Dream Killer

By Amy Savage

Cindy thought she had the perfect marriage. 

Dean was handsome, kind and thoughtful. A little on the quiet side but she liked that about him. They met during paramedic school, became partners, then went to nursing school together. Everything they did, they did as a team. But Dean grows weary of his stressful career as a registered nurse and begins to dabble in photography. ..

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trellis Publishing
• Release date: Jul 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201895402

Book preview

DREAM KILLER

––––––––

AMY SAVAGE

TABLE OF CONTENTS

DREAM KILLER

SHIT HOLE

TWO KILLERS & A HOOKER

KISS THE SUN

THE DARK SHIFT

CUT AND RUN

DREAM KILLER

AMY SAVAGE

CHAPTER ONE  

Cindy came home early that Friday. Her plan was to surprise Dean at the hospital with his favorite meal, a Bento box from the local Japanese joint. She wanted to keep things fresh in their marriage and give her man happy surprises.

Cindy met Dean while they were both in an EMT program. They became study partners, then partners on the job and then in life.  Nursing school followed and they both became registered nurses working at the same hospital. They worked together in the emergency room for three years until Dean made a transfer into administration. He liked being behind the scenes and never liked the person to person contact.  Cindy remained in the emergency room, content to be a grunt serving the public. She enjoyed that validation that came from helping the needy.

His needs were different from hers. But he was the engine that made her life run.

She didn't date much growing up and when a handsome but quiet EMT student became her lab partner, she thanked everything holy for her good fortune.

They were in their fifth year of marriage but had been living together for over ten years. Both of their parents had advised them against the co-habitating in private.

He needs to spit or get off the pot, Cindy's Dad used to tell her. It ain't right.

Cindy knew her father would never understand. She loved Dean. His wavy brown hair and long eyelashes still made her heart pound just like it did when they first met. She always felt Dean was a little above her. He had all of the women in the hospital throwing themselves at him, even patients. Cindy, on the other hand,  always felt invisible. All of her life she was seen as the quiet and now slightly overweight girl who faded into the background. But when she was out with Dean she could feel the eyes of envy of every woman.

She parked and caught her reflection in the rear view mirror. The crow's feet were still growing under her eyes and she had long promised herself to go on a diet. She did some short jogs every now and then, but she was only conning herself into believing that she could resist the honey buns from Suzanne's bakery for long. Some days she cared about her looks, other days she felt resigned to become like all of the other older nurses at the hospital, letting themselves go physically until they resembled penguins waddling around the hallways.

Cindy walked up the steps to their town home in Castro Valley. The neighborhood was relatively safe and they both grew up in this leafy town in the San Francisco Bay Area. She looked across the lawn and saw that his Dodge Viper, a toy she had bought for him last Christmas, was parked in the rear of the garage.

Opening the door, she gave her husband a wide smile as he packed items into a duffel bag.

You're here! she said.

I thought you were working late, he answered.

Cindy walked over and hugged her man. But he gently pushed her back, holding her at arm's length.

I'm leaving you.

What?

Not like that, he almost smirked.  I have been invited to go on a photography retreat. This weekend. Over in Monterey. They're exhibiting my work then I'm staying over for a class.

Oh, Cindy said, surprised. Monterey. That would be fun.

I have to give photography a chance, Dean said, returning his attention to his duffel bag. I feel that I need a change. A major change. I just don't know how to tell you-

Well, if its just for a weekend-

I don't know how long it is going to be for, he said, taking out a camera lens from his bag. He eyed the glass like a child looking through a store window at toy that he couldn't have.

What do you mean you don't know how long it will be for?

I have been selected for an exhibit, Dean said. And there is this photographer's retreat going on at the same time so I thought it would be a great opportunity to meet people. Who knows what will happen, you know? I have to make things happen.  I mean, I can't just stay here.

You mean you can't just stay here with me?

Dean shook his head. I mean I can't, live the life I've been living. It has been, well, you know, just all planned out. I can't really explain it. I talked to some people there. They're excited about my work. Think I have real potential as a photographer.

So, Cindy gave Dean a patronizing look. You're going to give up nursing?

Dean blinked hard and shook his head. I want to do something I love.

Cindy walked over and took Dean by the hand, guiding him back down on the couch. Look, whatever it is you're feeling, whatever it is that you feel that you need to do, just do it. But don't shut me out.

Dean pressed his lips together. He wanted to say something further but there was some kind of mental block holding him back.

We were a team, Cindy said, tilting his chin in her direction and looking him in the eye. She smiled as her husband displayed all of the elements that defined handsome: almond eyes, chiseled chin, full lips and that curly hair. 

"I miss us doing things together. Learning stuff together. Working on stuff together. Remember when we were studying for nursing? We would do it together. Remember? We can do this together."

That's the thing see, we can't do this together, Dean got up quickly from the couch, as if his whole body was on fire. This is just something I have to do on my own. Without friends. Without family-

Without your wife?

Dean looked down. I didn't think you would understand.

Understand what?

Art, you know? Dean ran his fingers through his hair. Expressing yourself. I know it sounds pretentious, but I'm in this different mental space from you. Hard to explain because-

I'll learn about it, Cindy said. Doesn't really matter as long as we're together. Right?

Cindy sat back up and hugged Dean. There was something different about his hug, she thought. Usually he would press his groin up into her. She would tremble as he would run his hands on her shoulders and follow the outline of her breasts through her blouse. But that was then and this is now. And now his arms just rested limply at his side.

CHAPTER TWO

The two men stood in front of a blown-up photograph of a hummingbird hovering over a rose.

Where did you study? the old man asked. He had that UC Berkeley professor vibe about him, Dean thought, complete with the tie-dyed t-shirt and flip-flops.

I didn't, Dean said. I studied on-line. Learned a lot of technique from watching Youtube videos.

Dean felt like he belonged. He loved going to museums as a boy, the Oakland Museum being his favorite as his own father. He remembered marveling at the sculptures, paintings and photography but never conceiving he could do such things himself.

It was the photography that stuck in his mind the most. Looking around at his own photos that dotted the white walls, he felt an immense sense of accomplishment that outweighed anything he had ever done working in a hospital emergency room. He had created a body of work that belonged uniquely to him and only him.

The number of people attending were sparse, there were other independent artists exhibiting in the hotel. Most people wandered in after looking at other exhibits down the hall, lookee-loos with a smug air about them. The old man seemed different, however, speaking with a low voice that Dean had to strain to hear.

Well, I like it, the old man looked up at Dean's photos. Shit, better than most of the drivel they put up here.

I'm Dean Foster, Dean shook the man's hand, feeling the callouses scrape against his own soft palms.

Ollie Stein, the man said. I'm thinking about buying this one here. I like landscapes. But I'm sure the wifey will want the one with the humming bird or the cat.

Dean's photography ran the gamut from landscapes that he shot at the Golden Gate Bridge to cute pictures of animals, wild and domestic. His most popular picture seem to be that of the alley cat he photographed while getting some takeout in Oakland's Chinatown.

Then there were the glamour nudes he shot of Pauline Acosta and Tina D'Orsay. The two models were nice enough to drive down to promote the exhibit, clearly having no inhibitions over their bodies or their work. They signed up for the seminar later which required them to pose in front of various photographers so this was a money earning trip for them.

He contacted the women on-line and met with them in secret, telling Cindy that he was going out for a nature shoot. He planned these shoots when he knew she was at work. Cindy worked the second shift, sometimes on weekends. Dean worked a normal nine-to-five, jumping for joy when Cindy worked the weekends.

This is my daughter, Ollie said as a smiling blonde walked over and joined the two men. Rebecca, this is the man responsible for all of the only photos worth looking at.

Pleasure to meet you, Mister Photographer.

I'm Dean, he said extending his hand. The tremor in his voice betrayed his attraction. Dean's eyes sparkled as he took in the woman's beauty, she had freshly washed blonde hair that fell daintily to her shoulders and eyes that looked like a pair of pale emeralds.

Dean almost felt a jolt of electricity as her long and elegant fingers shook his hand.

Rebecca, she said, the glint in her eye unmistakable, her voice like a snatch of music floating in the wind.

She wore blue jeans and a black spaghetti-strap top that showed off her cleavage. A crucifix around her neck gave off of an air of virtue that they both knew she didn't have.

Dean?

Dean turned around and saw his wife come into the exhibit room.

Oh, hi, he muttered as Cindy came around the corner.

I was looking for you everywhere, Cindy beamed as she looked up all of Dean's photos. I should have told you but I wanted it to be a surprise. I called off sick. I can't miss my husband's big moment.

This is my wife, Dean stammered, introducing Cindy to the old man and his pretty daughter.

Then they heard the scream come from the back of the hotel. 

CHAPTER THREE

Pauline Acosta's body was found on the terrace. She laid on her back, legs crossed over with her forearm covering her eyes. One last final pose as her blood patterned into an impressionist artwork on concrete.

The crowd kept its distance as the ambulance  arrived. The facial expressions of the two young male paramedics were locked in professional sympathy as they lifted the dead body onto the gurney, latex snapping as they shed their bloody gloves. They couldn't help but marvel at how beautiful the girl was as she managed to make a body bag look like a designer outfit.

Some in the crowd that speculated that Pauline had too much to drink, fell and cracked her head open. 

Poor girl, Cindy said, her eyes wide at the horrible sight.

The police arrived and began questioning everyone on scene including Cindy and Dean. They required everyone to leave their contact information and that the investigation would be ongoing.

The Monterey twilight slowly turned the sky to velvet as they arrived at Dean's cabin. The place had a wooden gate that stood open to the beach and bay. An idyllic place for a honeymooning couple.

She was one of my models, Dean said as fumbled around for the keys.

You never told me, Cindy said.

Yeah, Dean said. I didn't know what you would think. It was all totally professional.

Yeah, Cindy said. I mean, you could have told me. I totally trust you.

She was nice, Dean said. You would have liked her. I can't believe this happened.

Well, her pictures will go up in value now that she's dead right?

That only works when the artist dies, Dean corrected. Not the subject.

This is really nice, Dean, Cindy said, changing the subject while taking in the rustic surroundings.

I wanted to spoil myself.

Are you mad because I didn't call?

Are you mad because I take pictures of hot chicks? Dean asked.

You know, Cindy said, It doesn't bother me that much. I know you. Believe me, if you were cheating on me, I would know.

They entered the cabin and the smell of hibiscus petals filled the air. The housekeepers had scented the room earlier and Cindy breathed deep.

This is really, really nice, she said, taking in the fireplace, the aquarium on the shelf and the view of the bay.

Yeah.

Cindy spun around, walking over to Dean and hugging him hard. She kissed him on the neck and felt the old Dean come back, pressing his body against hers.

They kissed again.

Bedroom must be that way, Cindy said as she took hold of Dean's hand.

It had been awhile since Dean had made love to her with the kind of passion that he did that night. Cindy laid awake long into the night, staring up at the dark ceiling and committed the entire experience to memory.

Dean slept with his back to her, she could see the bright red scratches on his upper back, courtesy of her long nails.

Maybe this photography outlet is what he needed, she thought. She knew he never liked being a nurse. The hours were long, the job thankless and the stress high. She remembered that Dean's mother had been a medical secretary while her father had been a pharmacist. He seemed pre-programmed for a career in healthcare because that is all his family knew.

She never once thought about Dean's dissatisfaction with life. If being a photographer brought him this much passion to their bedroom then she was all for it.

Dean got up early that morning. He always rose before Cindy despite working later hours.

He looked at himself in the mirror, flexing his muscles. He retained his athlete's physique despite only running occasionally for exercise. He admired his biceps for a moment, flexing again. Then he looked down at his sleeping wife, snoring like a pig.

He had gotten tired of having sex with her. Last night he closed his eyes and imagined Rebecca