Bitter Sweets by G. A. McKevett Page A

writing, which looked as though it had been scrawled in haste. “He didn’t even sign it?”

    “Guess not,” the clerk said with a shrug as he leaned over the counter to glance at the note. As though he hadn’t already read it.

    “What did he say when he gave it to you?”

    “Just said something like, ‘There’s gonna be a lady come in here by the name of Savannah Reid. She’ll be asking for me. Give her this.’ Then he sorta grinned and handed that to me.”

    “He grinned? What do you mean, he grinned? Was it a nice, friendly smile?”

    “Nope. It sure wasn’t. It was one of those weird grins like people give you when they’re enjoying something they shouldn’t.”

    Savannah mentally digested that for a moment, then pushed a bit further. “Do you mean like a mischievous gr-”

    “I don’t know, lady.” The clerk settled back into his chair, obviously tired of the subject and eager to return to his television viewing. “Just a weird look. That’s all I can tell you. That and .. . well... it kinda gave me the creeps.”

    “Gave you the creeps,” Savannah muttered as she turned to leave, clutching the terse note in her palm, which had suddenly grown moist and cold.

    Her client had disappeared abruptly, without collecting57
    the information he had hired her to uncover, without paying her the remainder of what he owed, leaving behind only a three-word message and a smile which even a weirdo had described as “weird.”

    Not good, she decided. Definitely not good. “Don’t cry, Christy. Everything’s all right. Mommy’s here now and you don’t have to worry about anything.”

    Cradling her sobbing daughter in her arms, Lisa Mallock tried to sound more calm and confident than she felt.

    That ghostly, nocturnal creature, the Night Mare, had galloped across the landscape of more than one victim’s dreams tonight, it seemed. Lisa herself had been plagued with disturbing images of violent confrontations, off and on all night. Perhaps most disturbing of all was the fact that in her dreams she was losing those battles. And there was so much at stake; she simply couldn’t afford to lose.

    Just before dawn she had awakened to find Christy standing beside her bed, weeping. She had pulled the shivering child into her bed and snuggled her close. Lisa didn’t want to think about how much she needed that comforting contact herself. How weak and vulnerable she felt at this point in her life.

    “Daddy’s gonna find us again.” Christy buried her face against her mother’s neck. Lisa could feel the child’s tears, wet and warm, tickling down her skin. “He’s going to hurt us. I know, because I saw him in my dream.”

    “A dream is just a story that your imagination tells when you’re asleep, honey.” Lisa stroked the glossy copper curls, so like her own, and kissed the girl’s forehead. She tasted salty with sweat. “Dreams are like fairy tales. Some are pretty, and some are scary. But none of them are real.”

    “Then Daddy isn’t going to find us, ever again?”

    By the light of the bedside lamp, Lisa saw the innocence, the trust in her daughter’s eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to lie to the child. “I don’t know if he will or not. But even if he does, you don’t have to worry. I’ll keep you safe.”

    The words seemed to have little effect on the girl. Reaching up with her small hand, Christy stroked her mother’s cheek. “I know you will. But Daddy’s really big and strong. Mommy, who’s going to keep you safe?”

    Who, indeed? Lisa wondered, trying to find an honest answer that would reassure her daughter. And herself.

    The courts? The police? They hadn’t been much help in the past.

    “My husband is going to kill me someday,” she had told them, again and again. “Really, he will. It’s just a matter of time.”

    “Get a restraining order,” they would suggest.

    “I have one.”

    “So, when he shows up at your door, give us a call,” they had