Deadly After Dark by Jeff Gelb & Michael Garrett

Author:Jeff Gelb & Michael Garrett [Gelb, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Hot Blood, Horror, Erotica
ISBN: 978-1-936535-13-2
Publisher: Jabberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.
Published: 2011-02-02T05:00:00+00:00

The next morning, Saturday, Nora slept in. She was sitting at the kitchen table again, glancing at the Tribune, sipping another cup of instant coffee, only half listening to a mid-morning news report on the portable TV on the counter.

‘The so-called Chicago Ripper has apparently struck again,” the woman newscaster was saying emotionlessly.

Nora looked up from the newspaper.

“The bodies of Teresa Gibson and Robert Haller, both of Naperville, were found in Haller’s sportscar, parked in …”

She spilled her coffee. Nervously, she got up, found a dishrag, and wiped up the spill, even as the details made her hands shake all the more.

“… time of death is estimated at three-thirty a.m.”

A few hours later, she found a late edition of the Sun-Times that included the murder story, and further details: the victims were a married woman of thirty-two and a married man of forty-one … married, but not to each other.

She tried to put it out of her mind. She caught the new Scorsese flick at the Biograph, in the company of her divorced friend, Carol Reed. But all she could think about, all night, was the dream.

Carol, blond, thirty-something, her plain features unadorned by makeup, was just enough into New Age sort of things that Nora figured she might get a sympathetic ear.

But as they nibbled carrot cake at an espresso shop after the movie, Carol was dismissive.

“The trouble,” she said, “is you don’t make a party game out of something as serious as past lives.”

“That dream didn’t have anything to do with the party.”

“Sure it did. Your ‘regression’ triggered this other dream.”

“I dreamed about a couple being murdered by this ‘Ripper’ at the same time it was happening!”

Carol shrugged. “You and how many other Chicagoans? The media’s been bombarding us with ‘Ripper’ this, ‘Ripper’ that.” Carol touched Nora’s hand, spoke softly. “Hey, I’m single … I have sex dreams. I wouldn’t be surprised if the next one I have doesn’t get interrupted by our Freddy Krueger-ish media star.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Eat your carrot cake. It’s as close to sex as either of us is gonna get tonight.”

Nora laughed, and so did Carol, but Monday morning, at her kitchen table, Nora found herself staring at two familiar faces: Teresa Gibson and Robert Haller. The photographs in the Trib matched the faces in her dream.

“I think you should go to the police,” Wyman told her on the phone.

“They’ll laugh at me. They’ll throw me out a window!”

“You have to try. Besides, even the FBI has been known to work with psychics.”

“Is that what I am?”

“I don’t know. I don’t honestly know anything except I wish I’d never put you under. I blame myself.”

“Don’t be silly, Will,” she said, but secretly she agreed with him.

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