Read Online Vampire Dreams (Bloodscreams #1) by Robert W Walker - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert W Walker
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of was a cache of bones, too many bones to count.
Stroud packed some of the bones in a small crate, wrapped them with stuffing and Styrofoam, labeled the box to go to the excellent crime lab in Chicago with which he had always maintained good ties, and asked Mabel Stanica, Briggs's secretary, to see that the box get over to UPS for overnight delivery. Mabel worried about the cost being exorbitant. He snapped at her over the inappropriateness of her concern. Much later, around ten, when he crawled into bed at the manse, he was angry with himself for snapping at the blue-haired Mabel who'd been sniffling when he left the Andover City Police Station.
Overtired, his mind racing with images of the Meyers boy combined with the skull and bones the boys had unearthed like so many pirates playing at Peter Pan games, he rested but fitfully. His sleep was haunted by old Magaffey whispering of burials in sunken churches, ghouls beneath haunted lakes, of death-tolling banshees and sinister changelings. Magaffey's sunken and pinched face spewing forth a ballad of Baal, of specters and unholy creatures, dissolving into Banaker's legion of white-clads looking over him, picking at his body with their probes and forceps, cutting at his cranium to peel back layers of skin to reveal his own artificial skull cap. This steel plate was approximately the size of a tea saucer in a child's tea set. Banaker's people poked and pried it from its moorings amid the bone surrounding it. Cut from its lodging where it covered his brain, they then simply held the steel plate up to ridicule and laughter. The entire operating theater was filled with spectators and the nauseous sounds of hilarity. Meanwhile, his brain lay exposed and palpable, subjected to taunts by cold implements, and it began to come apart like an overripe melon. There was nothing now to protect his head or the pulsating gray matter that rose and swelled and fell as the blood flowed through it.
The horrid image faded only when the tenderest of touches of a human finger was made. It was her touch and it healed the pain. It was Pamela Carr, leaning over him, pressing her body into his and magically closing the large, open wound with her mouth. Her mouth smothered him. He relaxed under her caress. His sleep calmed, and his mind focused on her to the exclusion of the worst night he'd spent in Andover since his arrival back in late November.
In moments he was whole again. He visualized himself a complete man and she had transformed the operating theater into a lovely white and silken bedroom. He watched her uncinch the white lab coat and it fell away in slow motion.
Beneath she wore only lacey underthings. Pamela raised her arms and invited him to take from her all he desired. The dream was so vivid, so real, he felt the firmness of her breasts, the fire of her lips and the force behind them. He felt the thighs as they wrapped about him.
The dream was like none he had ever experienced, and in it he became lost in her hypnotic hold.
“Jesus, Jim, leave it to you to get us lost in the middle of fucking nowhere.”
“Will you take it easy, please?”
The car interior was lit as Maude Bradley tried desperately to locate County Road 17 on the map, but all the map offered were state and interstate roads. “How in the hell did we get on this road?”
“Should've stopped at that gas station when we got off the interstate and asked like I said.”
“Now it's my fault. You get us lost and it's my fault, hmmmmmpf!”
“Andover's around here somewhere. Had a cousin who used to live in Andover.”
“Lot of good that does us, Jim.”
They'd gotten off the interstate to find a place to sleep since Jim was dozing at the wheel and Maude didn't drive at night. Now they were lost on one of those unmarked little pavements that was barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass--not that it mattered. They hadn't seen another pair of headlights for forty minutes. They had seen empty fields waiting for
Stroud packed some of the bones in a small crate, wrapped them with stuffing and Styrofoam, labeled the box to go to the excellent crime lab in Chicago with which he had always maintained good ties, and asked Mabel Stanica, Briggs's secretary, to see that the box get over to UPS for overnight delivery. Mabel worried about the cost being exorbitant. He snapped at her over the inappropriateness of her concern. Much later, around ten, when he crawled into bed at the manse, he was angry with himself for snapping at the blue-haired Mabel who'd been sniffling when he left the Andover City Police Station.
Overtired, his mind racing with images of the Meyers boy combined with the skull and bones the boys had unearthed like so many pirates playing at Peter Pan games, he rested but fitfully. His sleep was haunted by old Magaffey whispering of burials in sunken churches, ghouls beneath haunted lakes, of death-tolling banshees and sinister changelings. Magaffey's sunken and pinched face spewing forth a ballad of Baal, of specters and unholy creatures, dissolving into Banaker's legion of white-clads looking over him, picking at his body with their probes and forceps, cutting at his cranium to peel back layers of skin to reveal his own artificial skull cap. This steel plate was approximately the size of a tea saucer in a child's tea set. Banaker's people poked and pried it from its moorings amid the bone surrounding it. Cut from its lodging where it covered his brain, they then simply held the steel plate up to ridicule and laughter. The entire operating theater was filled with spectators and the nauseous sounds of hilarity. Meanwhile, his brain lay exposed and palpable, subjected to taunts by cold implements, and it began to come apart like an overripe melon. There was nothing now to protect his head or the pulsating gray matter that rose and swelled and fell as the blood flowed through it.
The horrid image faded only when the tenderest of touches of a human finger was made. It was her touch and it healed the pain. It was Pamela Carr, leaning over him, pressing her body into his and magically closing the large, open wound with her mouth. Her mouth smothered him. He relaxed under her caress. His sleep calmed, and his mind focused on her to the exclusion of the worst night he'd spent in Andover since his arrival back in late November.
In moments he was whole again. He visualized himself a complete man and she had transformed the operating theater into a lovely white and silken bedroom. He watched her uncinch the white lab coat and it fell away in slow motion.
Beneath she wore only lacey underthings. Pamela raised her arms and invited him to take from her all he desired. The dream was so vivid, so real, he felt the firmness of her breasts, the fire of her lips and the force behind them. He felt the thighs as they wrapped about him.
The dream was like none he had ever experienced, and in it he became lost in her hypnotic hold.
“Jesus, Jim, leave it to you to get us lost in the middle of fucking nowhere.”
“Will you take it easy, please?”
The car interior was lit as Maude Bradley tried desperately to locate County Road 17 on the map, but all the map offered were state and interstate roads. “How in the hell did we get on this road?”
“Should've stopped at that gas station when we got off the interstate and asked like I said.”
“Now it's my fault. You get us lost and it's my fault, hmmmmmpf!”
“Andover's around here somewhere. Had a cousin who used to live in Andover.”
“Lot of good that does us, Jim.”
They'd gotten off the interstate to find a place to sleep since Jim was dozing at the wheel and Maude didn't drive at night. Now they were lost on one of those unmarked little pavements that was barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass--not that it mattered. They hadn't seen another pair of headlights for forty minutes. They had seen empty fields waiting for
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