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." The sound of it both excited her, and filled her with terror at the same time,"We are down here waiting. COME DOWN AND FLOAT WITH US." Jennifer was aware of other sounds besides the voice -- a woman's muffled cries, faint and distant, the tinkling laughter of chains. She began to step back from the door, but suddenly, the mist shot up the cellar steps and seized her. Then everything went black.Nothing happened in the dream after that, or perhaps her mind refused to retain the information. When she woke up that morning the sheets had been twisted off her, and she was lying stretched and face down on the bed, the nightgown pulled up around her armpits, exposing her naked body underneath.Staggering to her feet, Jen went to the bathroom and pulled off her gown. She felt just as tired and drained as the previous morning. Then as she turned to the shower, she happened to catch glimpse of her refection in the mirror, and what she saw nearly threw her into a panic. Criss-crossed. It was just an old paint store with cardboard over the windows to keep the cops from seeing the light. Even that was only window-dressing. Every cop in the county knew the joint. It wasn't the paper on the windows kept them away; it was the paper on their palms once a month.We walked in and it was hardly any brighter inside than out. Just a couple of bare bulbs painted red over the old counter, now the bar, and a few flickering candles in the corners of the big room. The cigarette smoke and leftover turpentine fumes made a sweet-sour stench of a fog in which a few couples were groping each other on the dance floor -- a space about six feet square carved out of the crowded card tables and folding chairs. A trio jammed behind the bar was torturing '50s R&B out of a guitar, a drum set and a keyboard. Every so often they had to crank it up to jet-engine level to be heard over the roar of the old paint-mixing machine, which had a second career as an industrial cocktail shaker.My suit and.
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