I Dream About Her

Dark short story

‘CHRIST, WHAT IS wrong with you? We have been together for what? Twenty-eight days, or should I say nights, and you wake up screaming after about one hour of sleep,’ Ronny said.
‘I’m sorry. I can’t help having nightmares,’ said A-ngun.
‘Well, what is it that scares you?’
‘No, I’m not ready to tell you. One day, maybe.’
‘Okay, let’s get some sleep.’
A-ngun pulled the duvet up to her chin and stared at the ceiling.

‘See ya babe, better get to the office. Oh, do you want some cash?’
‘I do not need any money, thank you. I have a job, and not in a karaoke bar.’
‘Okay, just asking. See you later?’ Ronny edged his way to the door.
‘I’ll be here after my day’s work. Oh, and I’ll tidy your place up. Okay?’
Ronny blew a kiss and grabbed his car keys.

A-ngun performed a half-hearted attempt to wash the dishes and make the bed.
‘Half a job is better than none,’ she laughed.
Then she plumped the pillows as her eyes scanned his desk from a distance. Moving closer she flicked through his mail.
‘That’s what I’m looking for.’
She looked inside the bank’s printed envelope. Her phone’s camera was busy, front and back of each sheet. The desk’s top drawer was locked, it rattled, A-ngun cursed as she scanned the remaining two drawers.
‘Surely a businessman like him wouldn’t be so stupid?’
A keyring almost jumped at her as old newspapers and sports magazines moved aside. The smallest key opened the top lock and her mobile’s camera was busy once more.

At eleven o’clock she pushed wide her boss’s office door. Only the secretary and two hulking security men made use of the furniture.
‘Not in yet,’ said the typist. The men grunted.
‘I didn’t expect him before noon. I’ve some printing to do. And I’d love a coffee,’ said A-ngun as she swept to her office. It said “Translation” on the door, but the only translations were her explaining in Thai the written or spoken begging words of “falangs” who fell foul of her boss.

At noon exactly the security men jumped to attention, and the secretary busied herself with the coffee maker as the small man strode through. His tailor-made silk jacket slipped across the wooden clothes hanger and hooked in the corner wardrobe.
‘Good day, A-ngnun. You are on time I see,’ said Khun Parasit.
‘Yes sir,’ she said as she “wai’d” chin on chest.
Parasit sat and stirred sugar into his coffee.
‘What have you got for me?’
Printed papers slid across the antique desk.
‘I say, he is a busy boy, doing well for himself. Good work A-ngnun there will be a decent bonus for you when we relieve him of his ill-gotten gains.’
‘Do you need me for anything else, sir?’
‘Yes, as it happens, I do. You remember that, what’s it called, re, ra, rapper.’
‘Yes, sir, the Englishman?’
‘He too will owe me a small fortune. I will need your translations.’

Hop-The-Hoop was screaming at the full house behind him. Behind, because he never faced his audience. Only Hop-The-Hoop knew why. But they loved his sound, the words were English most of the crowd didn’t understand them, and English speakers couldn’t make them out anyway.
Hop’s daughter was sitting in the VIP section waiting for her dad to take her home. She pretended to love her dad’s music, but at six years old she preferred K-pop. Not that she had admitted to that.
Two security guards guarding her, slowly bent, one curled in a heap, and the other fell heavily to the floor. Little Hettie giggled.
‘Okay, guys, the joke’s over, get up,’ she said, as a pretty young lady took Hettie’s hand.
‘Come with me,’ she said. ‘Look, those two are not well, I don’t want you to catch anything,’ A-ngnun said as she smiled sweetly like a favourite aunt.
The poisoned darts embedded in the men’s throats were hidden by their chins.

‘Great show Mr Hoop, the crowd loved it. Pity Hettie didn’t,’ A-ngnun said.
‘Where is my daughter?’
‘Don’t worry, she is happy, playing with my iPad.’
‘I want her back now!’
‘Well, that’s not going to happen, at least now.’
‘Who are you,’ Ronny’s voice was no longer rapping.
‘My boss is not happy with you,’ A-ngnun stared at her boss’s stern face.
‘Look, what have I done that upsets him enough to snatch Hettie?’
‘I notice you didn’t mention kidnapping.’
‘Is she kidnapped? Do you want money?’
The phone connection went dead.

‘Let him worry,’ said A-ngnun’s boss.
‘I know you don’t want me to ask about your business. But, why him and his daughter?’
‘Correct, normally I would be annoyed at your question. But this time it is not for money. He doesn’t have enough anyway. This is personnel.’
A-ngnun looked puzzled. Her boss put his head in his hands, then he slammed the desktop open-handed. His face was frozen, he was crying without tears. He shook off the mood and looked at his translator.
‘When you started working for me, you would remember Nong Boonsri?’
‘How could I forget her?’

The memory came flooding back, as it did every night in her dreams. Boonsri, an attractive teenager was sitting in A-ngnun’s chair crying. She calmed and stared ahead.
‘Do you feel better now?’ asked her uncle, A-ngnun’s boss.
‘Can I stay here for a while? I can’t face my father,’ she asked.
‘I must talk to him, but not on the phone,’ he said.
A-ngnun asked her if she was hungry.
‘Yes, good idea, pop out and get her something to eat. When I get back, depending on what my brother says, we can take her home. See you both later.’

Twenty minutes later, A-ngnun pushed the office door open and dropped the food. In front was Boonsri, razor in hand, slicing chunks off her face.
‘If my looks caused my rape, well, it won’t happen again!’ she slurred and spat blood.

‘Nong Boonsri is now and probably will be forever in a mental care home. Now is the time to get my revenge.’
‘What will you do? Kill the rapper?’
‘No, my dear. He will suffer worse than death. Please translate my two notes into English. One to Hettie’s father and one to your boyfriend.’
‘Yes, sir.’ She said taking the notepaper. Colour drained from her face. ‘You are going to cut the little girl’s fingers off?’
‘Read on please.’
‘But you are not asking for payment. What if he pays up?’
‘No, that is not what I want. Carry on with the note to your “friend”.’
‘What has it got to do with him?’
The boss grinned as he looked at her as she read.
“Dear Sir, please find enclosed, a young lady’s finger. You will receive a finger or toe every Friday. Unless you pay ten million Baht to the “Sisters of Mercy Mental Institute”, or kill Hop-The-Hoop. The choice is yours.”
‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes. Today is Saturday. So little Hettie can enjoy all her digits for six more days.’
A-ngnun was stunned to silence.
‘Oh, do you know why that pathetic singer never faces the crowd?’
‘No, why.’
‘Because when he was raping Boonsri, she stuck her blade into his eye and sliced open his face.’

–

Three days later a letter was opened by Ronnie.
‘What the hell is this?’
‘No idea darling,’ said A-ngnun.

The END

See more of Colin’s short stories: HERE