Flashbyte: Chapter One
Gotta get away
“You’re a smarmy piece of shit,” I murmured under my breath. My mouth was dry. I could barely swallow. Every nerve in my body was on edge.
I took a swig of water from my canteen. The cool liquid fought my tight dry throat until it won and forced its way down my esophagus.
“Demelza my dear, you spoke?” Ameer’s voice oozed artificial sweetness as he turned toward me.
I shook my head and bit my tongue.
What was keeping Dion? It was supposed to be as a short recon trip. He was late and it was driving me to distraction. Wouldn’t have been so bad but I was stuck with Ameer, and the greasy sonofabitch turned my gut. He expressed his views on female operatives working inside Iraq with open derision and no regard for my position or training. If it were possible to like him less I would have after that.
My eyes refocused taking my brain with them.
Heat rose from the sparkling sand. From where I stood within the thick -walled building the outside looked bright and hot.
Dion emerged from the sand as a dark silhouette against tawny beige. My ears filled with pleas and shouting. A chill raced up my spine sending cold barbs into my bones. Wind blew grit across the open landscape. Dion blurred.
It was all wrong. Beads of icy sweat trickled down my face.
Panic rose on a tidal wave of adrenaline.
With a jolt I was awake. My damp hair coiled around my neck like a noose. It wasn’t the first time I’d woken like that. I doubted it would be the last. My dreams were trying to kill me. The Freddy Kruger aspect made my skin crawl. A cell phone buzzed, loud and insistent. The display flashed, illuminating the clock on the screen.
“It’s zero-four-thirty. This better be good.” I shook off the remnants of the nightmarish reenactment of a past life.
“A woman was found strangled in a parking lot an hour ago.” Lee paused as if collecting his thoughts.
“She was carrying identification,” he said, his voice sounded a little stressed for so early in the morning.
“Good, that will make it easier for police,” I said sitting up and turning on the bedside lamp. “I’m awake. I’ll play your silly game … who is she?”
“You,” he replied.
“Nope. Don’t think I’ve been strangled tonight, try again.”
How life mocks my waking state.
Death by dreaming.
Glad I don’t live on Elm Street.
copyright Cat Connor 2011