Forty-eight
Lori had seen the silver flash a thousand times in
her dream. Now, the barrier that stood between dreams and waking reality
was gone. The thin edge of steel touched the skin of her body, and this
time she was fully awake. The whisperings of the dead may have been
nothing more than a defense mechanism to keep alive a spark of hope that
outside forces would intervene at the last moment and save her, but
nothing was going to save her. Ben's hand came down upon her ribcage to
hold her steady.
Something, though, went awry. In her dream of the
glass eye, she had thought the flash of silver a reflection of the light
against the blade, but the blade not within her field of vision when something else
entirely flashed silver overhead.
There had been a premonitory element to the dream
after all. How could she have known that the flash of silver would be
Leslie's aluminum bat catching Benjamin Radcliff alongside the head,
caving in the side of his skull with a dull thud, and sweeping his body
from view with the violence of its momentum?
A third presence in the back of Carl Adler's store
grunted with the effort. Another figure stepped into view to take his
place, and a quilt taken from Lori’s own bed billowed into the air and
descended upon her nakedness.
Karen Radcliff leaned into view with the tip of her
tongue caught between her teeth, busily tucking in the cover about her
arms and legs. Lori was scooped effortlessly into her arms and turned to
where Carol Fisher and Amy McBride whispered harshly in the background,
arguing on how best to stop a spreading pool of Benjamin's blood from
staining the floor.
"Men," Karen muttered in derision. "Biological
urges, my ass."
