Killer Karma

22

The big worry for working on Flaxx was Maitland Flaxx. To pass himself off as Flaxx’s dream, he had to keep her from seeing him. His earlier exploration of the house showed him Flaxx and his wife had separate bedrooms, but those connected through a large bathroom and presumably they slept together at least once in a while. Not tonight, he hoped.

Luckily, no. His ziptrip to the house found Maitland asleep in her bed and Flaxx looking over a spread sheet at a desk in his room. Yawning as he did so. They had both doors into the bathroom closed. Good enough.

Cole charged up at the Golden Gate Bridge, then zipped back to Flaxx’s bedroom. The yawns had given way to nodding over the spreadsheet. Cole grinned. Now he could use the apparition that failed with Irah. He carefully visualized a big exit wound, a bloody gaping hole in place of his left eye and a chunk of forehead, then materialized and ran his fingers across the back of Flaxx’s neck. “Hey…wake up, asshole.”

Flaxx jerked awake. And recoiled, scrambling backward out of the chair and up against the wall behind it. “Jesus!”

“No, you prick.” Cole walked through the chair and within inches of Flaxx’s cringing face. “I’m what’s left of Dunavan after Irah put a bullet through my head.”

Flaxx squeezed his eyes shut. “This can’t be happening. I’m dreaming.”

“Of course you are.”

Flaxx hesitantly opened his eyes again.

Cole backed off to the edge of the desk. “That’s the only way what’s left of your conscience has a chance to express itself. So take a look at what you’ve done. This is me…and this is how Sara Benay looked the last minutes of her life.”

He had planned the image, accurate or not, while charging up. Now he morphed into it…Sara’s figure upright but with her wrists behind her and bound in clear package sealing tape; ankles bound, too; the shirt the shooter wore folded up and taped tight over her nose and mouth; her eyes bulging in terror above it.

Flaxx recoiled again. “I didn’t kill her…or you!”

The phantom gag did not interfere with talking. “But you’re willing to let Irah get away with it. Which is really stupid.” Cole put a sneer in his voice. “She likes killing. It’s a rush. Couldn’t you tell when she told you about it? Who knows who’ll end up in her sights next. It could even be…you.” With which comment, he let go.

Flaxx stared at the space where he had been…glanced around and looked astonished at finding himself standing, then shook his head. “Crazy dream.” He headed for the bathroom.

Cole smiled grimly. “That’s just the beginning, too.”

Flaxx had climbed into bed and fallen asleep while Cole charged up again. No problem. Cole materialized on the far side of the bed as Lamper in his Mr. Rogers sweater, but glowing brightly in the dark. “Donald? Donald!”

Flaxx roused, blinking. “What the hell…”

“I’m sorry to disturb you.” Cole waded into the middle of the bed. “You said I’m always welcome and…” He ran his hands back through his hair. “…I’m too upset to sleep. I’ve been worrying and worrying, trying to understand why Irah is accusing me of pulling that stunt outside your washroom. Then I had this thought.” He paced on out of the bed on Flaxx’s side, then back into the middle. “I guess it’s actually your thought since this is your dream. Maybe she’s accusing me to distract you from remembering what a good mimic she is and that she’s the one person who knows exactly what happened Wednesday night.”

Flaxx blinked irritably at him. “You think it was Irah? What possible reason would she have for the stunt?”

Cole shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re right. What personal agenda could she have?” He backed out of the bed and visualized himself fading…until by the final words of his last sentence, only Lamper’s voice remained, plaintive, apologetic. “I’ll go. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

Flaxx fell back against the pillow, shaking his head. A minute or so later he rolled over on his side and closed his eyes.

Cole charged up again and zipped back to materialize as Lamper again, standing at the foot of the bed. “Donald! I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“Not again,” Flaxx groaned.

“But I’ve been worrying and worrying, trying to understand what’s happening. We had a good thing going that wasn’t supposed to hurt anyone except the insurance companies, but now…”

Flaxx grimaced and closed his eyes. Thinking to escape this dream? No way.

Cole waded up the middle of the bed almost to the pillows. “Donald, you know I’ll do anything for you, but…I knew Sara. I liked her. I don’t know if I can live with murder. ”

That brought Flaxx sitting upright, alarm in his face, dream or not. “Earl, get a grip. I didn’t want it but it happened. You just keep cool. I’ll get us through this.”

Cole shook his head. “Not without doing something about Irah. She’s out of control, acting on her own. She can destroy us.”

Flaxx’s voice went soothing. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle her.”

Oh, great opening. Cole concentrated and abruptly morphed into Irah, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “You’ll handle me, will you?” He laughed. “Just try. But I’m not the one you need to watch out for, brother dear. Earl’s the weak sister. If anyone’s going to bring us down, it’ll be him. Say the word and… On second thought, maybe I should just ice him preemptively. I can make it look like an accident.”

“Irah…” Flaxx began in alarm.

Cole let go.

Flaxx rubbed his face, heaving a deep sigh. “Enough is enough.” He swung out of bed and padded to the bathroom.

Following, Cole watched him take a medicine bottle out of a drawer. He read the label over Flaxx’s shoulder. So Flaxx thought a sleeping pill would end the dreams, did he?

“The problem with those, Flaxx, is they don’t really put you to sleep. They just relax you so you can fall asleep. I don’t intend to let you relax.”

But he had made the points he needed to. Now he just wanted to reinforce them…and give Flaxx the most miserable night of his life — until Flaxx’s first night in jail anyway — to put him in a good mood for tomorrow.

Charging up took longer as the streets quieted, but to keep the sessions as brief as possible, Cole settled for collecting less heat and making each of the night’s succession of materializations brief. Just enough to interrupt Flaxx’s sleep again. Deciding he might as well have fun at it, Cole made it a parade of monsters from the movies the kids and Sherrie loved: Robocop, the Creature from the Black Lagoon, Wolfman, Dracula, Freddie from Elm Street, the alien from the Predator movies, the alien from the Alien movies, a scythe-carrying figure of Death, a seven-foot version of Godzilla, and not least, the Mummy, with Sara’s eyes…all interspersed with appearances by himself — the exit wound in his face increasingly larger and more hideous until he had no face. Everyone muttered warnings about Irah’s homicidal tendencies and Earl Lamper’s failing nerve.

At breakfast in the morning, Maitland stared across the table at Flaxx in concern. “Donald, are you ill? You look terrible.”

Flaxx grunted. “Thank you very much for the encouragement. I feel terrible…like I didn’t get any sleep.” He reached for coffee. “I had stupid dreams all night.”

Cole nodded in satisfaction and went in search of Razor.