If I kissed you...
Author's note: Writing is my passion. If I don't write daily, I feel like my day is incomplete. I wrote this to... Show full author's note »
Illusions of RealityPop! I awoke, gasping-he was here-he was here! I stumbled on my knees, looking around a boulder. I saw a small pebble on the dusty surface of the large rock. Someone was throwing rocks at me. I looked into the emptiness of the desert, and saw a figure in the distance. It was dragging a person and walking towards me, long legs sauntering. I stumbled down the rocks and started running the opposite direction.
“Right here baby! I got him!”
I halted in my sprint and gasped in relief and shock, “John!” I turned back to the sound of his voice. It must be John dragging Jen! Why would he be dragging the killer after all. Jen must be alive! I ran around the boulders towards him.
“I'm here baby, I got him!” he yelled again.
I stumbled and slowed. It sounded more like he was wailing out the words. I strained to see his figure. I was within thirty feet now and I walked slowly trying to get my sight in focus. Something didn't sound right in his voice. “You need to come to me!”
“Honey, are you hurt?!”
He stopped walking immediately. Stone cold. He looked taller than I remembered, but maybe it was the night shadows. I still couldn't see the details of his body. But I did see his free hand holding something.
“-I got-” he wailed, then collapsed.
“JOHN!” I ran full-speed to him, and reached him in seconds.
It wasn't John. His hair was short stubble and red. It was the killer, and John was who he was dragging. In his free hand was a tape recorder. I screamed, jerking my body back, trying to double back to run, but his hands clasped hard around my ankle and he tore me back to him as my body writhed in the sand and brush, twisting like a strangled cat, trying to get away. He managed to drag me, inch by screaming inch to him, his determined face was breathing hard from the exertion as he finally raised a rock and brought it down to the side of my head.
“Ain't nothin' sweeter than those Georgia peaches!” Jen and I sang, dancing to the tune. Maleah was dozing off in the passenger seat.
We were off on our way to the Mojave desert, the convertible top rolled down, dancing on top of the car seats, wind blowing in our hair refreshing us, as we drank and sang; moving our hips, flipping our hair, and twisting our torsos in dance. John was at the wheel, stealing a look back at us when he couldn't resist.
“Georgia Peaches!” Jen sang the last part as I wriggled my butt this way and that. We both laughed hysterically. Hunched up in my hysterics was when I saw the large, beat up, black car behind us.
“Hahh, you think he's having some fun watchin' us?” I exclaimed.
“Hell yeah!” yelled Jen as she started dancing to the next tune. I looked uncomfortably for a moment at the car behind us, wondering whose eyes were watching behind the tinted window. But then Jen started singing lines at me and I sang some back at her, forgetting the guy and dancing to the next tune. My hair was getting blown everywhere.
“Ah!” I awoke to chains clinking in a chorus against the shed's wall.
Light streamed into the shack, the heavy doors had been kicked open with enough force to slam against their accompanying walls. An icy blade of horror swept through me as I realized I was on his bed, one of my wrists tied to the frame in the farthest corner which was pinned against the wall. I scrambled to the corner and brought my knees up to shield from any attack.
He came in after I had positioned myself in the corner of the bed against the wood planks holding the tiny room together. As if he were biding his time. As he walked in he grinned an awkward smile at me.
His smile left, a barrenness in his eyes much like the desert, washed over his face instantly. Silent still, he turned his back to me and slung a bloody hand towel over the chair Maleah had been sitting on. From the window behind it I could see the other shed.
I swallowed my horror. “...I know Maleah is dead. Will you please tell me if John is too?”
He turned his head barely looking my way, the profile of his chiseled face showing off his prominent nose. “No.” he quietly answered. It was obvious the 'no' meant he wouldn't tell me.
I was about to ask him if he would not give me any relief, when I realized he could take that the wrong way and I held my words back just in time.
He cleared his throat, and walked over to the rustic dresser by the nightstand, I tucked my legs to me further cringing away from him as he pulled out an old ratty work towel and wiped dirt and sweat off his face. He then proceeded to wipe blood off his hands. Some of it was too stained to be wiped away without water. He ignored the bits that wouldn't wipe away, setting down the cloth and fingering some of the hunting knives he had lined up in a row on top of the dresser. His eyes looked up from them at me. There was silence as we looked at each other; cold, blue eyes against his penetrating gray, we both seemed to know what the other was thinking and I seemed to actually see him-something in his eyes for the first time, that was not masked over. Something bare and laid to judgment before me, if only for one moment in time. He was the first to break the gaze, and looked away, dropping the hilt of the knife back to it's place as he turned his back to me.
I decided he might actually tell me something now. I didn't dare mention John, but I hadn't seen Jen's body.
“If you won't answer me whether John is dead,” my voice broke the silence, unwelcome and tense. “Would you tell me...is Jen dead?”
“Yes.” he answered curtly, as he grabbed the towel off the dresser and stalked out.