Kill Her- You'll Like It! by Michael Avallone

Author:Michael Avallone [Avallone, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Story Merchant Books
Published: 2015-12-09T22:00:00+00:00

WHO DAT WHO SAY WHO DAT?

I was dreaming about a man chasing a naked woman with a knife and then the woman turned into a dark alley somewhere and a great searchlight went on and it was Melissa Mercer. She was terribly frightened, looking back, and her mouth opened and nothing came out. Then the man with the knife, whose face I couldn't see, came into the light, too, and the long shining knife was now a bottle of fingernail polish. Only instead of the usual size, it was as big as a ketchup bottle. There was a label on the red cylinder and I could barely make out a huge letter "S". The curved symbol resembled a snake more than something from the alphabet. And then the man drew very close to Melissa and she tried to twist and dodge out of his way. But it was no use. The faceless man—he seemed to be wearing a thin and gauzy robe—upended the bottle and held it over Melissa's head.

Then the dream really went the Freud route.

The red liquid oozing down from the bottle, slowly at first, suddenly gushed and a white waterfall splashed down on poor Melissa, completely inundating her. And the faceless man seemed to be laughing his head off. And Melissa finally screamed, covering her eyes. Only the scream was soundless. And the bottleholder whirled around and I could see who it was. Only it wasn't a man any more. It was Ada Ven, with her flaming red hair and her great animal body gyrating and pumping as if she was trying to strike oil. Her face loomed closer and her tremendous mammaries and writhing flesh blotted out naked, shivering, milk-drenched Melissa. Suddenly, everything was obscene. Loathsome. The Ven face contorted, grew crimson right before my eyes, and transformed into a hideous, gargoyle caricature of what she really looked like. She was bearing down on me and the hole of her navel expanded and widened until nothing else could be seen. And the world went abruptly dark as if someone had turned out all the lights.

I snapped erect on the floor of the room, my head propped against a high ottoman. The dream vanished. I was tieless, shoeless, and coatless and nothing in the room had changed except that the pink telephone was ringing. I stumbled for it across the thick shag rug, remembering where the instrument had been, conscious only that I had dozed off. The ringing of the phone was low and almost musical. I got to it before it could noisily wake anybody up. Ada Ven's apartment was as silent as the moon.

The dream had already faded back into memory.

As if it had never been. Never was. Guilt dreams can be that way.

It was Flatek. As half-awake as I was, I recognized his bland and even voice. Maybe not even an earthquake could rattle Flatek.

"Oh, it's you," I mumbled. "Still on duty downstairs?"

"Negative. My shift was over at 0200 hours."

"What time is it?"

"Going on 5:00 A.

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