Lauren wasn’t like other women, he decided. In the past when he needed a release, a quick jerk-off usually sufficed. But some how he knew it wouldn’t for Lauren. And the visualization would disappoint him. It would cheapen her, in his mind only perhaps.
But Curran didn’t want to do that.
Tempting as it was.
He lay in bed with his hands behind his head, feeling the press of his palms against the back of his skull. So what could he do to win her over? What could he do to make peace with his own doubts?
Maybe I should just believe everything, he thought. Maybe I should just have some faith.
Maybe Kwon’s right.
Curran hopped out of bed and felt the thin carpeting greet the undersides of his socks as he padded down the hall to the bathroom. A cold breeze danced along the hallway with him.
He paused.
Cold breezes seemed to be all around him lately.
And damned if he knew why.
He walked into the bathroom.
The breeze came with him.
He pulled down his boxer shorts and tried to urinate.
The breeze cloyed at him.
He frowned. Hadn’t he heard something, sometime way back in his past about the cold being the herald of the dead?
In the darkness, he squinted. Was that a shadow moving outside in the hallway?
He sighed and tried to press his bladder. A thin trickle came out of the tip of his penis, dribbling into the bowl. The air grew even colder.
Curran grew more frustrated.
He cleared his throat.
— caught himself.
What the hell are you gonna say, sport? He thought. You gonna talk to the dead here in the cold confines of your bathroom? That’s a great way to start, ain’t it?
He sighed, plopped his member back on the inside of his shorts and padded back to the bedroom.
The cold followed him.
He shivered under the covers.
“What do you want?” he whispered. “What?”
It got colder.
“Jesus,” he said without thinking.
His curtains shifted. Almost fluttering in the darkness.
But the window’s closed, he thought. How the hell is that happening if the window’s closed?
Images floated into his mind. He saw Lauren. He saw himself. Curran tried to direct the flow of images to include a passionate love scene.
But it wouldn’t work.
Something else seemed to be in control. Curran saw images of Lauren scared. He saw himself scared as well. And then he saw the shadow looming over them both. Darkness and cold seeped everywhere in his consciousness.
Under the covers, Curran shivered violently.
And kept his eyes shut.
The images changed, split almost in two as if he were seeing double. He could see Lauren lying on the floor, in some kind of carved sarcophagus. Beside her, he could see Lauren smiling at him. But it was an evil wicked smile, full of hatred for him — but not just for him. For all humans.
The images changed again and Curran saw a big jar with strange writing on it. It was filled with some kind of bubbling frothy liquid. And in his mind, Curran could smell it now, the fermenting vile substance that it contained.
In his mind, he moved closer to the jar. He could see his hands reach out toward it. He came closer. He leaned toward the gunk inside. He peered closer. Was it boiling? A bubble rose to the surface and popped, coating Curran’s face.
A little dribbled toward his lips and Curran’s tongue flicked instinctively.
And tasted it.
He sat bolt upright, eyes flying open.
A dream.
His stomach rolled and churned.
Not a dream-
My God!
Curran threw off the sheets.
Ran down the hallway — hadn’t he just been here?
In the bathroom he clawed for the sink. Felt his insides buck and vault skyward the contents of his stomach. It came out of him in a rush of seething acid — chunks of undigested dinner mixed with the orange juice he’d had before bed. His throat burned.
He turned the spigot and cold water rushed out into the sink, swirling the bloated mixture around before washing it down the drain. Curran scooped some into his mouth, washing it around and spitting it back into the porcelain sink. He sucked down some more, tilted his head back and gargled it, trying to quell the burning.
He scooped more onto his suddenly hot face. It ran over his eyes and cheeks. He felt so hot, like the water would almost boil off his skin and evaporate into the night.
He drank a few mouthfuls and then finished washing the sink out. He could still smell his own puke. But thankfully his stomach seemed calm once again.
His hands found the small towel he kept beside the sink and pressed it to his face. The material sucked in the water and dried him. He dabbed it across his skin and then let it fall back to the sink edge.
In the mirror above the sink, he looked at himself.
And sighed.
What the hell was happening to him?”
Chapter Sixteen
“You look like crap, Steve.”
Curran flipped the bird to his co-worker as he walked through the doors to the homicide unit. “Last thing I need right now, pal.”
The truth was he felt like crap, too. Of course, heaving up dinner into the bathroom sink didn’t normally leave him feeling too spiffy. Coupled with the weird dream he’d had and the subsequent lack of sleep, it was no wonder the other guys in the department all gave him strange looks.
The last thing he wanted to do today was come to work.
No rest for the wicked, he thought with a wry grin.
He slid into the seat at his desk and turned on the computer. The machine beeped twice, warmed up and prompted him for his passwords. Curran typed them in. His phone rang.
“Curran.”
Kwon’s voice sounded hoarse. “It’s me.”
“You go out drinking last night after I dropped you off? You sound like you gargled sandpaper.”
“Sick, I think. Anyway, I just got the carbon-dating results on that button you found last night.”
“Already?”
“I got a lot of people in this town who owe me favors besides the likes of you, pal. I collected on one of them.”
