Callahan: A Gothic Tale

That Crimson Dress

16 That Crimson Dress

"The constant buzzing/All through the night/The fight it/Rips me all up inside" –"On The Floor" song by Perfume Genius

Red.

So much as it was a color, it too was an emotion.

Her fingers brushed against the dress she knew Harry loved so much, the fabric's sheen glistening in the cerulean darkness, hints of light beckoning in the distance, the silken folds brushing up against her lover's cheek as they both sighed in ecstasy—

Transforming into red lace she recognized from her Valentine's Day spent in Hilltowne, wearing a sultry outfit, mentally preparing herself to enter the 'meat market' of eligible bachelors at the local nightclub, noticing Harry's mouth agape—

Switching and twirling into endless streamers—ribbons—velvet sashes—before settling upon a piece of snowy parchment, the script aligning itself just so, to make out one word, causing her to gasp—

Charity.

7:45 am, Several Days Later, Four Weeks In, Mid-Autumn 1994, Ambient Lounge

Macy thrashed in her sleep as Harry awakened, realizing she was in the throes of another nightmare. It didn't take a genius to tell what about. "Mace, Macy," he began, shaking her gently, then with a firmer hand. "Macy!"

"I'm scared," he heard her whimper as he held her close, perspiration dotting her forehead, eyes firmly shut, muscles seizing almost involuntarily.

"Follow my voice," Harry murmured in response, lips to her forehead, brawny arms encircling her form. "Macy, this is a nightmare. Do you hear me, Macy?" Her arms, once tense, began to relax as her fists clenching his shirt uncoiled themselves. After a beat, her breathing normalized as Harry uttered a barely perceptible sigh of relief—though he knew she had yet to rouse herself.

"Wake up—wake up—wake up!" as her eyes darted open, frantically searching the room for the endless scarlet ribbons that had been threatening to choke her moments before.

"Shit, I'm gonna be late for work!" she gasped, pulling away, moving as though to throw on a pair of slacks and a nondescript blouse—but Harry's grip yanked her back onto the bed.

"Mace, you are clearly unwell—you cannot—" his eyes met hers to emphasize his point, "—go to work, especially like this."

"Do not try me Harry—I'll take a taxi if I have to—" Out of the corner of his eye, Harry spotted several kitchen utensils floating in mid-air and swallowed hard. This could get out of hand. Realizing defeat, he released his hold as she frantically dressed herself in the ensuing minutes. After jamming two left shoes onto her right foot, she realized her error and found its partner before motioning over to Harry. Are you going to orb me there or what?

Rolling his eyes, he offered his arm which Macy took, her shoulder bag thumping against her hip as they disappeared into the basement of the biochemistry laboratory building.

7:52 am, Mid-Autumn 1994, Biochemistry Building Stairwell

"We're discussing this after work—" Harry hissed before Macy traversed the stairs to the laboratory overhead. "Or else—"

"Or else—?" She stepped closer, bridging the space between them. "You're not the boss of me—"

Was that a threat? "Mace—" he stroked her cheek, glad she did not flinch. "If you don't air this out, destiny will keep reasserting itself until you do—and I don't want to wait until then. You really ought not to be at work—"