Eighteen
I woke up to an all too familiar scene; the room was dark aside from the light spilling in from the slightly opened door. It was raining outside again, only this time, it was nothing more than a sprinkle of moisture in the air. The sound of the droplets hitting the roof sent a shiver down my spine, and I imagined chunks of ice falling from the clouds. The thought alone made me cold, and I pulled the comforter up around my shoulders. I never knew it could get so chilly in Las Vegas.
That's when I noticed that Greg was gone. I recalled everything before my perfect slumber: the sex, the storm, the serial killer. How could I forget stuff like that? But now that I was awake, all of the details of my life seemed like a dream. Maybe I was just trying to convince myself that I had created the whole scenario in my mind, even when I knew that wasn't the truth. I wanted Greg back by my side. I wanted him to wrap his long, awkward arms around me and protect me from whatever was trying to harm me, whether it be a crazed murderer or just a stormy night.
A hollow thud came from the kitchen, and my first instinct was to get up and investigate. Yet like a scared eight year old, I couldn't seem to lift myself from the bed. What if a monster was waiting under the mattress, preparing to grab my ankles the second I stood up? What if I found something gruesome waiting for me outside the bedroom, like one of Henry's poop surprises? Or Worse? The thud came again, only louder this time, and I finally summoned the courage to find out what, or who, was disturbing my peace.
"Greg?" I called out, instantly regretting my action. Everyone knows that you don't yell before you sneak up on somebody. It's like dumb cops on police shows who shout, "I'm coming to arrest you!" before they actually find the criminal. Oy vey.
There was no answer from Greg; just the sound of Henry's wagging tail smacking against the floor. I reached down to affectionately rub behind his ear, but bolted upright again when the thud persisted. I followed the sound, tiptoeing on the soft carpeting, until I found myself in the kitchen….and there….in the kitchen…..was the most horrible, terrorizing thing I had ever seen….
SHUTTERS FROM THE SEVENTIES!!!
The sounds I had been hearing were nothing more than Greg's tacky window shutters thumping up against the outside of the building from the wind. I buried my head in my hands and laughed at myself, incredulous of my own stupidity. It had been a long time since I had believed in the Boogie Man, so why was I suddenly fearing him all over again? Of course, under such circumstances as mine, being afraid of the dark and things that go bump in the night wasn't so crazy.
I started walking back to Greg's room, still unsure of where he was. Maybe Grissom had called him in ASAP, and he had left me a note. Searching the counters in the kitchen and the living room, I found no sign of Greg or his sudden dash to the office. I knocked softly on the bathroom door, but there was no reply. It was true that his apartment was bigger than mine, but it wasn't that big. There were only so many places where a man of his stature could hide. Maybe he had gone to get something to eat? Or maybe his mother had called and had fallen into the toilet and couldn't get out? Or maybe not…
Just then, I heard a scratching sound coming from the hall closet, like a cat sharpening its claws. I wasn't even concerned for my own safety anymore or the idea that Freddy Krueger was out to get me. I was just worried about Greg and whether he was okay or not. I stumbled over to the closet at an alarmingly fast pace, like someone else had inhabited my body; someone else with a lot of courage. The door knob felt cool on my skin as I slowly opened the door, afraid of what might be inside.
Within seconds, I was down on the ground, pinned by a heavy, dark figure. He had forced the closet door open, and I could now feel and smell his hot breath on my face. He had been drinking – a lot. I struggled beneath the force, kicking my legs and desperately trying to knee him in the groin, but my attempts were futile. The more I squirmed, the more he seemed to enjoy it. I tried to scream out for Greg, or for help from anyone for that matter, but the man cupped his sweaty hand over my mouth. I bit down hard on his flesh, and he yelped from the pain, but didn't lessen his grip. Was this my stalker? Was this the man that was going to kill me?
Henry was barking ferociously at the stranger, obviously being able to differentiate between a hostile situation and Greg and I's foreplay. The dog knew just as well as I did that this was not his owner. The dark figure was unfazed by the animal, and simply pushed him away with his free arm. But Henry wasn't so easy to get rid of. Almost instantly, the dog lashed out at the man and sunk his long canine teeth into his arm, producing a spray of blood. I took the opportunity to pull myself out from underneath him and make a run for the door, all the while screaming as loud as my lungs would permit. I wanted people in China to hear me.
To my surprise, the front door to the apartment opened and Greg came stumbling in, his eyelids droopy and blood dripping from his mouth. Dark purple bruises were developing on his cheeks, and he swayed from side to side, as if he were going to collapse at any moment. I tried to run to him, to save both of us, but I was seized from behind by the other man and tackled back down to the floor.
Everything after that was a blur. There was a rush of movement as I lay under the stranger, his hefty body weight now more apparent than ever. His elbow was pressed against my mouth, and I could feel blood flowing between my teeth from the immense pressure. Both men were yelling and struggling frantically on the ground, one to free me and the other to keep me captive. Henry barked and growled, becoming more violent as he became more confused on what was happening.
And then….silence. There were no more angry shouts, no more grunts of pain or protest. I listened for a moment, trying to figure out what had happened. I longed to call out to Greg, to see if he was okay or not, but the stranger answered my question for me. He had obviously won the fight, and was now ready to claim his praise. Without a word or signal of his next action, he struck me in the forehead with something hard and cold, like a hammer or the butt of a handgun. I blacked out instantly.