Dreams Ch.1: Night Terror

It was dark, even with the street lights illuminating the parking lot. There were shallows puddles here and there, leftover from the rain two days ago. The lot was mostly empty, save for a solitary white car parked in the center. The lot bordered on the Taunton River, and the only sound came from the highway bridge crossing it a half-mile upstream. The air was cool and damp, and the sky was overcast with dark clouds. The aur held something else, though. It was tense and almost alarming. Something just wasn't right.



His boots clomped on the cracked asphalt loudly. He walked calmly, but briskly. He was in no rush, but he wasn't wasting time either. He wore a black leather jacket and black jeans. His face bore a thick beard, and a black cap sat upon his head. His face was pale and it showed even at night. His face was stern and tense. His body language was very calm, but his heart was racing. He carried with him a black briefcase.



Walking up to the car, he placed the brifcase on its hood and looked across the parking lot towards the small shack that formd the offices of the used car business. The windows were dark, and nothing moved around the shack. The cars parked in front ot the shack were quiet, and seemed as if they were just abandoned there. He stared across the lot, waiting. He looked at his wtach. He was two minutes early. He wouldn't have long to wait.



Something caught his eye. A glint if light, a tiny flash from behind one of the cars. He didn't move his head, but jst his eyes. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and his heart skiped a beat. Instinctively, he reached behind him slowly and slid his hand under his jacket. He gripped the cold handle of his Beretta 9mm pistol tightly.



"Damn," he said under his breath.



Several figures leapt up from behind the parked cars, all holding a shoulder-fired weapon. He instictvley drew his gun as he dropped behind the car. Automatic fire erupted from the line of cars. The loud chatter filled the air as rounds impacted the car and the asphalt around it. Glass shattered and the tires on the side of the car facing the gunmen blew out. His heart was racing and he breathed fast and heavy. He reached up and pulled the briefcase down off the hood of the car.



The moment the gunfire stopped, he threw the briefcase over around the hood. It landed on the asphalt with a clunk and slid a few feet towards the gunmen.



"Just fucking take it!" he cried. "It's all there!"



He heard quiet chatting from the direction of the gunmen. He looked under the car and tried to see tem. He could se one crouch walking around a car and making his way towards the briefcase. He held his breath as the gunman stalked towards it, and after what felt like an eterinty, he reached it. He looked around and at the car before snatching it and running back towards his fellows. He sat back aup against te wheel of the car, and exhaled heavily. He held his Beretta at the ready.



Looking around him, he surveyed his position. The street, and his car, were about forty yards to his right. But he would surely be gunned down. The river was twenty yards to his left. But the river would quickly cart him out into the Atlantic. Either way, it appeard that he was dead either way. Looking back under the car, he saw two of them crouch walking towards his position. He slid down to prone, and aimed at them with his Beretta. He put two shots into the chest of one and three into the other. thy both dropped, one of them screaming. Automatic fire erupted, and began to pepper the car with bullets again. He pulled himself up and waited for his opportunity.



The firing stopped after a few seconds, and he knew they were reloading. He took his opportunity. He bolted from the car, and pumped himself as hard as he could. He ran as fast his legs would carry him, but it felt like he was barely moving forward. The street and his car seemed as if they were a mile away. Looking over his shoulkder, he saw them running fom behind the cars and out under the glow of the street lamp. Brown outfits with black boots and rifles with banana magazines.



He turned as he ran and aimed hi Beretta. He began to fire at tem, not aiming but just firing. They began to fire bck, but this time they had a clear line of sight. Rounds tore through his torso, and his whole body screamed in pain. He lost his balance and momentum, and hit the ground with a sickening thud. He was looking up at the sky, his breathe labored and gurgling. His white shirt had turned a dark crimson. As he lay in a rapidly expanding pool of his own blood, a light rain began to fall. He looked up ton the crying sky, as his final breath escaped his lips. Two men walked over and dragged him over towards the river, and threw him in.







Shayna jolted awake, sitting up in her bed. Her heart was beating so hard, her chest hurt and sh was almost hyperventilating. Her pajama shirt was soaked in sweat. She was shaking all over and her face felt as if it were on fire. Sh went into an anxiety attack the moment she woke up, and immediatley started crying. She covered her mouth with her hand, muffling her crying as best she could. Tears steamed down her cheeks and over her hand, falling onto her blankets. She kept replaying the horrible image in her mind over and over. She wated to stop, but she just couldn't.



Her bedroom light suddenly came on, and she looked towards her door. Her brother stood in the doorway, his hand still on the light switch. His hair was messy and his shirt was wrinkled from being in bed.



"Shayna, what's wrong? Are you alright?" he said.



She shook her head, and he sat down on the bed next to her. He put his arm around her shoulders. She was still crying.



"What's wrong?" he asked again.



She wiped her eyes and tried to speak through her sobs. Her eyes were averted to the floor.



"I-I-I had a dream that...that my friend Brett w-was killed. he...he was shot in a parking lot and thrown into the river. Oh my God..." she wailed, and began to cry again.



Her brother tightened his grip on her shoulders an pulled her into him. She cried into his chest for a few minutes before he pulled her up nad made her look at him.



"Hey, it was just a dream; calm down. I'm sure he's fine. It was just a bad dream,"



"It felt so real and it was so horrible," she whimpered.



"I know, but it's okay. Call him tomorrow, I'm sure he's totally alright,"



"I wan to call him now," she said.



"I don't think he'd appreciate that too much. It's three o'clock in the morning,"



Shayna sighed loudly.



"I'm sorry. I'm freaking out over a dream,"



"It's okay, don't worry about it,"



Shayna hugged her brother tightly.



"Thanks, Jake. You're the best,"



Jake kissed her on the head and went back to his room.



Shayna lay in her bed in the darkness. She knew she wouldn't be going back to sleep. As much as she knew it was just a dream, it felt like no other nightmare she had ever had. It felt way to real, and it was just so terrifying an image. She still tried not to replay the image of Brett getting shot to pieces in her head, but it was hard. She had herself under control, but she was still upset. She was uncomfortable as well. Her shirt and sheets were soaked with sweat, and by now they were cold.



She flipped her covers off the bed, and got up. She walked over to her closet, and pulled out another pair of pajamas. She stook off her soaked Red Santa jammies, and put on her green Mistletoe jammies. The fresh pajams felt nice and soft and warm on her skin, and she already felt better. She pulled her covers off her bed, and used her bathrobe as a blanket. As she climbed back into her bed, she looked at her cell phone sitting on her nightstand. She looked at for a minute or two, debating on whether or not she should call him. She knew he was alright, but she knew that hearuing his voice would make her feel better. She grabbed it off the nightstand, and began to scroll down her contacts until she got to Brett's number, and hit the dial button. She lay in her bed, listening to the phone ring on the other end. Finally, it picked up.



"Hello?" came a tired sounding masculine voice.



"Hey, Brett," Shayna said, trying to sound as calm as possible.



"Hey, Shayna; what's up, everything alright?



"Well, yes and no," she replied.



"Why, what's up?"



"I'm sorry to call you at this time of night, but I had a wicked fucked up dream about you,"



"Oh, I see. What happened?"



"Well, you were supposed to meet someone in a parking lot down near the river and...you were killed. A bunch guys came out and shot you to peices,"



"Damn. that's nasty,"



"Yeah, it had me wicked freaked out. Jake was sitting here with me for ten minutes trying to calm me down,"



"Well, I'm okay. I got Sledge here next to me, and ain't nobody getting through him," Brett said, referrig to his German Shepherd-Rottweiler mixed dog.



"Yeah, I'm sorry I woke you up. I just had to hear your voice,"



"No, it's alright. I understand. Want to meet up tomorrow, have lunch or something?"



"Yeah, that'd be great,"



"Okay. I'll come pick you up around like non, okay?"



"Okay, I'll see you then. Thanks," Shayna said.



"Okay,"



Shayna said bye and hung up her phone. She placed it back on her nightstand and laid back down inher bed. She looked up at her white ceiling, and thought about the dream she had. She tried t sift her thoughts elsewhere, but she had no luck. eventually, though, she went back to sleep and awoke the next moning with no sequels to her nightmare.