Past Imperfect ... A Paranormal Tale Part 3 ...Dream Girl

in #writing5 years ago (edited)



Dream girl, please do not wake me so I may continue to dream...
― Ken Poirot



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I found a girl wandering in the rain who suffered a head wound and seems out of sync with this time and place.

So, here I am, making breakfast at midnight for a girl with a dreamy look in her eyes, while lost in my own thoughts musing that nothing about this night makes sense.

While I’m caught up in my reverie, she's finished changing into my ex's clothes and comes into the dining room and sits down at the table.



“Mmm, something smells good.”

That’s my cue to rescue the bacon and eggs before they burn.

She may not be enamoured with me, but at least it’s quasi-romantic eating in candlelight with the chandelier dimmed and the city lights gauzy in the curtains.

She’s absently staring round the condo while nibbling on a piece of whole-wheat toast.



“I know this building—always wanted to see inside it, but never did.”

“Really? You know the Flatiron?”

“Yeah, I do. I remember some swell lived here. Used to drop by the club all the time when I was singing and invited me up here—you know, the kinda lame Mae West line like, why don’t you come up and see me sometime?” She laughed softly. “Of course, I never did.”



I overlook the dated slang to focus in on one detail. “You’re a singer?”

“Yeah, I sing. Is that a crime?”

I look at her slightly tousled, disheveled blond hair and huge eyes and everything melts inside me. She has Hollywood looks that I somehow didn’t notice before.



“Say, why don’t we go out to the club?” she asks suddenly. “I’ll get us a front row seat and Lenny will make sure all the drinks are free.”

“Who’s Lenny—your boyfriend?”

She burst into a shy smile that catches me by surprise. “No, I don’t have a steady guy. Lenny is the doorman.”



I want to kiss her cute elfin face. “Sure, why not?” I laugh, “but what about that cut on your head?”

She bends forward allowing her hair to spill over her shoulders, revealing the crown of her head.

There’s no cut—no blood—no scar.

“I don’t get it,” I blurt out, “that cut on your head looked really deep.”

She throws back her head, tossing her hair and smiles. “I heal fast.”



She spots the grandfather clock. “Hey—it’s past midnight but If we hurry we can catch the last show.”

She jumps up, grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. My momentum carries me a bit further and I end up in her arms.

Again those huge eyes—and next thing I know, we’re kissing.



“That’s all,” she says sternly, hands on my shoulders, pushing me away. But her eyes are dancing.

“Where are we going?” I ask, grabbing my car keys.

“Don’t worry, I’ll show you.”

We end up in a place I don’t know called Clinton’s Tavern.



I’m out of my element, but Kath looks bewildered too. “It looks different somehow, Jes—I don’t understand.”

I stare at her helplessly.

“Why don’t we just grab a table and figure it out?”

We sit down opposite the bar and I’m staring round the room. It’s the usual pub kitsch—wood paneling and tack chairs, and there’s a big dark hall at the back.

“I sing back there, Jes,” Kath says in this flat voice, “but everything looks different.”

I've got the distinct feeling that things are going to go south really fast.



© 2018, John J Geddes. All rights reserved



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Sort:  

Woah... That happened really fast...

very much like a dream...

Exactly like a dream where scene changes abruptly with no apparent reason or logic. Wait.. Is this all happening in Jes's head ?

That is a distinct possibility, but the whole situation has elements of a dream

"Out of Time" by The Rolling Stones , comes to mind?

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