Brides Of The Impaler Read Online Free PDF Page A

and it really pissed me off—because her boobs were three times bigger than mine.”
    Cristina was amused by her sister’s vanity. Actually, her body looked magnificent, like a runway model’s. But she always complained about her petite breasts.
    A moment stretched by, then Cristina had to ask: “You never told Jess the whole story, did you?”
    “About the Goldfarbs?” She seemed shocked. “No way—just bits and pieces. I didn’t tell him about the porn thing or the drugs.”
    “I told Paul everything,” Cristina admitted.
    “And so you should have. Paul’s a lot more real-world than Jess—Jess couldn’t have handled it. I’ll probably never tell him everything, and not because I’m uncomfortable about what happened. He simply wouldn’t know how to deal with it.”
    Cristina doodled augmentations over her sketch. “I guess the amazing thing is that we both could.”
    “You’re right, and that’s all that matters,” Britt augmented. “We had gross, shitty childhoods but we overcame it all. We’re fine. Lots of girls don’t turn out so well. You wouldn’t believe what’s happened to a lot of the women who come through my office. Stuff that makes our experiences look like patty-cake.” Britt speared another piece of squid. “But you’re still not telling me what’s wrong, and it’s got nothing to do with Goldfarb or his scumbag wife.”
    “I’m just tired,” Cristina said, rubbing her eyes. “I haven’t slept well in the last month. Oh, I know it’s part worrying about the new line of figures, and it’s part shock from moving from Stamford to the middle of the Upper West Side.”
    Britt cast her an angled glance. “Any other parts? ”
    “Yeah, one, I guess.” Now she reglanced at the Noxious Nun doodle. “Since Paul first showed me the house over a month ago, I have this recurring nightmare.”
    “About what?”
    “About this.” Cristina held up the doodle, then shrugged. “It’s just a…bizarre dream.”
    “Well, you’re an artist, and you’re obviously using some image from the dream in your work. Catharsis, right? Isn’t that what artists do?”
    “I guess. At least that’s what my shrink said.”
    “So. You dream about that kooky nun-sketch. That’s it?”
    Cristina briefly closed her eyes…and saw the flowing swirls. “The dream’s set before a swirling background of black, green, and red. A naked woman is holding a crude clay bowl, like a halved coconut. And the bowl has three gemstones on it—one black, one green, one red.”
    Britt chuckled a sigh. “A naked girl holding a bowl. That’s a nightmare? ”
    Cristina shared the chuckle. “Don’t even go there, sister. No Freud today. See, in the dream, the woman’s wearing a wimple.”
    “A what?”
    “A wimple. It’s that thing nuns wear on their heads. Like a white sock with an oval cut out for the face, and a black hatlike thing over it.”
    “All right. I’m following you now. Nude nun, in a wimple , holding a coconut.”
    “A bowl, really. Like a clay bowl or something. But here’s the nightmare part. In the dream, she shows me the bowl, and it’s got blood in it. Ad then the weird lines of color in the background get more intense, and then—”
    Britt seemed bored. “Yeah?”
    “Then the nun grins—and she’s got fangs.”
    “And that’s why you’re losing sleep? Jeez, Cristina. You ought to have one of my tidal-wave nightmares. I wish I had dreams about nude women.”
    “With fangs? ”
    “Maybe I’d have fangs, too.” Now Britt ate a crab puff. “You know what you’re problem is, sister? You’re just a worrywart. You’re a successful artist, with a successful fiancé who wants you to move into his new house with him. These are very positive things but, yeah, they represent change, and the prospect of change can be stressful. It’s this stress that’s triggering the nutty nightmare, along with your natural-born…worrywartdom.” Britt almost seemed berating now. “You’re