New York to Dallas (In Death 33)

He decided then and there to make one titled “Eve Dallas.” He imagined the staging, the props, the lighting. He considered writing some dialogue, for both of them.

Wouldn’t it be fun to force her to speak his words?

He could barely wait to produce it, direct it. And view it, over and over after he’d killed her.

21

Near dawn she dreamed. Trapped in the dark, whispers and whimpers all around her. Cold, so cold, and the bite of the shackles clamped on her wrists and ankles.

He was out there, and the knowing carved a bleeding gash of fear in her belly.

Not like this, she thought as she yanked and strained against the shackles. A thousand ways to die, but not like this, and not at his hand.

Light oozed into the room, slipping dirty red through cracks and fissures to smear the dark like blood.

And she learned it could be worse to see.

They huddled all around her, all the girls, all those hopeless, empty eyes. They sat, staring and shivering in the icy room of her nightmares. All of them had her face. The child’s face.

She fought harder, twisting, dragging against the restraints. She heard—felt—the bone snap. One of the girls shrieked, and each of them clutched her arm.

“It’s not happening, not happening. It’s not real.”

“It’s as real as you make it.” Mira sat in one of the blue scoop chairs from her office, crossed her pretty legs.

“You have to help.”

“Of course. It’s what I do. Now, how does being here like this make you feel?”

“Fuck feelings. We have to get out!”

“Angry then,” Mira said placidly, and sipped tea from a china cup. “But more, I think. What’s under that anger, Eve? Let’s dig it out.”

“Get us out. Can’t you see how scared they are?”

“They?”

“I’m scared. I’m scared.”

“Progress!” With a pleased smile, Mira lifted her teacup in salute. “Now let’s talk about that.”

“There’s no time.” Her head swiveled side to side while panic gnawed at her, belly and bone. “He’ll come back.”

“He’ll only come back if you let him. Well, that’s all the time we have for today.”

“For God’s sake don’t leave us like this. Take the girls. Take them out of here. They don’t deserve to be here.”

“No.” Her voice gentle as a kiss, Mira shook her head. “You don’t.”

“What about me!” The woman, the partner, the mother stood, her throat gaping and wet with blood. “Look what you did to me.”

“I didn’t kill you.” Eve cringed while the girls, all the girls curled into defensive balls.

“Stupid bitch, it’s all your fault.” When she slapped one of the girls aside, Eve felt the blow. “Stupid, ugly, worthless bitch. You should never have been born.”

“But I was. How could you hate what came out of you? How could you hate what needed you? How could you let him touch me?”

“Whine, whine, whine, all you ever did was whine. You’re nothing but a mistake, and now I’m dead because you’re alive.” The face changed, image over image. Stella to Sylvia, Sylvia to Stella. “You deserved everything he did to you, everything he’s going to do.”