Part 32 (1/2)

The after-image remained: The teeth.

Jesus G.o.d...

Jagged fangs, just like a dog's or a wolf's.

Phil kicked the sheets off his bed. He leaned up in the dark and sighed heavily. Another dream, he thought. They're wearing me out...

This was an understatement. The dreams drained him. He felt hungover and exhausted now, mentally sapped and as physically devitalized as if he'd just dug ditches for six hours.

The dreams were boring into his mind, piece by piece unearthing what had happened that day twenty-five years ago. And there was one thing he was sure of- There were still a few more pieces.

Why couldn't he remember?

Do I even want to remember?

Phil didn't think he did.

Vicki was still asleep on the couch, tossing fitfully. Her red hair lay across her face like a crimson drape, and she seemed to mumble things in her slumber. The room was stiflingly hot; sweat s.h.i.+ned evenly as lacquer on the V of skin that her blouse exposed. Phil slipped into the bathroom and took a quick, cold shower, but as soon as he stepped out, he was burning up again. With a towel about his waist, he went to his dresser, was about to reach for some shorts, when ”Nuh-nuh-no!”

Phil turned and looked quizzically at Vicki. Her eyes squeezed shut against her sleep, and, evidently, against a nightmare. At least I'm not the only one who has them, Phil considered.

”No, pleeeeeeeease...”

Indeed, Vicki was dreaming up a storm, tossing and turning in the torment of her own mind. Phil wondered what she was dreaming about, but then he thought he had a pretty good idea, considering what had happened to her last night.

”Ona... Ona,” she murmured on.

Phil's eyes narrowed.

”Skeet...inner...”

He peered at her.

”Ona...prey...bee.”

What?

Phil leaned closer, studying her.

Then, very clearly, and with her eyes shut so tight her face distorted, she whispered: ”Mannona.”

Dream jibberish?Phil wondered. But...

The word sounded familiar, and now that he thought of it, so had the other words she'd mumbled.

Onn. Ona.

Skeet-inner Ona-prey-bee.

And, especially: ”Mannona,” the whisper came off his lips.

Phil felt momentarily adrift.

Then it dawned on him. Last night. The ambush at Blackjack's. Now he remembered. That last Creeker kid, he'd said the same words, right before I blew him away.

Yes...

Phil felt sure of it.

What did the words mean? Or did they mean anything? Was it part of the Creekers' sublanguage? Most were clearly deficient in verbal skills- ”Mannona,” Vicki again whispered in her sleep.

Then she sprang bolt upright and screamed.

”Jesus Christ, Vicki!” He rushed to her, to try and settle her down. The scream had rung out like a siren, and shocked her awake. Phil leaned over, gently jostling her by the shoulders.

”Vicki, Vicki, are you okay?”

Her eyes were frozen open, bloodshot. She s.h.i.+vered where she sat and just stared...

”Vicki?”

”Oh...oh, G.o.d,” she muttered and finally came out of it. She numbly pushed her hair back, her eyes fluttering. Phil could actually see a vein in her neck beating manically.

”Are you okay?” he asked again.

”Yeah. I-”

”You must have had yourself one h.e.l.l of a nightmare.”

She paused, catching her breath. Her hand came shakily to her bosom. ”I did. It was...awful.”

”I guess so. You screamed so loud you probably woke up every stiff in Beall Cemetery.”

”Sorry,” she wavered. She shook her head, rubbed her eyes. ”I have nightmares like that all the time.”

”What was it about?” Phil asked.

”Nothing, nothing-”