The Beautiful Thing That Awaits Us All - By Laird Barron Page 0,89

people on occasion, albeit only in defense of his employer. Franco didn’t look like muscle—short and trim, his hair was professionally styled and his clothes were tailored. His face was soft and unscarred. He didn’t have scars because he’d always been better with his guns and knives than his enemies were with theirs. Franco said, “Marvin Cortez? Oh, yeah. My boss was friends with him. If this goon scared you so much, why’d you stick around?”

“I dunno, Frankie. ‘Cause it turned me on for a while, I guess. Who the hell knows why I do anything?” She pushed around her glass of slushed ice cubes and vodka so it caught the light coming through the window and multiplied it on the tablecloth. This was late afternoon. The light was heavy and reddish orange.

“Okay. What happened in the dream?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Huh.”

“Huh, what?”

“Dreams are messages from the subconscious. They’re full of symbols.”

“You get a shrink degree I don’t know about?”

“No, my sister worked as a research assistant in a clinic. Where were you?”

“In bed. The whole bed was on a mountain, or something. Marvin stood at the foot of the bed and there was a drop off. The wind blew his hair around, but it didn’t touch me. I was pretty scared of the cliff, though.”

“Why?”

“My bed was practically teetering on the edge, dumbbell.”

“This Marvin, guy. Did he do anything?”

“He stared at me—and he was too big. Granted, Marvo really was a hulking dude, Ron Perlman big and ugly, but this was extreme, and I got the impression he would’ve turned into a giant if the dream had lasted longer. His expression weirded me out. I realized it wasn’t really him. Looked like him, except not. More like a mask and it changed as I watched. He was turning into someone else entirely and I woke up before it completely happened.”

Franco nodded and tapped his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. “Clearly you’ve got feelings for this palooka.”

“Don’t be so jealous. He skipped on me. Haven’t heard from the jerk in years. Weirdest part about the dream is when I opened my eyes the bedroom was pitch black. Except…the closet door opened a bit and this creepy red light came through the crack. Damndest thing. I’m still half zonked, so it’s all unreal at first. Then I started to freak. I mean, there’s nothing in the closet to make a red glow, and the light itself made my hairs prickle. Something was really, really wrong. Then the door clicked shut and the room went dark again. I’d drunk waaay too many margaritas earlier, so I fell asleep.”

“You never woke up in the first place,” he said. “Dream within a dream. The red light was your alarm clock. Nothing mysterious or creepy about that.”

Carol gave him a look. She wore oversized sunglasses that hid her eyes, but the point was clear. She snapped her fingers until a waiter came over. She ordered a rum and coke and made him take the vodka away. “Thing is, this got me thinking. I realize I’ve been having these dreams all week. I just keep forgetting.”

“Your boyfriend in all of them?” Franco tried not to sound petulant. His vodka was down to the rocks and he hadn’t asked the waiter for another.

“Not only him. Lots of other people. My mom and dad. A girlfriend from high school that got killed in a crash. My grandparents. Everybody guest starring in my dreams is dead. Except for Marvo—and hell, for all I know he bit the dust. He who lives by the sword and all that.”

“This is true,” Franco said, thinking of the time a guy swung a machete at his head and missed.

Carol glanced at her watch. She picked up her prim little handbag. “Let’s go fuck. Karla’s doing my hair later.”

II.

He stripped her in a half-dozen expert movements and had her crossways on the low, narrow bed, a pillow under her hips because he wanted to work her over with a vengeance. His blood boiled after their conversation regarding her old goon boyfriend. She was voluptuous as a ‘50s pinup and white as milk and her body amazed him. He held her hips and pushed toward climax while she cried out, shoulders and head suspended off the mattress, her fingers twisted in the sheets. He drove, and the bed moved an inch or two with each thrust, adding grooves to the warped and stained floorboards. Then, he came, crashing the bed with enough force to surely jolt