Read Online Slow Burning Lies by Ray Kingfisher - Free Book Online
Authors: Ray Kingfisher
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detail?’
The man rubbed the side of his face, the stubble creating a rasping sound. ‘Do you want to find out?’
‘You know, I’m not so sure I do.’
‘Look,’ the man said. ‘It’s the end of the bad dreams for a while. You get the idea of them anyway. How about if I just get on with the story?’
Maggie thought for a moment, and brushed some stray sugar off the table onto the floor. ‘That’s a good idea,’ she said, then looked the man in the eye. ‘So okay, yeah, go on.’
‘Good,’ the man said. ‘I’ll carry on from when Patrick had just been sick.’
13
In his bathroom Patrick stood up and wiped the vomit from his mouth.
If only wiping away memories of his dreams was as easy.
He stayed close to the toilet bowl, leaning his shoulder against the tiled wall, waiting for the next retch to strain his throat. But no, that was it. The drama was finished for another night. The curtain had come down.
He brushed his teeth and returned to the bedroom. He gave the bed a worried stare, then turned around and headed for the living room. Once there, he started pacing up and down the length of the room, occasionally groaning and gasping. This was one of the worst dreams yet. What would he do if they got worse still?
He opened the fridge, felt physically sick again, so went back to the bedroom. No, the memory was still too raw. Some fresh air, a walk along the lakeshore taking in its cool, whispering breeze would help.
After signing out at security and a quick half-run through the pedway he was there. He fell onto the first free bench he came across and pulled his feet up onto the seat, wrapping his arms round his shins.
The most terrifying thing was that the dreams were so realistic – so much so it felt wrong to dismiss them as mere nightmares. It felt more like he’d been transported into some parallel universe, an inverted, perverted world where evil was good, watching the suffering of others passed for pleasure, and guilt was a crime. But no – actually, no. The twisted morality of this new world wasn’t the most terrifying thing, that was reserved for the way Patrick was feeling: he was actually starting to feel at home in this guilt-free zone, to want to stay there once he’d been transported there. In the dreamworld he didn’t feel remorse, he didn’t spend his days struggling to stay awake in the aftermath of nightmares, with remnants of those dark visions scuttling around in his mind like rats trapped in a box.
And now, back in the real world, was his guilt some sort of penance for the sins of his alter ego committed in the ‘other’ world?
Patrick stood up and spent an hour or so strolling along the lakeshore, then returned home. There, dulled by whisky on an empty and tender stomach, he caught three hours sleep before going into work.
‘Looks like it’s time for a coffee time again,’ Paulo said towards the end of the morning, in a fashion Patrick thought unnecessarily cheery.
‘Is it that obvious?’ Patrick asked. ‘Am I that bad?’
‘Mmm… Bad’s not the word – try lucky . I wish I could do whatever it was you quite clearly managed to do all night.’
‘Well—’
‘No, no. Don’t tell me, Patrick. I don’t want to know; you’ll only make me feel even worse.’
Patrick forced a jaded smile. That was spot on. Paulo really, really didn’t want to know.
They both heard the footsteps. They both fell silent.
‘You free, Patrick?’
‘Hi, Beth.’
‘We need to talk about the schedule for the Zombie Stomper development project.’
‘Sure.’
‘Thanks. My Office. Now.’ Beth flashed a twinkling of that perfect dentition and left without waiting for Patrick.
Paulo sent him a mock-grimace, and whispered, ‘Oh, dear. Dick on chopping board.’
Thirty seconds later Patrick entered Beth’s office and glanced around. He hadn’t noticed in their familiarisation session just how spartan the place was. A couple of certificates hung on the walls, a calendar
The man rubbed the side of his face, the stubble creating a rasping sound. ‘Do you want to find out?’
‘You know, I’m not so sure I do.’
‘Look,’ the man said. ‘It’s the end of the bad dreams for a while. You get the idea of them anyway. How about if I just get on with the story?’
Maggie thought for a moment, and brushed some stray sugar off the table onto the floor. ‘That’s a good idea,’ she said, then looked the man in the eye. ‘So okay, yeah, go on.’
‘Good,’ the man said. ‘I’ll carry on from when Patrick had just been sick.’
13
In his bathroom Patrick stood up and wiped the vomit from his mouth.
If only wiping away memories of his dreams was as easy.
He stayed close to the toilet bowl, leaning his shoulder against the tiled wall, waiting for the next retch to strain his throat. But no, that was it. The drama was finished for another night. The curtain had come down.
He brushed his teeth and returned to the bedroom. He gave the bed a worried stare, then turned around and headed for the living room. Once there, he started pacing up and down the length of the room, occasionally groaning and gasping. This was one of the worst dreams yet. What would he do if they got worse still?
He opened the fridge, felt physically sick again, so went back to the bedroom. No, the memory was still too raw. Some fresh air, a walk along the lakeshore taking in its cool, whispering breeze would help.
After signing out at security and a quick half-run through the pedway he was there. He fell onto the first free bench he came across and pulled his feet up onto the seat, wrapping his arms round his shins.
The most terrifying thing was that the dreams were so realistic – so much so it felt wrong to dismiss them as mere nightmares. It felt more like he’d been transported into some parallel universe, an inverted, perverted world where evil was good, watching the suffering of others passed for pleasure, and guilt was a crime. But no – actually, no. The twisted morality of this new world wasn’t the most terrifying thing, that was reserved for the way Patrick was feeling: he was actually starting to feel at home in this guilt-free zone, to want to stay there once he’d been transported there. In the dreamworld he didn’t feel remorse, he didn’t spend his days struggling to stay awake in the aftermath of nightmares, with remnants of those dark visions scuttling around in his mind like rats trapped in a box.
And now, back in the real world, was his guilt some sort of penance for the sins of his alter ego committed in the ‘other’ world?
Patrick stood up and spent an hour or so strolling along the lakeshore, then returned home. There, dulled by whisky on an empty and tender stomach, he caught three hours sleep before going into work.
‘Looks like it’s time for a coffee time again,’ Paulo said towards the end of the morning, in a fashion Patrick thought unnecessarily cheery.
‘Is it that obvious?’ Patrick asked. ‘Am I that bad?’
‘Mmm… Bad’s not the word – try lucky . I wish I could do whatever it was you quite clearly managed to do all night.’
‘Well—’
‘No, no. Don’t tell me, Patrick. I don’t want to know; you’ll only make me feel even worse.’
Patrick forced a jaded smile. That was spot on. Paulo really, really didn’t want to know.
They both heard the footsteps. They both fell silent.
‘You free, Patrick?’
‘Hi, Beth.’
‘We need to talk about the schedule for the Zombie Stomper development project.’
‘Sure.’
‘Thanks. My Office. Now.’ Beth flashed a twinkling of that perfect dentition and left without waiting for Patrick.
Paulo sent him a mock-grimace, and whispered, ‘Oh, dear. Dick on chopping board.’
Thirty seconds later Patrick entered Beth’s office and glanced around. He hadn’t noticed in their familiarisation session just how spartan the place was. A couple of certificates hung on the walls, a calendar
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