Free The Messenger (2011 reformat) by Edward Lee

it replayed in
his mind, image by grueling image.
    He'd dreamed
about Marlene.
    Oh, God. It
was true. How could he feel more ashamed? And the dream itself?
    Carlton felt
ill.
    If dreams
could have a smell, this dream stank. It made him mentally recoil, just as
someone would physically recoil after stepping in wormy road kill on a
hundred-degree day. In the dream, he hadn't been making love to Marlene, he'd
been fucking her. Using her body as a receptacle for pleasure, not a person, a
thing to placate his sex drive. He also knew that he didn't care about Marlene
at all in the dream-it didn't matter that he knew her, it didn't matter that
they were friends. Carlton discarded all that; in fact, he even hated her in
the dream, hated her for being more than simply a luscious physical body with a
hole for his needs. The soulless lust and hatred made him think of serial
killers who murder the women they raped after they'd had their orgasm.
Marlene's hands were at his throat as he thrust into her, and his were on hers.
They were strangling each other as they bucked, and when Carlton came and
looked down at her-expecting her to be dead-she grinned up at him in lust as
perverse as his own. "Do it again," she panted, "do it again. Do
it real hard this time, do it to me till I pass out. You can even kill me if
you want-I don't give a shit. Just do it to me again." It was awful, it
was so wrong, and in the dream part of him knew this-and was repulsed-but it didn't
matter. The sexual Mr. Hyde in him had been tapped and was unloading full
force-on her. They did it again and again and again, just like that, spending
themselves and bringing each other to near-death at the brink of each demented
climax.
    Carlton had
chuckled after finishing. She'd been on top for the last one, and he simply
shoved her off on to the dirt-flecked floor, his handprints throbbing on her
throat. Had he actually killed her this time?
    He didn't
care. He'd had his fun.
    An even more
forbidden idea began to occur to him as she lay there unmoving, but then her
puffed eyes opened to slits, and she frowned.
    "You are
one dull lay, Carlton, Jesus Christ," she griped, and then she was up in a
huff, beads of sweat flying off her flushed skin. Stomping away, putting her
postal uniform back on, grabbing her route gear. Carlton particularly noticed
her carrier bag, and...
    What appeared
to be the wire-stock of a small machine-pistol sticking out of it.
    "Now I'm
gonna go have some real fun, you asshole," she said, and left.
    The dream's
fringes were throbbing, like the choke marks on her throat, pinkish-blue around
the edges. That's when Carlton noticed where the demented foray had taken
place: in the basement of the newly reopened west branch.
    Awake now,
head thumping as if hungover, he shivered at the nightmare in disgust. How
could his mind create such a scenario? Marlene was a friend, a coworker, and I
just dreamed about having sex with her. Hardcore sex, like nothing I've ever
had or would ever want to have. She'd been married, had a son. She'd been a
good person. Carlton had never felt so ashamed in his life. The shame tripled when
he made this next observation: He was outrageously aroused.
    What the hell
is wrong with me?
    A final image
nagged him. It was something from the nightmare, but the nightmare had changed.
It had changed places. The humid night beat down on him. He was standing
outside, and could hear crickets. Mosquitoes buzzed around his head, some
landing on his skin to taste his sweat and drink his blood. The moon shone
behind him and in its light, when he looked down, he realized where he was.
    A cemetery.
    But not any
cemetery. Winter-Damon Cemetery.
    He realized
what he was looking at.
    Marlene's
gravestone.
    For a moment,
just a single moment, he brought his hand to his erection in the most ultimate
shame of all. But he stopped at the effort: His hand came away...gritty.
    He jerked
himself to one side, hugging the pillow, as if to turn away from all