Clean Burn by Karen Sandler Page A

adding her phone number after a Yahoo search.
    The email from luvzboyz had finally arrived and I considered taking a look at what he’d sent. But since I’d be able to do nothing with the information until morning, I shut down the laptop. A quick pee stop in the bathroom to say hello to the resident cockroaches, some vigorous flossing and brushing and I was ready for bed.
    With my mind running a million miles an hour, I expected to toss and turn. But sometimes exhaustion catches up with me and slam-dunks me into slumberland. Instinctive fear almost pulled me back to wakefulness just before I dropped off. But the dream demons had their hold on me and wouldn’t let go until they’d taken me to hell.

 
    CHAPTER 8
     
    Sometimes the nightmare plays out exactly as it happened – at least as close to reality as my adrenaline-jacked brain registered at the time. On other occasions, the familiar events morph into a carnival freak show of images, with special appearances by bogeymen from my childhood. Tonight’s entertainment leaned more toward the actual than fantasy, although shifting shadows blurred the edges.
    I’m twenty-eight years old again, creeping into the Tenderloin district warehouse where Maynard had holed up. The Sig Sauer P229 in my hands got heavier with each step I took until I could barely hold it in position. I knew Maynard was somewhere in the shadows, that he was armed, that Tommy might be with him.
    Ken should have been to my left, had been ten years ago. But when I looked for him, he stood nearly out of sight in a far corner of the warehouse. I wanted to signal him to move closer, but I was afraid Maynard would see me. As I peered around the stack of boxes I’d hidden behind, I realized I’d forgotten my vest. Then the boxes vanished, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.
    Sometimes, I’m the one who’s shot in the nightmare instead of Maynard. The department shrink had told me it was my subconscious attempt to atone for Tommy’s death. Personally, I thought that was crap, but either way, it didn’t change the fact that I was scared shitless.
    In a moment of lucid dreaming, I decided to shoot first. I blasted away indiscriminately into the darkness. Ken never moved, which had been my perception at the time. In reality, he’d covered me, peppering Maynard’s position with his Sig until I could get close enough to take the bastard out.
    In the erratic way of dreams, I suddenly stood over Maynard, gun trained on him as he bled at my feet. He was still conscious, staring up at me. I knew I had to ask him about Tommy, find out where he’d left the boy. But even though I tried to shout out the question, “Where is he?” I couldn’t make any sound. Maynard faded, his eyes slowly closing, a sick grin on his face.
    I kicked him, once, twice, to get him to wake up again. As I struck him a third time, I looked at his face in rage... But it wasn’t Maynard, it was Tommy lying there, Tommy’s blood staining my black boots. Then something wrenched me from the dream and I was falling. Below me, I saw myself, stretched out on the motel bed, Tommy Phillips bending over me.
    I jolted awake, gasping, heart hammering in my ears. Reflexively, I looked beside the bed, but of course there was no one there. With cautious dread, I scanned the room, but no sad-eyed boy stood in the corner. Even still, horror still had me in its grip.
    In the aftermath of that nightmare, I showed some restraint. I only lit ten matches, eight of them doused in a glass of water while the flame still burned. The other two served their purpose, easing my night terrors with the exquisite pain of expiation.
    * * *
     
    Julie Switzer scowled at me as I approached the reception desk the next morning. “You lied. You’re not a police officer.”
    I gave her a shit-eating grin. “I never said I was.”
    Gears twirled in her head as she replayed our conversation. Her pale blue eyes narrowed on me. “Then you tricked me.” Her gaze dropped to