The heavy rain fell relentlessly throughout the night as Devlin Thorne sat alone on the park bench, drenched to the bone, lost in his memories. Although to him it seemed like yesterday, it had been weeks now since first he saw the statuesque beauty sitting in this very spot. Despite being the middle of the night, she wore a pair of thin, silver framed sunglasses which complimented her long, slender face. They also added an air of mystery to her sexy allure. Her auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders framing the voluptuousness of her ample breasts as revealed by her low cut blouse. Her long legs, so very shapely, looked so smooth in the silvery light of the moon. He imagined how firm they would feel if she wrapped them around him. He believed he was a gentleman and strongly refused to treat any woman as an object but couldn't help himself from wanting her to be his alone.
As he casually approached her, trying his best to hide his desperation and appear aloof, he felt a pang of recognition deep within his soul. Without saying a single word, she looked up at him in that moment as though she had been expecting him and smiled. It was the most natural and comforting sensation of his life. He wanted desparately to ask her if they had ever met before but was afraid it would come across as a cheap pick-up line. She patted the wooden slat of the bench's seat invitingly, "Care to sit and catch up on old times, my love?"
He sat beside her, his mind still racing. He tried to remember every woman he had not only slept or flirted with but even every one that he had ever known. Yes, he admitted to himself, there was a certain, unmistakeable familiarity but it seemed almost too surreal. He knew that he could never have forgotten a woman this gorgeous. Not in a million lifetimes. To Devlin, it was almost like the very fabric of his dreams had offered this fantasy woman to him here in flesh and blood.
Her name, Patricia, struck a chord within him that resonated for the entire length of their discussion into the deepest recesses of his soul. As would be expected from the bizarre nature of the evening, the one topic never mentioned was their past connection despite that being the only thing truly on his mind... well almost the only thing. When they parted company that night, he left with her image emblazoned in his mind and her phone number written on his hand. When he finally arrived at his home, he jotted the number down on the notepad beside the phone and settled down in bed awaiting the dreams he knew would come. He quickly drifted off to sleep.
As the fogs parted and his mind's eye began to see clearly, he saw the memorable azure eyes of Patricia. When he wiped the sleep from his eyes, he realized that everything had changed. Feelings of antiquety and simplicity invaded his senses. Perusing his surroundings, he recognized that he was no longer in the city so familiar to him but in a backwoods location that technology had seemed to have forgotten. There were no high rise office buildings here. No congested highway traffic or the incessant honking or shouting that always came along with it. The concrete jungle was replaced by the solitude of rural living. Simple homes and farmlands became the norm. Where an honest day's living meant so much more than pushing pencils like some desk jockey. Ordinarily a place of peace and tranquility, the purity of this moment had been marred by violence.
"Oh lover, you finally awaken. I was so worried. I thought I had lost you." Her words flowed from her with obvious concern, fear and a hidden hint of malice.
Devlin found himself lying in a makeshift bed of straw in a rundown barn. Still groggy from his sleep and with a mysterious ache in the back of his head that seemed to be drilling a hole straight through his brain causing him to grasp at the origin of the pain. He tried to sit up but failed. Wincing as he touched the open wound, his eyes blurred and refocused on Patricia for what he felt at the moment was the last time. Her clothing seemed out of place to him. She looked like one of the women from those Civil War movies but not quite so elegant as that. She was more rustic. Like she was used to hard manual labour and her appearance exemplified it. The final words he heard her say to him were her vows for vengeance on those who had murdered him and her promises to find him again so they might forever share their love for each other. Then everything faded into darkness.
Devlin sprang up to a sitting position, eyes wide, his body drenched with sweat. He gasped heavily, out of breath as he glanced around the darkened room trying to gather his bearings. He was home. He wasn't dying after all. He would be just fine. Letting out a long sigh of relief, he threw off the covers and rose from his bed. He needed something to settle his nerves, to help him get back to sleep. He made his way to the liquor cabinet in the living room and grabbed a bottle, any bottle. His still trembling hand made the neck of the whiskey bottle titter against the shot glass as he poured his first drink. Downing it quickly, he served himself another, then another. He sat down, sinking into the upholstery of his couch as he thought about his latest nightmare.
This wasn't the first time he'd had this type of dream and lately they were becoming more frequent. Like the farmhand he had appeared to be in this latest vision, he often found himself portrayed as a working class victim of some grievous tragedy. Only the time and place varied. The key to it all seemed to be Patricia. It was always her that was at his side as he lay there bleeding... dying. Each time professing her love for him and the regret that she felt which always sent her seeking vengeance for him. But now she was here, the living, breathing version that made Devlin wonder if these were even dreams at all or some unnerving memories enhanced and multiplied by her arrival.
