PRESENT TENSE
Chapter Eight
Rose slowly made her way down the stairs.
The morning sun lit the dining area of her home, but for some reason she felt cold
and afraid. Someone was there, waiting. As she stepped into the room, she saw
Cal standing in front of the counter, watching her with a knowing smirk on his
face. She turned to run, but it was as though her feet were glued to the floor.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t get away. His hand connected with her face, opening
a jagged line below her eye. Then his hands were on her, tearing at her
clothes. Rose struggled, but she couldn’t stop him. Suddenly, Jack was there,
grabbing Cal, driving him away from her. She watched helplessly as they fought
over her, wanting them to stop, but unable even to cry out. The diamond ring
flashed in the sunlight, and two cops dragged Jack away as he shouted to her.
The earth shook, and Jack was trapped in the prison cell, as the guard
sprawled, bleeding, over a once pristine desk. An ax smacked against the
ceiling, and the smell of smoke filled the room. The ceiling caved in, and Cal
was there, brandishing a gun. Rose tried to stop him, but she wasn’t fast
enough; it was as though she were wading through icy molasses. A shot rang out,
and Jack fell to the ground, blood pouring out of him and running into the
gutter. Cal turned on her, moving closer and closer. Another shot rang out, and
the walls collapsed. She screamed...
*****
"Jesus!" The book flew from Mari’s
hands, sliding down between two beds. She reached down, fishing for it, as Rose
sat up, her hands clamped over her mouth, trying to stifle her terrified
screams. The person in the next room banged on the wall, yelling.
Mari threw the book at the wall, narrowly
missing Rose. "You shut up!" she screeched. There was a pause
on the other side, followed by laughter. Mari’s colorful response filled the
air.
Rose clutched at her pillow, trying to calm
her pounding heart. It was just a dream, she told herself, over and
over. It’s over; it can’t hurt you...
She nearly jumped out of her skin as Mari
limped over to pick up her book. "You sure can scream," Mari told
Rose. "Nightmare?"
"Nightmare, daymare, reality...what time
is it?"
"It’s twelve o’clock. You’ve been asleep
for about forty-five minutes. I didn’t think people started dreaming until
they’d been asleep several hours. I guess my high school biology teacher was
wrong."
"It’s almost afternoon. I need to
leave."
"I’ll take you over to Memorial at
three," Michelle told her. "Now go back to sleep."
"No, I want to leave now."
"At three."
"Now!"
"Nope." Michelle wasn’t letting
Rose run off. "It’s three miles to Memorial Hospital, so I don’t suggest
you try to walk. And I’ve got the car keys."
"Why don’t you just let me drive myself?
I’ll bring your car back."
"I’d love to see you try. It’s a stick
shift, so you need both feet to operate it. And I don’t think that ankle will
allow it."
"You promise you’ll bring me over there
at three?"
"Cross my heart."
"But not your fingers," Rose told
her, lying back down. "I can’t sleep, though."
"Fine. Do what you want. Just don’t
scream."
Rose lay back. She was still exhausted, but
the nightmare made her afraid to sleep again. Every time her eyes started to
close, the terrifying vision returned, and she jumped awake.
Mari noticed. "You know, Rose, I know of
something that might help."
"Mari, I am not trying one of your
herbal concoctions. I’d probably wind up in a coma myself."
Mari looked offended. "This stuff is
perfectly safe. I bought it at GNC."
"What is it?"
"It’s valerian. It’s good for insomnia
and anxiety, and I bet it would help you."
Rose thought for a moment. She had heard of
it before, but still...
"All right, I’ll try it. But if this stuff
kills me, I’m coming back to haunt you."
"It won’t. Trust me." Mari rummaged
in the cardboard box she kept under her bed, finally emerging triumphant with a
small plastic bottle of valerian capsules. She twisted off the cap and handed
two to Rose, along with a small bottle of water.
"Don’t bite them. The stuff smells like
dirty socks," she warned Rose, as Rose looked at the capsules
suspiciously. She finally gulped them down, consuming half the water in the
process.
"You know what else might help?" Mari
rummaged under her bed again. "Music."
"Not that awful folk music,"
Michelle complained.
"It’s wonderful," Mari retorted.
"And I’d bet Rose will like it, too. She’s so into human rights, and this
singer, Pete Seeger, sang all about that stuff. Besides, music soothes the
savage beast."
"I’m not a beast!"
"You’re a human," Mari replied,
putting the CD into the player and attaching the headphones. "Come on,
just try it. This one is called American Industrial Ballads. My dad
bought me a whole collection of this stuff last Christmas. So, when you start
thinking about...whatever it is that’s giving you nightmares, just think about
all the misery that other people have, and you’ll forget about it."
"Wonderful," Rose said dryly, but
she accepted the headphones and switched on the music. Lying back, she pulled
the afghan over herself and concentrated on the music. It was soothing, she had
to admit after a moment. Not so much because of the subject material, but
because it was good music. If she concentrated upon the rhythm, instead of the
words, she found it very relaxing.
Halfway through Eight-Hour Day, she
was sound asleep again, and the nightmare did not return.