Write Down My Nightmare
Nightmare Begins
It started in the inky dark as I walked home from the bar I just closed down. I was drunk. I chose a route out of direct sight. It was a sidewalk between two rundown, dirty brick apartment buildings. A dim glow, maybe a flashlight, came from a first-floor window, and as I approached, I peered through a break in the sheer. There, barely illumined, I saw a malevolent face in the act of raping and choking to death a young woman on the couch near the window. He saw my face! Sick with fear and panic, I ran as fast as I could on wobbly legs, feeling danger crawl up my spine. I sobered up instantly when I remembered the news alert, “Police are searching for any information that might lead to the capture of a suspected serial killer dubbed ‘The Reaper’.”
I had no one to run to for help, so I ran and ran, and ran toward the nearest island of light. It was the train station and the stale yellow light of the platform. I just knew he would follow me and kill me to hide his identity. Please! Let there be a cop patrolling the station. I ran panting to a support pillar beneath the brightest light, making myself small behind it, and there was no cop. No one there but me.
My head swiveled side to side, eyes and ears on high alert. I listened closely for any footsteps. I heard heals lightly clicking on the pavement from the opposite direction, and a young woman approached out of the darkness and onto the platform, no doubt early to board the first train to the city.
Seeing me, she stood nervously behind the next pillar. Then, I heard heavier, softer footsteps at a distance quickly approaching from behind me. I leaped to my feet in the pool of bug filtered yellow light and ran toward the woman. Startled, she was ready to run, but the train was approaching. She turned back toward me to scream and defend herself, and I could see the malice of his intent reflected in her soft, but horrified brown eyes as he moved toward us. I turned to see the same face measuring the train’s approach and assessing the opportunity to rid us both from the witness pool.
The train was screeching, sparking to a stop, and in a violent grasp, I took her arm and ran us to the nearest car’s steps. She leapt to the top of the stairs maybe sensing that I wasn’t the danger. She saw him clearly, his third mistake in 15 minutes. I looked back and there was no one on the platform. Where did he go? Did he flee, or did he get on a car farther to the rear? I shuddered, but no time to wonder, I had an angry young woman pounding on my head and a conductor on the way wanting the whole scene to stop, already making his long night much worse. “Please, stop,” I said to her quietly but firmly. “I wanted to protect us both from the man we saw coming toward us. I saw him murder a woman not far from here, and I ran to the light of the station. I knew he would follow me and kill me, and there was no one to help me. I panicked. I’m so sorry to involve you.”
As the conductor approached, she calmed down, determined to report my insane molestation, but knowing the real danger might be near, she paused, and we said in unison, “He’s on this train and he’s trying to kill us!” I calmed down and told him the story through sweaty, stuttering lips. The conductor took our fares and listened to my story of murder and escape with dubious impatience. He glanced back through the cars seeing no one. Finally, wanting to just shut me up, he said, “Stay here!” and he walked back through the cars checking each seat on his way to see if there was anyone else on the train. We could barely hear a gurgled scream as the train screeched to a halt at the next station. He didn’t come back.
“Oh my God,” we gasped. Grabbing each other’s hand, we ran forward through the next car to the empty conductor’s station and looked back. There was no one there, only a few early riders half asleep. We didn’t know what to do, so we held each other, petrified, hoping someone would come. We sat down as the train moved to the next station. We looked at each other’s faces reflected in the opposite window shaded with the orange light of the rising sun. We finally looked at each other, really looked.
She was Asian, petite with long black hair still neatly flowing along her smooth, ivory colored face and down her elegant neck. She looked back at me, and in her eyes, I could see her recognition that I just may have saved her life.
“Now what?” we again, said together.
“Let’s not panic,” I said. We’ll ride it to the end if we have to. Keep watch while I search the cubby for some kind of weapon we can use.”
“Weapon! We? What in God’s name are we going to do?”
The second porter from the first three cars came in surprised, “What are you doing here? No passengers are allowed to stand here.”
“Sir,” we again said in unison. She paused shaking a little from uncertainty and sheer confusion. I went on slowly, “I witnessed a murder and he, he followed me to the platform two stops back. She saw him, too. He’ll kill us if he gets the chance, and I think he’s on the train.”
Grumbling under his breath, he led us to seats nearby and angrily turned to find his partner.
“He’s dead,” we said, again together. He gave us a quick look as if to say, “More cooks!”
“Owe me a coke,” she said, breaking the horror with a sharp punch to my shoulder. We showed no emotion, not even the crack of a smile as we stared into each other’s eyes.
“What will he do when he finds the body,” this nameless beauty said in a whisper.”
“We’ll see, hold tight,” I said, as the second porter came near us with an angry smirk on his lips. He was wondering what kind of game we were playing at his expense.
“There is no one back there! Charlie must have stepped off for his smoke break and boarded the next train. Get off my train!,” he said with unquestioned authority.
“What!” we said together in short harmony, me carrying the tenor and she the alto.
“Get off before I call the police, you two!”
“Please,” we again said together.
I thought, is she reading my mind, or I Her’s? Strange, weird shit happening here, is this a dream?
In disgust, near rage, the porter radioed the engineer to call the police to meet us at the next station and to alert the switch operators.
We sat, each of us smelling of our fear and the horror of not knowing where he was. We looked into the other’s tired and wet eyes to communicate rationally for the first time.
“What are we going to say,” I said,
She replied, “The truth, as close as we can from our memories.”
When the police came, a female cop took her into the next car, gently guiding and reassuring her that everything will be ok. I was interrogated by a calm, nearly robotic male, smooth and crisp, like a portrait on the precinct wall. They listened, but without proof and only the word of two people behaving like lunatics, we were escorted off the train. We nearly begged for a trace of belief. “Where did the first porter go,” we yelled, as the doors closed. The porter stared at us through the window as if we’d just escaped from a mental hospital, and we felt that way, too. We were dismissed, even though we both have ID and cash. We turned around quickly. We were too afraid to turn our backs on a vicious and cunning murderer.
Nightmare Evolves
We talked in the morning sun, still close to the tracks so we could see each way up and down the tracks, across the berm, even above the edge of the platform roof. We yawned, again together, trying to let go of the adrenaline built up to fight or flee.
“Ahhh,” I said, more than a little embarrassed, what’s your name, young lady? My name is Sunny Charles.”
“My name is Sho Wen, but my friends call me Coco.” She said this with a peaceful and confident smile.
I really see her now. She is well dressed and very well proportioned for such a petite woman. Just beautiful inside and out. She’s not like the Chinese girls I’ve known associated with strip mall massage parlors.
We knew we had to get to the authorities, to someone who would listen and investigate the events of last night, hopefully in the light of evidence of these crimes. There must be evidence of these murders left behind somewhere. Bodies, blood, finger prints, DNA, something!
We talked it over briefly, the police were no help, the sheriff’s office would lead us back to transit police and the cops again. We agreed. “Where is the nearest FBI office?” She wondered out loud.
“Will you call an Uber, Sho Wen?, I said.
“My phone, my phone!” she yelped, “No, here it is.”
She sighed and pushed the icon. It startled me, but I sighed and began to relax. Within a minute the pre-rush hour Uber driver gave an ETA. We waited only five or minutes. I really don’t know, I never looked at my watch, too vigilant to be distracted.
“Here it is”, she nearly shouted. Anxious to get out of plain sight.
We scurried to the back door like rats fleeing the bright light in a basement. We breathed deeply and let our breath out in a long sigh. The relief of safety, even if temporary, was obvious.
As the driver slowly pulled away, he said, “FBI Office?” “Are you…nevermind. Here we go,” as if to say, your money.
“I feel dirty and smelly, Sunny.”
“Me, too. What will they do to us?” As the car approached the plain wall with an emblem glowing in patinaed gold leaf. “Should we go in, Coco?”
“No, who knows what indignities or suspicions we will have to endure. Let’s go to a place where we can call in anonymously on a ‘burner’ phone.”
“What? I said.
“Yes. Driver,” she said in near perfect English, made tuneful through her Chinese accent, and continued to give the driver a new address. We pulled away.
“OK, let’s go,” I said, surprised a little by her quick thinking and assertiveness.
Uber dropped us off at a grocery store and we headed out the back entrance to shake him, if he still followed us. We had a cab ready on the next block, and off we went again. I was so exhausted; I didn’t hear the address as my chin fell to my chest. Her hand never let go of my arm. The relaxing gentle touch put me deeper into sleep.
“Here,” she said, shaking me a little to wake me up.
We were at the back entrance to a professional building as far as I could tell. Plaques identified the names of companies and medical practices at each canted corner.
We crawled out of the cab after she handed the cabbie a crisp C note and told him, “You never saw us. Understood?” He replied, “You got it.” And he drove quickly away.
“Come,” and she pulled me inside, as the buzzer unlocked the door. “We will be safe here,” she said softly. “The building is well covered by surveillance cameras.”
In Chinese, she called out, and an older woman, graceful and attractive, came to us at the entrance. They greeted each other with hugs and obviously loving words. Then, as far as I could tell, Coco slowly explained our predicament to her.
With urgency, she led us to an office and we sat in comfortable chairs. They spoke again, and Sho Wen looked at me and said,
“We can call from here with this ‘burner’ phone. Do you remember the address where you witnessed the first murder?”
“Yes, the right building and window. The vision of his face grimaced in pure malice and jumping for the hallway door drove me away too panicked to notice a building number.
She picked up a pad and pen and said, “Let’s write down all the facts we can remember, in case we feel safe to stay on the line and give the events in more detail.”
“To continue to sate his thirst for sexual murders, he’s surely calculated exactly what to do to remove all evidence of his presence, … except the body. He likes the world to see the gore. Ok, I’ll make the call.” I said.
A quick call answered by a voice messaging system, took me to an option, but no one answered; I left a brief description of events, approximate times and locations, and I disconnected.
“Are you sure they can’t trace this number back to you or her?”
“She’s my mother. So sorry, you weren’t properly introduced. Mother, this is Sunny, avoiding giving more information she might regret having, and, Sunny, this is my mother, Amy, and no, it cannot be traced to us.”
Amy led us to a small table in the anteroom of a now closed spa. A spa in a professional building? I thought to myself.
We sat still shaking a little as Amy served us tea and small bland tasting Chinese cookies. It was good. We both felt better and collected our emotions and composure.
Amy led us each to our own treatment rooms to rest. We took off our clothes and put on soft robes. We showered one at a time and returned to our soft heated tables and fell asleep like babies tucked into a crib.
In the morning we were awakened as Amy set our freshly washed and pressed clothing on the side chairs. We dressed and met at the table to enjoy a nourishing breakfast of eggs, rice, and roast pork.
“Feel better,” she said kindly in broken English. I nodded with a smile of gratitude. She then looked at me with deep concern creasing her brow. Sho Wen must have told her everything that happened the night before last. “Let’s talk,” and she led us to the office we sat in the night before.
Sho Wen said, “Mama stayed up all night watching over us. She monitored the wide band and news for any hint that these incidents had been reported. Not a word.”
“So, he’s going to keep looking for us with no fear of being caught,” I said. “No one believed us.”
“New clothes are coming that will better disguise us. We’ll have to get out of town to avoid being discovered in our routines,” she said.
“We have to separate,” I added, but she knew I’d say that, and for the first time I saw Coco’s real beauty in her beaming smile, as I continued “Ok, so where to from here? I’m flummoxed.”
“What did you say, smart guy?” She giggled, before I could make an arrogant fool of myself giving her a definition. She smiled as I slowly shut my big mouth. Whew, she is kind and humorous.
“I know, Sunny, you’re confused and indecisive because too many possible actions put us at risk.”
She said it far better than I could. I thought of taking two cars and separate flights away from here never to see each other again, but that murderer will never stop hunting the both of us as long as he knows we’ve seen his face. Whatever is decided, I will feel better having her watching our backs. Besides, I’m feeling more and more attracted and bonded to her. I guess trauma makes strange bed fellows. But it’s more than that. She’s the most beautiful, kind, thoughtful, and intelligent woman to whom I’ve ever been this close. Having run for our lives, and after two rising suns, I see her as she is.
Her mother, and I’m sure all her family, are an amazing community of love and support. The way they both welcomed me into their business and weekday home (I later found out), I felt like a brother and a son.
“OK, Sunny.” She said interrupting my reverie and growing crush. “The FBI doesn’t know anything or care, or they would have called back this number. They are desperate to catch this serial killer and an eye witness is invaluable to a strong case, regardless of how unreliable we are to remember facts unclouded with extreme emotion. I can’t believe the bodies just disappeared, and as far as we know, no one has reported either of them missing. Something is happening here I don’t understand.”
Pausing thoughtfully, she said with a faint pink blush rising to her nose, she said, “Thank you for saving my life, Sunny.”
As gently as I could, I pulled her close in a hug. Our arms wrapped tightly around each other, and our heads pressed to the other’s ear.
“You’re most welcome and thank you for not shoving me off the train,” I said, smiling with love and appreciation for her understanding when nothing made sense.
She continued, “It is possible we’re being used as bait, but how would law enforcement learn enough about us to know who and where we are? I vote to run, get as far away as we can, even out of the country, and stay out of site until something breaks.”
“I agree, Coco, and I have an idea. Hear me out. Please, explain to your mother what we are saying, ok?
I proceeded to lay out a plan where, in disguise, we’d make our way by bicycle along the frontage road beside the train tracks North toward The City. We’d find a station far enough away to escape his certain surveillance where we can board and travel North to Canada.
Nightmare Ends
I rode twenty yards ahead of her early in the morning, before the fourth sunrise since the day our lives changed in shared horror. It was hot, and we hoped for cloud cover to reduce the heat of our heavy disguises. We looked at a glance like Sikh man and wife riding slowly to work. We felt like moving targets, but no one took a second glance
We made it to the bridge next to the last station into the City. Under the bridge we hid the bikes and shed our outer clothing to reveal another layer. Now we looked like typical commuters, we hoped.
We walked well apart to be sure we weren’t perceived as a couple. Hyper aware of our surroundings, we scanned the faces in the que as we each slowly walked to the kiosk and bought our tickets to the end of the line before the Canadian border.
We stood under the platform awning looking as cool as we possibly could.
The train appeared in the distance, and we both looked around, very nervously now, searching for any sign of the serial killer stalking his next two victims.
As we stepped up, one at a time to the car, THERE HE WAS! Waiting, melted into the crowd, waiting….
And I woke up sweating profusely with great regret that Coco is only a fragment of a dream.
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