Evil Dreams Read Online Free PDF Page B

Trina turned to take the glasses to the kitchen, “where are you going with the wine?”
    Trina almost dropped the goblets but recovered and bit her lower lip. What the hell was going on? What kind of game was this? She turned to find her husband smiling broadly.
    He held her chair before taking his own place across the small table. With too much competition from the light of dusk filtering through the drawn blinds, the candles’ flames danced feebly on their wicks, biding time until they would be the only illumination.
    “Did I tell you,” he said, “that he wants to hypnotize me?”
    She shook her head, still perplexed over the momentary change in her husband’s personality. Should she tell Doctor Dayton about this? Or was she merely being foolish? Had she placed herself under a degree of intensity today by worrying about Jon and the appointment? An intensity that suddenly twisted things out of perspective? Maybe she should be the one seeing the psychiatrist.
    “I think it might be quite an experience,” Jon continued between bites of meat. Glancing at his wife, he found her studying him, her face frozen in a baffled expression. “Are you all right, honey?” He reached for his glass, downing a third of the wine. “Mmmm! Delightful taste!”
    Trina stared. “I have—have, some rather interesting plans for this evening,” she offered tenuously. “Some that I hope will prove to be as intriguing as being hypnotized.” She wondered if he caught the hesitancy in her voice.
    Smiling, he leered at her.
    The rest of the meal was consumed in silence. Their sense of anticipation rose, heightened by the wine and the occasional leg contact beneath the table.
    When they finished, he stood and said, “I’ll clear the table. You were the chef, I’ll be the scullery maid—er, man—er, person. Right, scullery person. You got to the bedroom and prepare yourself, my fine wench.” Precariously balancing the dishes in a shaky stack, he limped to the kitchen.
    “You’re—” Trina stopped. Had he hurt his leg? Should she call his attention to it? But why set him off again? She didn’t want him thinking she was looking for things out of the ordinary. If she did that, he might completely shut her out. She resolved not to mention anything he did that might be interpreted by her as being abnormal. More than likely, his leg had fallen asleep during dinner.
    “I’m what?” he asked, hobbling back to the living room. He rubbed his elbow as though it bothered him.
    “You’re not going to be too long, are you?” Trina asked, feigning seductiveness. She did her best to pretend she hadn’t noticed his lameness and unconscious attention to his arm. The question and her attitude apparently escaped detection. She sighed inaudibly.
    He scooped her into his arms. “I’m ready when you are,” he chuckled.
    Carrying her, he limped toward the bedroom.
    * * *
    Tory Worthington paused before the old door which opened to her private world, to the stairs leading to the fourth floor apartment she shared with Howie Liemen. Fumbling in her purse, she pushed aside a ball of tissue and assorted cosmetics before finding her key ring. Their mailbox surrendered a catalog of exclusive women’s apparel, desirable things she could no longer afford, plus several windowed envelopes. She winced at the return addresses. She knew what they contained. Late notices for overdue payments she should have made months before. The weathered door, thirsty for a touch of paint, opened grudgingly, the squeal of dry hinges lost in the noise of traffic. She started up the four flights of steps.
    Since she had met Howie six months ago, she had been having trouble making her money go as far as it had in the past. She didn’t blame Howie. How could she, when she loved him so much? As soon as he found work, everything would be fine. It was difficult for someone who had served five years in prison to find a job.
    She paused at the second floor landing to catch her