Midnight Dreams Deep Red

All of the following is complete and total fiction. Not a word of it occurred, nor would it.

Midnight Dreams - Deep Red

Starring Hailee Steinfeld

(MF, Oral, Cons, Dreams)

By MrMaxLord

Dreams are an odd thing. No one is really sure why you humans do it. Some theorize it's a chemical reaction to you brain detoxing while you sleep. Others say it's your brain doing its best to organize all the days events, thoughts and fantasies. What are they actually? Hell if I know, and I'm the personification of dreams.

Over the millennia, I've gone by a few names. Oneiros, Morpheus, Baku, Niorun, almost as endless as how I've been seen by you lot. Sometimes a woman, sometimes genderless but many a time a male. Sometimes in a toga, a kimono, sometimes adorned with an eyeless headpiece that lives somewhere between a crown and a war helmet. In recent years due to pop culture many of you see as some sort of incredibly suave Goth god. What am I actually? Whatever you want. I'm not really something you can identify that easy. So, just think of what you want me to be and that's it. Come on, I'll give you a few seconds.

Got it? Now think on it for about five seconds and....there. Let me just check this out.

Hmmm, not bad. I like the way you think. I like the way a lot of you think. The dreams of your species in particular are amazing in what you can think of and in what you can do with them. And I'm not talking about in some romantic "dreams inspire" way. You people do things that are quite unique in the dreamscape.

For example, you ever talk to a friend to find out that you two shared an extremely similar dream? That wasn't a similar dream, it was the same dream. Ever see someone on the street, your eyes meet and you swear you know them? The only thing making that gaze awkward being the fact that you know there's no way you could know each other. Well here's the rub...you kind of do know that person. You connected in a dream.

See, most of the time you guys just create your own mini dreamscape. It is what it is, what you need it to be. However sometimes that need, that desire is so strong you draw someone in with similar needs and desires. Dreamers seek out other dreamers and you merge to create a unified fantasy. And to be honest, since humans, in addition to being incredibly creative you're also abnormally horny so those dreams tend to be about sex...a lot. Not that I'm offended by any means. I mean I'm about as old as sentient thought so I've seen some serious stuff in your heads to the point a little midnight fantasy is a welcome respite.

Of course it helps that when some people clicks, more desires beyond sex spill in from both. I mean after all, a dream is a multicourse meal, seasoned with what you want most. Take this dream I'm going to tell you about, or rather show you. I mean I'm not really going to be your narrator. think of me as your guide to how your brains work when you're not fully at the wheel.

Let's look at a dream that played into the fantasies and desires of two people who've never met in the waking world but what they long for has made them intersect.

First off, allow me to introduce you to Richard Martle. I suppose he's what you'd call a typical human male in his twenties. It's hard for me to really define what typical is considering how often your dream selves change. Humans are anything but typical. However from what I gather from him, in the waking world he doesn't see himself as anything too special. He does have a few unique things about him comparatively of his peers. The greatest of course being his fascination with old crime noir films. Well, not just the old, any of them. The black and white classics like Double Indemnity, Sunset Boulevard and Nightmare Alley, the ones that played with the genre like The Third Man and The Sweet Smell of Success to neo-noirs like Body Heat and Basic Instinct. Futuristic Noir like Blade Runner also had a place in his heart. The cynical hard boiled detective, the femme fatale, the murder, grime, sex and mayhem. Nothing in the realm of fiction and fantasy got his attention so.

One thing he definitely has in common with a great deal of other people in the Waking is his desire for an actress by the name of Hailee Steinfeld. A great many of you have dreamed of her as he has. And perhaps, she wandered in your dreams like she had wandered in Richard's. Her desires of late had been with her career to a degree, along with far more carnal, human desires. Watching the careers of other actresses, a big part of her ached for those kinds of roles, the edgier and darker ones. And that desire had moved to her dreams, and her dreams reached out to someone in some way on her wavelength. Desire met desire and, well...here we go.

*******

It always seemed dark in the city. Dreamy haze of steam rising from the vents just adding the grays. The stars couldn't even be seen, the only light source that was ever there to illuminate the shadows were the artificial ones that lit up the neon signs for nightclubs, seedy motels, liquor store and other businesses you wouldn't tell your mother you step foot in lest you find out you were exactly the kind of person everyone told her you were.

In this city of night the only way to get things done was with money. Even the cops were on the take. Innocence came with a price tag and even that was negotiable. Hell, even the fire department had fire sales.

This was the world that Dick Slammer, Private Eye, lived in. If you gave him the cash, he'd handle it. Wanted to find out if your husband or wife was cheating on you? He was your guy. Wanted someone to fake that your husband or wife was cheating on you to get out a of a prenup? He could handle that too. He knew what was what in the city. Which of course helped him when he was hired to do actual detective work.

That was one very understood rule in the city. When you take a contract, someone's money, you honor it. Money was the only god recognized by anyone in that city and when you took it as payment you fulfilled your job. You took no higher bids in the middle to screw over your current employer, no matter how big on the food chain you thought you were. And at best Dick was a mackerel.

Still, mackerel had their uses as well as their needs and right now he was a mackerel who was in need of some work to pay a few bills and other assorted debts. Debts and bills he was looking through on his damn near ancient desk, barely illuminated by the lamp on it.

That was when she came through the door. The dame didn't even knock, she just walked in and told her story without saying a word.

She was a leggy brunette who wore a blue satin dress that brought a little color to the black and white of Dick's world, however her deep red lips brought even more. Her dark hair was long, hanging over her shoulder and her black heels gave the tall drink of water a few more inches.

She took the seat in front of his desk without asking and crossed her legs before taking out a cigarette and lighting it, again without asking nor offering one to Dick. She took a deep drag, savoring the smoke before letting it drift from her red lips. That was when she spoke.

"You're Dick Slammer, right?" she asked. "The name's not on the door, just the number. I was told I could find him in this building in office number 69."

"That's me," he said. "And what might your name be?"

"Hailee Steinfeld."

"Name sounds familiar." Dick opened up a drawer in his desk and took out a bottle of cheap whiskey and two glasses. He poured himself one and gulped it down.

"Well I've been in the papers a lot in the last six months," she replied.

'Yeah, that's right. Some socialite kind of lady. Married some rich guy right? Older one, hence the headlines."

"Close enough. Allow me to flesh out the parts you missed." She reached over and grabbed the empty glass. "Care to pour me one?"

"Figured this might be a little too cheap a taste for a lady like yourself." It was a half-truth. After all, he brought out two glasses for a reason, but mainly manners. Sometimes a polite gesture meant a few extra zeros on his price tag. He unscrewed the cap and poured her a bit.

"I have varied tastes," Hailee said. She took the glass and gulped the alcohol down, savoring the unique burn only cheap booze can bring. "I didn't marry Willard, but we were engaged. And yes, he was much older. Not an issue in my book so it's not in yours."

"I'm noticing a lot of past tense being used. He boot you for an even younger model?"

"After putting giving me everything in the will? Hardly. He's dead. Last week actually. Bullet to the back of the head. An execution. Before you ask, the police aren't even looking at me. To be honest they aren't looking at anyone. I may have access to some money but not all of it, not yet. And until I can I'm not worth paying attention to, either as a suspect or a potential victim."

"Potential victim?" He poured and took another drink. "You get some threats?"

"Suspicions. Warnings. Might be paranoia but considering the relationship I have with Willard's son, nothing's off the table until I get that money and get out of this country. I don't care how it looks, it's the only way to make sure I'm safe. Besides, I'm sure for the right price the police can find just the right person to send up the river before I go."

"But you might not make it until you get that much money, which is why you're here."

"Exactly. I might not be able to pay for the cops' ears but I can pay for you." Hailee took another deep drag from her cigarette and then the smoke escape her red lips. "They missed something at the house. They were barely in his study for a half hour. Hell I think some of his brain is still on the wall."

"Clearly your shaken by this," Dick sarcastically said.

"Mr. Slammer, it wasn't a marriage-to-be of love," said Hailee. "It was a business transaction and I more than earned my fee. I'm not saying I hated him or he deserved what he got. He was a nice enough old man and we both shared the same amount of cynicism. We knew what it was. Doesn't mean I wanted him dead. Hell, all I needed to do was wait a couple of years for life to take care of it on his own. I'm just lucky he put me in the will before the actual wedding date, something else which enraged his son to no end."

"This son have a name?"

"Conrad. I tend to think of him as Beelzebub. I also always thought of him as a bit spineless. That was one thing I genuinely admired about Willard, he had guts; guts that sonny boy lacks. But when this much money is on the line spontaneous spinal growth could very well happen."

"Fair enough. So what, need some muscle? Want me to rough up junior?"

"No. I want you to find out how it was done. From what I could tell when I got home, everything was locked. Not broken window or anything, just one dead husband with a bullet hole that went from the back of his head through the front, right between the eyes. Cops didn't find the bullet, though it's not like they really looked."

"How and not who?"

"I think the how is going to lead to the who. I'm offering you ten thousand dollars with five upfront. I have access to some money right now and in a few days I'll have it all."

"Any time frame?"

"Honestly?" she asked as she got up. It was then he noticed a black leather purse that she had laid at her side. She picked it up and took out a stack of hundreds and tossed it on the desk. "Once I get the money I don't particularly care. I'll be out of sight and mind. So let's say one week or less. Until then, you'll be at the mansion." Hailee then bent over and wrote down the address. "Be there in 90 minutes. The butler will let you in. I'll be out but do not leave until I get back, understood?"

He picked up the five grand and flipped through the bills. "For this?" he asked. "Sure thing, doll."

******

Dick was at the door right on time. It was a swanky joint, the kind of mansion where couldn't quite tell how many floors it had, let alone rooms. And that was just the front view, who knew if it had a pool house that had its own pool house or a guest house with it's own bell boy. It sure as hell had security. The mansion itself was about half a mile behind a ten foot tall wall of stone and mortar and the iron gate he came through was guarded by a group of three guard who looked like it was a good chance they were paid in in blood and raw meat than with cold hard cash. He was actually surprised they could talk instead of just grunting when he was allowed in.

Now the jaded P.I. found himself in front of a large oak door. It was decorated solely by a brass knocker right in front of him. It looked like some sort of weird, ancient god forgotten to time and no one gave a good god damn.

"Maybe I should have asked the cavemen at the gate what you are," he thought to himself. He searched for a doorbell but saw no such convenience until he noticed a rope hanging to his left, lost in the in shadows cast by the gargoyles overhead. He took hold of it and gave the rope a pull, the action doon followed by a booming ring that sounded like an off-kilter gong. He didn't wait long before it was answered, and it was the butler who did it.

The butler looked like a cartoon character. So old he couldn't figure out exactly how old, but not so crunchy he looked a like a hard sneeze would make his heart burst. The old bastard looked like he couldn't just take a punch but throw a couple. Part of that had to be the gentleman's eyebrows, which looked to be so thick it'd make Groucho Marx do a double take.

"You're Mr. Slammer I take it," the butler said.

"That's correct," Dick replied. "And what do I call you, Jeeves?"

"I genuinely couldn't care less sir. My shift's over. The study's on the left, first door. Ms. Steinfeld should be here shortly."

"You seem pretty mellow for a guy who's boss was executed in that room."

"With all due respect Mr. Slammer," the butler said, putting on his coat. "In this town going a day without seeing a dead body would be more shocking. Seeing one? That's just Tuesday."

"Good point." Without another word, the butler was gone and Dick was alone in an ornate mansion. The stairs in front of him only seemed to go up endlessly. Even when he was inside he couldn't tell how many stories high the mansion was. The more he looked around, the more he realized he could get lost on the first floor alone. The hall ahead of him seemed endless. The room to his right could fit two studio apartments but to the people who lived here it was just a living room. Despite the size and the gilded nature of the decorations Dick had little interest in investigating. There was no money in it. The money was in the room on the left.

The door was already open and he walked it. He reached to the wall on his right, finding the light switch instantly and turning it on. With the room lit, the study seemed absolutely dull despite being its own private library. Books that had to be at least three times older than Dick filled the shelves that lined the wall, shelves broken up only by oil paintings on the walls between. It was everything he's expect from a silver spoon, right down to an oversized globe in the middle of the room and a bust of Shakespeare in the corner.

Of course the thing that clashed with all the cash on display were the traces of homicide. Hailee was right, the cops didn't do much of a clean-up job. On a couple of paintings of what had to be distant relatives of the deceased he saw pieces of dried brain and skull along with a chalk outline still on the the floor.

"This is sloppy even for them," he muttered. He remembered that Hailee said her husband to be was executed and from the chalk outline, if the body wasn't messed with, the vic was on his knees when the bullet became the last thing to go through his mind. Since there was no bullet in the ground and the look of where his gray matter went the gun definitely was pressed down against the top of Willard's head. Dick got on his knees and looked forward for the bullet, figuring the trajectory had to be a straight line from the back to the front. He was right.

He walked forward to one of the bookcases embedded in the walls and kneeled down and found the bullet, or rather where it was. It had gone through Willard's skull and into his precious books, tearing through two of them right in the middle.

"Find something?" Hailee said, causing Dick to turn around. She was standing the doorway, leaning against the right side with her shoulder. Her long brunette locks were worn up and she was in a double slit leather dress, her killer legs on full display. The strapped black heels and leather gloves matched the dress and gave off a vibe that further solidified what Dick thought made her bride-to-be material for the deceased.

"The bullet," he replied. "Or where it went." He pulled out the two books, connected by one hole between them. Once the leatherbound tomes were separated the bullet tumbled to the ground. Dick took out a handkerchief and picked it up, examining it closely. "This is especially lazy, even for this city."

"Well, you get what you pay for," Hailee said, finally stepping foot in the room as Dick rose up. "That piece of metal tell you anything aside from the fact it went through Willard's skull?"

"A lot."

"Anything to share?"

"Not just yet," Dick said before putting the bullet in his pocket. "Just a lot of maybes right now." He turned to fully face her. "You're kind of dressed up, aren't you?"

"I just came from an event."

"A charity for orphans, I'm sure," he said, gesturing towards her dress. The comment made her smirk.

"Come, have a drink with me," she said. "We can discuss your thoughts in the living room." She led him to the room right across the hall. Once Dick stepped in he saw exactly how big it was, finding he had actually underestimated it. It had even more extravagance within than he had imagined with his doorway view, crowned with a full size bar and a grand piano.

The two arrived at the bar, Hailee stepping behind it and opening the full-size refrigerator behind it, more specifically the top freezer section. She pulled out a big bottle of Grey Goose and set it on the bar before reaching under to pull out two glasses.

"I thought you liked the cheap stuff," Dick said as she poured them both a drink.

"When it comes to whiskey?" she asked. "Yes. Vodka, you can taste the money and I'd rather not drink paint thinner." She took her glass and clinked it against his before they both took a sip of the cold, crystal alcohol. "So, tell me about your maybes."

"Well if he knew the person he knew what the person was capable of. Nothing was out of place except for his brains and the bullet. He knew if he didn't get on his knees something worse than a bullet might happen or he thought he might get out of it in some way."

"Hmmm," was the only response the brunette, her deep red lips pursing as she thought.

"You seem really broken up about all this," Dick sarcastically said.

"Make no mistake Mr. Slammer, I may not have loved Willard I don't particularly like the fact he's dead. He wasn't awful. He was a perfect business partner. That's what our relationship was, I remind you, a business transaction."

"No offense but wouldn't it have cost him a little less to do the same transaction on a street corner."

"None taken. After all, that's what it began as." Hailee poured another drink and walked around to the other side of the bar, Dick turning around as his gaze followed her. "We met at the Cornucopia Club. I was a cocktail waitress and you've seen the outfits they have us wear as uniforms."

"That I have."

"So did Willard. And some months back then I needed to pay my rent and he heard about how I did it. I'm not ashamed of it. It's not like they were dirty alleyway deals. Then he made me an offer I couldn't refuse. We didn't fuck more than once, he just wanted a taste. He liked it. Hell, I did too. For an old guy he wasn't half bad. I've had worse. But what he really wanted was a piece of arm candy. It made him feel powerful. All I had to do was keep any fun I had on the down low and show up on his arm everywhere he wanted anytime he wanted with this big damn diamond ring on my finger."