In My Mind
Chelsea Everett lifted her head from her pillow and let out a moan that seemed to echo in her head and around the room. She stared around her, eyes clouded and mind equally blurry as she stared at the clock on her bedside table. It was blinking 3:02 over and over again and she sat up with a curse.
The power must have gone off again in the night.
She rubbed her eyes. It felt like she’d forgotten something, but what? What was that little nagging thought just on the edge of her consciousness. Remember… remember…
But no, it was gone. Maybe she’d remember later.
Right now she needed to figure out what time it really was and get her ass ready for work. She dragged to her feet and stumbled through her room to the bathroom. She tripped over piles of clothes as she moved and almost face-planted right into the bathroom door, but managed to right herself. She pushed against the wooden barrier, but it didn’t budge. It was locked.
Which reminded her… where was Dean? He had to be in the house somewhere, but when he’d gotten up, why hadn’t he gotten her up, too?
She tapped her knuckles against the door. “Dean?” she called out. “Babe?”
No answer and she leaned closer to listen for running water or a flushing toilet. But there was nothing.
She shook her head.
What was she doing again? She looked around as she tried to remember. She was standing outside of the bathroom, so she must have already gotten ready. Good, one less thing.
She shuffled through the room and barely registered that the dresser was cockeyed. That was weird. The dresser was hardly ever cockeyed. Dean must have moved it for some reason.
Where was Dean anyway?
With a shrug, she moved down the hall and into the small kitchen. She stopped to stare. Something was wrong… something was… different, but what was it? She took a deep breath and tried to find the focus that seemed to be eluding her. Had they been drinking last night? Her head hurt and her vision was kind of wonky and… eh.
But wait, something was different, right? Okay, focus.
She stared around the room. Oh, that’s what it was. It looked like a bomb had gone off in here. Dishes were spread across the counter, some of them shattered, their blender was in three pieces on the floor, food was spackled on the walls and the trashcan was flipped on its side.
“Oh, shit,” she muttered as she reached toward one of the pieces of broken glass, then pulled away from it. She stared. There was blood on the glass. Dark, red blood mixed with something else. Or maybe… what was that word? Oxidized? Anyway, it was a crazy color for blood.
Where was Dean anyway? Was it his blood? Had she checked the bedroom yet? Why was everything so… weird? Maybe she had hit her head and it was her blood. A concussion would certainly explain being this screwed up.
One way or another, she needed to get into the bathroom.
She moved back through the hallway and now more was becoming clear to her. There was more blood on the walls, like dragged fingerprints. She stared at her hands.
Yup, they were bloody.
She touched her head and it felt sticky and gross and sort of… squishy. She staggered through the bedroom to the bathroom door again.
“Dean!” she screamed this time. “Let me in!”
There was no response and so she started pounding on the door, over and over, pulling the handle with both hands. And suddenly, totally unexpectedly, the door tore off its very hinges and flew backward into the bedroom behind her.
Dean was sitting in the bathtub, facing the door. His dark hair was messy and his face was smudged with blood and what looked like dirt. His white shirt was shredded and stained with black fingerprints.
But there was one thing she had to focus on more than all those facts. Dean had a gun in his hand and he was aiming it at her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He didn’t answer her, but just stared, sliding up the back of the shower wall to his feet as if he couldn’t get far enough away from her.
“Oh god,” he said, staring. “Oh baby.”
“What is going on?” she asked and took a step toward him.
He cocked the pistol in his hands and held it up. It trembled, but his finger was on the trigger. He wasn’t fucking around.
“Dean,” she said. “Dean!”
She turned her head and caught a reflection of herself in the mirror. All the breath left her lungs and thoughts left her head. Her skin was gray and a bunch of it was missing around her forehead, revealing bone. Her dress from work yesterday hung loose and torn around her shoulders. Black gunk was all around her bloody mouth and she was missing two teeth.
“Baby,” Dean said and she looked back toward him.
He smelled good. Like brains. She wanted to eat those brains.
“I’m sorry,” Dean said. “I’m so sorry, Chelsea. I love you.”
Then she heard the explosion of the gun and there wasn’t anything left.
Pre-Order Club Monstrosity (April 29, 2013)
Copyright Jesse Petersen 2013
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