JК
Ыоуве Been Warned :: Patterson James
Страница: 36 из 138This isn’t a chance encounter, is it? Could he be a detective? Maybe he works with the older, skinny guy? That makes some sense to me, as much as anything does lately.
He comes up to me and stands maybe,oh, I don’t know, two feet away.
“You were watching me,” I say. “You were staring.”
“You caught me. You’re very pretty, y’know. You must know that?”
I do – kind of. Usually I dress down, but not tonight. Maybe because I feel safe with my girls around.
I start to say something, but he raises his hand and cuts me off. Like he’s used to being in control.
“Listen. You seem like a nice person. You ought to really watch yourself. Be careful, huh?” He leans in real close. Too close. “I’m not kidding around. You’ve been warned.”
Chapter 28
NOT AGAIN.
Please, not again.
I awake the next morning to everything repeating itself. Well, actually, that’s not accurate.
This time I open my eyes to total darkness. Not the darkness of a room in the middle of the night. Like – nothingness. Blackness.
With a sound track – that unidentified song playing in my head.
Then comes picture – the dream – the four gurneys, the hand emerging from that body bag… and I’m jolting up in bed, screaming, sweating, trembling.
I hear a loud banging, only it’s not at my door.
This time it’s coming from my ceiling, or rather, from the apartment above me. Apparently it’s not only Mrs. and Mr. Herbert Rosencrantz I’m waking up at the crack of dawn.
“Sorry!” I shout out. I truly am.
Double sorry because it’s Saturday.
I hope my upstairs neighbor will be able to get back to sleep. As for me, I know I can’t. Or won’t. As exhausted as I am from being out last night with Connie and Beth, I’m not about to close my eyes again. It doesn’t matter that I’ve got the weekend off. My dream – this nightmare – doesn’t.
Besides, how could I sleep with this music in my head?
It’s still there – the mystery song. Worse, I think it’s getting louder.
Or is that just my head throbbing? Yesterday was Michael’s turn to have the hangover; today it’s mine.
Slowly, I will myself out of bed and into the bathroom, where I shake a couple of aspirin into my hand, washing them down with some New York tap.
Then it’s straight to the kitchen to make some coffee.
I’m not much of a java junkie and usually only drink the stuff for “medicinal purposes.
He comes up to me and stands maybe,oh, I don’t know, two feet away.
“You were watching me,” I say. “You were staring.”
“You caught me. You’re very pretty, y’know. You must know that?”
I do – kind of. Usually I dress down, but not tonight. Maybe because I feel safe with my girls around.
I start to say something, but he raises his hand and cuts me off. Like he’s used to being in control.
“Listen. You seem like a nice person. You ought to really watch yourself. Be careful, huh?” He leans in real close. Too close. “I’m not kidding around. You’ve been warned.”
Chapter 28
NOT AGAIN.
Please, not again.
I awake the next morning to everything repeating itself. Well, actually, that’s not accurate.
This time I open my eyes to total darkness. Not the darkness of a room in the middle of the night. Like – nothingness. Blackness.
With a sound track – that unidentified song playing in my head.
Then comes picture – the dream – the four gurneys, the hand emerging from that body bag… and I’m jolting up in bed, screaming, sweating, trembling.
I hear a loud banging, only it’s not at my door.
This time it’s coming from my ceiling, or rather, from the apartment above me. Apparently it’s not only Mrs. and Mr. Herbert Rosencrantz I’m waking up at the crack of dawn.
“Sorry!” I shout out. I truly am.
Double sorry because it’s Saturday.
I hope my upstairs neighbor will be able to get back to sleep. As for me, I know I can’t. Or won’t. As exhausted as I am from being out last night with Connie and Beth, I’m not about to close my eyes again. It doesn’t matter that I’ve got the weekend off. My dream – this nightmare – doesn’t.
Besides, how could I sleep with this music in my head?
It’s still there – the mystery song. Worse, I think it’s getting louder.
Or is that just my head throbbing? Yesterday was Michael’s turn to have the hangover; today it’s mine.
Slowly, I will myself out of bed and into the bathroom, where I shake a couple of aspirin into my hand, washing them down with some New York tap.
Then it’s straight to the kitchen to make some coffee.
I’m not much of a java junkie and usually only drink the stuff for “medicinal purposes.