Dream Man

“Marlie. Can you wake up now? Come on, honey, wake up.” He stroked her face, then grasped her shoulder and shook her.

She made a little sound, not quite a whimper, and her lashes fluttered.

“Come back to me, Marlie. It’s Dane. Wake up and tell me what happened.” Her head lolled against his shoulder. He cradled her with his supporting arm and rubbed his free hand over her upper arm and shoulder, feeling the cool, sleek skin under his hard palm. He shook her again, but not hard, only enough to jar her. Her eyes were closed now, which seemed to him at least more natural, as if she were sleeping.

“Marlie!” He made his voice sharp. “Wake up and talk to me, damn it!”

She moaned and tried to push away from him, but her hand fell heavily to her lap as if she couldn’t quite control it. She drew several jerky breaths, and her lashes lifted, then closed again, the effort beyond her.

“Marlie, look at me.” He deliberately said her name, calling her from the far reaches of darkness, back toward the light.

Someone was insistently calling her name. Marlie’s exhausted mind latched on to the familiarity, like a drowning person desperately clutching at a life ring. It gave her a center, a sense of identity in the swirling fog of nightmare. The voice was far away at first, but then came closer and closer, until it was right over her head. Reality seeped back, though there was something very unreal about it. It felt as if she was lying against someone, as if arms were around her, and the sensation was so alien that it confused her. She didn’t allow people to hold her; the mental intrusion, strengthened by physical contact, was just too disrupting. But someone had held her, a dim memory insisted. Oh, yes. Dane. Gently bullying, stubborn, refusing to listen to her … Of course. Dane.

She forced her heavy eyelids to lift, and found herself staring at that roughhewn face, the hazel eyes dark with worry. His heart thumped steadily against her, a comforting rhythm that made her want to curl against him. The heat of his big body was under her, around her, chasing away the bone-deep chill. Why was she so cold?

Hazily she looked around. She was in her living room. But why was Dane here, and why was she on his lap? Why was she so tired? She had expected him to call, but he hadn’t, and she had gone to bed—

She had called him. She stiffened, memory returning in a flood of awful details that she would have given anything not to recall. Her exhausted mind struggled to cope.

“Dane.” She clutched his shirt, fingers twisting in the material.

“It’s all right,” he murmured, smoothing back her hair. “I’m here. You had another vision, didn’t you? What was it about this time? Just take your time, settle down. Do you want some coffee? Will that help?”

He was holding a cup of coffee to her lips, and she sipped it, hoping the caffeine would buy her a few extra minutes. She had to get her thoughts ordered, tell him as much as she could, but the coffee was the worst she had ever tasted, and with a grimace she turned her head away when he tried to get her to drink again.

“He did it again,” she said, the words slurred a little.

“Who did?” he asked absently, trying to get her to drink a little more coffee. She turned her head away from the cup.

“Him. He killed another woman tonight.” The trembling had started again, shaking her from the inside out.

He tensed. She could feel his muscles coiling beneath her. “The same one who killed Nadine Vinick?” he asked carefully.

“Yes. I knew he was out there, looking … I felt him, just a hint, the night I called you.” She forced the words out in a tumble, trying to get it all said.

“That’s what scared you?”

She nodded, her head barely moving in the hollow of his shoulder.

Holding her securely against him, Dane picked up the telephone and called central dispatch. He identified himself and said, “Has a stabbing murder of a woman been called in?”

“No, it’s been pretty quiet for a Friday night. Guess the rain’s put a damper on things. You know something we don’t?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Listen, if there is anything like that, give me a call on the pager. Night or day, no matter what.” “You got it.”

He hung up and looked down at Marlie. “Nothing’s been called in.”

She was still gripping his shirt, and her eyes had taken on that faraway look they had had Monday morning, when she had recited a horror tale in a flat, emotionless voice. The trembling in her slight body had increased; he held her with both arms, trying to cushion her against the shock waves he could feel rippling through her

“She has red hair,” she said in that small, ghostly voice. “She’s very pretty. She’s watching television, some old movie. She doesn’t know he’s there. He walks up behind her and stands there, looking down. He’s amused; how long will it be before she senses his presence? Too long. She’s a stupid cow, and he’s getting bored. He touches her neck, with his left hand, then slaps it over her mouth before she can scream. He loves that first moment of terror. The knife is in his right hand. He holds it to her throat.”

“Are you sure it’s the same one?” Dane asked. He desperately wanted her to say that she wasn’t certain.

“Yes. The movie is still on; it masks the noise. He makes her take off her pajamas and lie down on the floor. Couches are too cramped; he doesn’t like couches. He uses a condom. She doesn’t deserve his sperm. Slow and easy, slow and easy … let her relax, not be so afraid. Don’t hurt her, not yet, not yet.”