Evil Dreams by John Tigges Page A

toward the six.
    Trina turned into the alley behind the mansion, pressing the electric eye button to open the garage door. Carefully driving ahead, she parked the Mustang and turned off the ignition. Her hands shook and she was vaguely aware of a drop of sweat trickling between her breasts. Feeling light-headed, she suddenly thought of Jon. He had to be all right. He would be all right.
    The car door seemed to resist opening and with a quiet grunt, she pushed until it swung clear of the frame. Stepping out, she locked it, and stood swaying for a moment. Her knees trembling, she leaned against the side of the auto to regain her equilibrium. Dizziness gave way to an overwhelming fright and she felt ill, fighting the gagging urge to vomit. She had to be strong now when Jon needed her most.
     
    The minute hand moved slowly, inexorably past three twenty-eight while Jon remained rooted in his rigid position. Droplets of sweat drenched his face, his soaked shirt clinging to his body. In the distance he could hear the cheering.
    Shaking her shoulders, Trina valiantly tried to throw off the heavy-hearted depression that had gripped her since entering the garage. She took a tentative step toward the door, which led outside, happily discovering she felt better.
    The screams of adulation faded away and Jon could hear the pounding of his own running feet.
    Her heels clicking on the concrete floor, Trina crossed the dim garage, gray with subdued sunlight fighting its way in through grimy windows.
    Plunging headlong through the familiar dream forest, Jon could feel his wildly beating heart. His body and seared lungs ached.
    Forgetting the locked garage door, Trina came to an abrupt stop, opening her handbag for her keys. She found the ring with the tiny yarn ball attached, pulling them out only to drop them. Quickly retrieving the ring, she inserted the key.
    Jon shrank back from the people grabbing at him with emaciated fingers, their sallow faces deformed with loathing.
    Turning the lock, Trina opened the door wide. The wash of fresh air made her immediately feel more comfortable. Closing the garage, she inhaled the glorious day’s clean, fresh air. Leaves on the trees in the back yard were almost full size and the rich, green foliage hid chirping birds. She made her way toward the walk leading past the side of the house. In minutes she would be with Jon.
     
    The fog parted and Jon saw the figure of the blond woman motioning for him to join her. Knowing the people pressing about him would not impede his course, he began approaching the indistinct form.
    Trina loved this time of year—the reawakening of nature, the comforting thoughts of school being dismissed soon, a new routine for her and Jon during the next three months. Both enjoyed summer since they could be together that much more. Feeling impulsively satisfied with her love for him, she broke into an ecstatic smile.
    The blond woman now lay at his feet. He tried vainly to repel the cajoling pantomime of the pressing crowd. He shook his head furiously but knew he could not resist. He would obey.
    Trina turned the corner and bounced up the eight steps to the portico.
    Slowly he raised the dream gun to his temple, at the same time squeezing the trigger.
    The tumblers quietly flipped over in the outer door.
    Jon felt the burning headache begin …
    Trina inserted the key in the lock of their apartment. She turned the knob as Jon screamed.
    Throwing the door open, she saw him fall from his chair at the desk. The sight of blood flowing from his eyes, nose, ears and mouth transfixed her in the entryway, unable to move.
    Her breath came in short gasps as her own cry of terror built. “Oh, my God!” she screamed, running to the still form of her husband. Lifting his head, she cradled it as she sat on the floor. “Oh, my good God,” she wailed, tears dropping from her face to mix with the blood covering her husband’s face. “What happened? What happened? Oh, God! Oh, God! What