Devil in the Details

Chapter Eighteen

Evelyn looked around at her surroundings. Every dream so far had been different, but they all felt the same in the beginning. It wasn't as though she had woken up in a strange place, more like she had been there doing something. Like a normal dream, she wasn't aware she was dreaming for the first few moments. This one was disorienting. She wasn't sure where she was or what she was supposed to be doing.

"Are you Death?" someone asked. She looked back, confused. She was in someone's kitchen. The laminate countertops were worn to the point of the wood showing through. There were dishes in the sink, a few flies buzzing around them. Little fat chefs decorated every available surface. There was a table in the center, taking up most of the floor space. Stacks of unread mail, a backpack, pizza boxes, and beer cans cluttered the table. A leather jacket hung on the chair closest to the beer cans, where a spot had been cleared for an empty plate. Everything had an awful smell- the smell of rot and decay.

It took her a few moments to find who had spoken. A man stood in the doorway, the type her grandmother would have called corn fed. His long brown hair fell all around his face but did nothing to hide the dead eyes staring back at her.

"What?" she asked. She blinked a few times and shook her head to clear the haziness.

"Are you? Are you Death?"

"No." Evelyn replied. "I'm a cop." She realized he was expecting the grim reaper.

"Oh." He replied. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm... honestly... not actually sure." She didn't see his corpse, but smelled it. The kitchen wasn't clean by any stretch of the imagination, but she would have noticed a corpse laid out on the floor. She turned around again, searching. It took a few moments to find him. He was in the living room, beyond where his spirit stood. As she got closer, she noticed a strange sound, something she couldn't quite identify. She looked around again but couldn't find the source.

The living room was a paneled number, done in a late 80s, early 90s style. The windows suggested they might be in a mobile home somewhere. He'd started to decompose a bit, his body laid out on a pull-out sofa bed. The thin yellow mattress sagged in the middle where he was, a puddle forming under it on the carpet. He followed her gaze and looked himself over. Above his head, the word 'ABUSER' was painted on the wall. The words had long turned brown.

"I wasn't a bad guy, you know." He said. "I didn't hit her to be mean. She was drunk. She was hurting him."

"Who?" Evelyn asked. "Your wife?" He wouldn't meet her gaze. She hoped he wouldn't start crying like the others. She wasn't sure how to handle a man his size crying. He wiped one meaty hand across his face. "Who was she hurting?"

"Our son." He replied, rubbing at his beard. There was quite a bit of gray in it. Evelyn guessed he was at least ten years older than her. "Kyle. He's a good kid... I hope he doesn't find me."

"Did you see who did this?" Evelyn asked.

"Wore a mask." He said, looking away from his body. He looked at Evelyn. "Sort of small little dude... he snuck up on me, but I saw that much on my way down. Can you help them find me?" He looked at the door. "I didn't want to die like this."

"I'm going to try." Evelyn replied, "I promise."

"Thanks." He said. "I owe you one." When he turned back to staring at his body, Evelyn could identify the sounds she'd been hearing.

The back of his head was covered in maggots. There were hundreds of them wiggling, chewing, and falling all around. She could see bits of his skull and what looked like it might be his brain. She screamed, sitting straight up in bed. It didn't feel like the dream was supposed to be over. For a moment, she felt like the bugs were crawling all over her. Her skin itched like hundreds of miniature hooks were moving over it. Evelyn screamed again, shaking her hair violently to get them out and smacking at her body.