Free Black Stump Ridge by John Manning; Forrest Hedrick Page A

time, uncertain what to do, her arms wrapped tightly across her belly. Her own tears flowed down her cheeks. Silent sobs shook her body.
    •
    Fred lay on his back, eyes closed, his body climbing to wakefulness in slow jerky stages. His headache had already started, a dull pounding behind his eyes as an unseen vice threatened to crush his temples. A burning sensation filled his nose. A noxious, fuzzy carpet covered his tongue. The back of his throat burned.
    His stomach weighed in next as a sour belch worked its way up and out. He felt the building of another, this one threatening to carry more than gas with it. His distended bladder informed him of its urgent need. His bowels offered their own liquid concurrence to the overall protest. With a groan, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the mattress. He sat there for a moment, holding his head against the wildly gyrating sensation that threatened to drop him to the floor. When the room finally stopped moving, he stood and staggered to the bathroom. He barely made it to the toilet. He sat there, his shorts around his ankles and his head in his hands, as his body emptied itself.
    “Damn. Looks like I lived through it again.”
    As the tank refilled behind him, he looked at his reflection in the mirror. Grimacing, he brushed his teeth to rid himself of the furry growth. As he rinsed, he debated whether to shave or not. Since the president wasn’t stopping by today, he decided it probably wasn’t necessary. He turned, opened the door, and stopped. He stared at the bed for a long time as he tried to remember what had happened the night before. Try as he might, all he could recall was crushing out a cigarette and flipping the remote to some TV show.
    So, why was there a woman lying on his bed?
    •
    “You gave me quite a turn, you know,” Fred said around a bite of biscuit and gravy.
    When Amanda first suggested that they go somewhere for breakfast, Fred had declined. Just the thought of eating anything made his stomach recoil. As he sat there, however, with a large glass of tomato juice inside of him and a platter full of scrambled eggs, biscuits, gravy, sausage, and hash brown potatoes before him, the idea gained merit.
    “I apologize, again, Mr. Kyle.” Amanda sipped at her coffee. “When I came over last night, I only intended to drop off some food and go back to my room.”
    “What changed your mind?”
    Amanda took a bite of egg as she considered how to answer. “I started to leave. All at once you sat up in the bed. You were talking and screaming. It sounded like you were having a nightmare. I didn’t know what else to do.”
    A chill washed over him. He looked at his plate for a moment. “What was I saying?”
    “Most of it didn’t make any sense.” She shrugged and then took a bite of egg. “Something about tentacles.”
    Fred sat back, looking at her intently. “Tentacles?”
    She nodded. “And then you called my dad’s name. You shouted for him to look out.” She stopped eating and peered back at him. “Then you started crying and asking what had he done to him. What did you mean by that, Mr. Kyle? What had who done to my father? And, who is Michael?”
    Fred looked down at his plate. “I don’t know. I don’t remember dreaming anything last night.”
    Amanda stared hard at him. Finally, she looked back at her plate. “You went back to sleep. I decided to wait to see if you said anything else. I guess I just fell asleep.”
    “Did I?”
    “Did you what?”
    “Say anything else.”
    “Not that I remember. If you did, I was already asleep and didn’t hear it.”
    Fred nodded. He turned his attention back to his breakfast. The silence between them grew until, finally, she broke it.
    “What’s it all mean, Mr. Kyle?”
    “Mean? I don’t think it means anything. It was a dream – pointless, aimless, and totally without purpose. Dreams are like that, you know.”
    “Everything has a purpose. Somewhere there’s a meaning, even to