you," is what she says.
It can't be real. It's only a dream.
Yet Jerry only smiles. 'Should've done a better job,' he says.
Charlie struggles at the sound of her voice. It hooks into an instinct, a primal part of her; the sound of that voice is the sound of her nightmares, so her body reacts before her mind. Thrashes. Struggles. Fights.
Nothing happens. Jerry hardly budges.
He chuckles, holding Charlie in place with his hands clamped to her upper arms. 'You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?'
"You think that was easy?" Charlie bursts in surprise. "I got my throat ripped out when I staked you!"
Jerry's grin is a dangerous thing, filled with promises and threats. 'I didn't see that one coming,' he admits. 'I like that.'
His hands tighten on Charlie's arms, his nails digging in through the material of her hoodie. They pierce through skin easily, and Charlie sucks a pained hiss of air as she feels blood start to bead inside her hoodie.
She sucks in her desperate cries and thrashes again, sneakers slamming out to aim for Jerry's shins, but Jerry shakes her like a rag-doll, bashing her head against the unforgiving counter. 'Don't get cute,' Jerry says. His arms shift, lightning-fast, one like a bar across Charlie's chest to hold her in place while the other braces against the counter near her head, fingers tangling into her curls. 'I had fun back then, didn't you?'
