Hunting the Fairy Tale

Chapter 118 - Seductive Quiches and Other Addictions

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The bullet scrapes along the side of my chest, leaving a trail of hot pain in its wake, and I stare in horror at the blood blossoming on the shooter's stomach, where his friend stabbed him a second ago.

There is blood everywhere, and I tear off my shirt, pressing it hard against the bullet holes in the stabber's chest. I don't know which hole to plug first, and the gunman is lying on my other side, cradling his broken fingers and curling around the stab wound in his stomach.

I cannot plug all the holes!

I try, but they keep on multiplying as if the two men are springing leaks like fountains, spraying red into the air, covering me, covering the world. There's too much blood... and then the knife guy grabs me with the hand of his broken arm, and I'm surprised because an arm shouldn't work when it looks all mangled like that. He glares into my eyes, dragging me closer until I feel his nose against mine.

"You killed me!"

I gasp as my eyes fly open, and I'm startled to find myself looking into yellow eyes and a furry face backing away from mine. The big grey cat doesn't get off my chest; she merely takes a step back, still gazing at my face.

"Hey, Grey!" I exclaim hoarsely, wiping a hand over my sweaty face, trying to shove the recurring dream back into hell where it belongs. "You scared me, you creep!"

Grey is not bothered about being called a creep, she dives forward, hitting her forehead against mine, and then she nuzzles my neck, purring loudly, sounding like a friggin' tractor. The sound is surprisingly comforting, and normally, I would love to cuddle her, but every part of my body is screaming in pain right now.

Easing the cat off me, I sit up and drop my feet to the thick carpet. The cat helped me realise where I was, or I would have been seriously disoriented right now. I grab my phone off the nightstand, disgusted to see that I've barely slept more than half an hour. It is nearly 10pm. I don't usually go to bed early, but I was exhausted, and now I'm just awake. Awake, in pain and rattled by that horrible dream.

Slipping the phone into my pocket, I finally stand and make my way out of the bedroom and down the short hallway to the kitchen, softly playing blues guiding my way.

In the kitchen, I switch on the kettle before I skirt around the island counter and enter the living area, collapsing into the comfort of a large brown recliner. Coach is sitting in the twin recliner across from mine, looking at me over the rim of the book he's reading by the gentle light of a floor lamp near him. Red, his other cat, is lying in his lap, and I can see Gizmo's little face peek out from under his arm while Leo and Sasha are sitting on the floor on either side of the chair, each resting their head on one of his thighs. The guy looks like Doctor Dolittle after he spent a year or two in a gym.

Okay, Tarzan, then... Tarzan, in a battered ACDC T-shirt and track pants.

"Did the music wake you?" he asks, but we both know it's not easy to wake me when I fall asleep. Dreams of people attacking me and dying do the trick pretty well, though.

"Pain woke me," I assure him, pressing the button to raise the leg rest and tilting the chair back until I'm almost comfortable. Well, as comfortable as one can be on a bed of nails. Seriously, I've had many accidents and fights, and I've never felt this bruised and battered before. This is just friggin' pathetic.

"Did you take the pain meds before you went to bed?"

"No," he knows I didn't; I was barely awake when I left the hot tub. "I told you, it's addictive; I'll only take it when I'm in serious pain and cannot sleep."