Tales of the Storage Space, Part 23

Martin was sweating, slobbering, begging.  Bloody hell.  Bloody fucking hell.  Was it another dream?  Bollocks.  No dream could be as realistic as this.

He watched the fountain of blood twist and turn.  Insanely, its motion triggered a memory of how the water had gurgled out of his father’s garden hose when he watered the flowers back in Kent.  Until a twist sent the blood splattering all over Martin’s face and into his screaming mouth.

He awoke to find he was drenched in sweat and his phone was ringing…somewhere in the distance.  His starburst wall clock said it was 10 o’clock, but it was still light.  Funny, this wasn’t Scotland.

He found a phone under his thigh.  It wasn’t ringing.  It wasn’t even vibrating.  It wasn’t his phone.

Broad daylight…

Shit!  It was 10 o’clock in the morning and they were calling because he was late to work!  He must have dozed off again.  But why that literally bloody nightmare and whose phone…

Then he remembered Karen and Frank.

It was Jennifer’s phone.  Had the cops responded to the anonymous tip he’d called in on it?  How would he know when or if they’d picked Jennifer up for the murders he’d committed?  Or at least caused indirectly in Karen’s case.  But what matter?  One murder was enough.  Martin broke out in another sweat, shuddered, shivered, and finally cried.

His phone again.  Wherever it was.  Then a short pause.  Then Jennifer’s phone, still in his hand.  He jumped, dropping it as if it was the murder weapon.  It must have hit something just right.  It answered.

“Jennifer, pick up.  Pick up!”

Martin didn’t even breathe, hoping the silence would convince the caller the phone hadn’t answered.  But his own phone started to ring again in the background.

“Jennifer!  Pick up!”

Martin knew who it was:  Ms. Morales, their boss from work.

“Jennifer!  Dios mio!  We have to find Martin…”

Ms. Morales trailed off.  Martin could hear a man screaming something in the background.

“Jennifer,” Ms. Morales whispered, “there’s a tall man with a goatee here looking for Martin, and some guy named Frank.  Do you know who he is?  He’s got a gun!”

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