Part 2

Part 2 of Jimmy Nore

Thankfully for me, my neighbor Anna is a nosy old lady with superhuman hearing. I woke up to her zipping around my apartment, talking to 911 operators. She had heard me hit the ground like a sack of potatoes and rushed over here, thinking someone had popped a cap in my face. When she saw me up and about she just hung up on the operator and three minutes later I was shooing two bobbies away, claiming to have the worst luck with razors. They left and soon after I had Anna out the door too, claiming to need sleep.

What I needed ended up being a damp cloth on my forehead, a bucket in one hand, and 2 doses of Night Quil. Out like a light and I actually slept. My nirvana didn't last, though. At 8 in the morning, bright and early, my partner came rushing in shouting for me. He ended up taking an empty bucket to the back of the head. Yeah, I over reacted but I was naked and everyone knows a naked woman's first response to surprise is to scream and throw things.

“Good lord, Jeemyma! Calm down! I'm not here to attack you!” Gordan crouched down, arms and hands protecting his head. By the time he realized I was curled in a ball coughing up blood he was freaking out for a new reason. In fifteen minutes he had me dressed and laying in an examination room waiting for the hospital staff to prepare a room for me. They wanted to make sure I didn't get worse by keeping me a few days and I rarely used my very good insurance so I wasn't complaining.

Gordan left me to the care of the nurses; assuring me he would contact the police and see that Anna looks after Orango my poor kitty. The nurse's got me settled in my room, pumped me full of antibiotics, and let me listen to soft orchestral music. In ten minutes I was asleep, a state I was in for most of my two-day hospital stay and the next week and a half I spent in my own bed. Flu's make me really sleepy, okay?

What were freaky about the sleep were the dreams. I'd always be at some grand party in some time era, Victorian England, the Western time period, the Roaring 20s, and a lot of other ones I don't know because I hate history. I'd always be alone and bored and this same guy would just watch me from across the room, his long jet black hair always hanging in his face. It was so creepy because for some reason I thought he had stormy gray eyes like the bite-loving freak that had almost killed me. It was starting to freak me out, seriously. The worst dreams were the few that were set in my apartment where I would think I was watching him standing in the corner of the room watching me. It was sick that I was not only dreaming about a guy who almost killed me but that what I imagined he looked like was a little too close to how my dream guy looked when I was in high school.

I almost thought I was actually being stalked by some crazy man I had barely seen. Sometimes I'd wake up feeling him biting me, sucking the life out of me, and it would feel so real I'd thought he was there again. The fact that the pinpricks were not going away did not help my case. I had myself half convinced that the crazy man was magic and finding his way into my apartment and dreams so he could slowly drain me and kill me, real B-rated horror movie stuff. I went as far was to hang garlic and crosses all over my apartment, until Anna noticed and called her youngest son, a therapist who specialized in survivors of attacks and the like.

Kyle was a good guy, a little older than me, and went through great lengths to assure me everything I was feeling was natural. He muttered about syndromes and stuff like that, but as soon as he mentioned medications I was rather pissed off. I refuse to take a pill everyday with side effects worse than my weird a*s dreams, unless they kept me from becoming a mommy. That s**t is expensive. After I said that Kyle had a new idea for my dreams, saying my mind was giving me more opportunities to 'gloat over my success' at getting away. So I was either a weak willed, sick minded victim or a completely self-centered b***h. Great. After that I lied and said the dreams stopped just so I wouldn't have to put up with him and not hurt Anna's feeling.

But that's how I spent my waking hours. The other fourteen hours of the day I was asleep or might as well have been asleep. Alone with Orango and my weird a*s dreams, I drank tons of orange juice, took my medication, and ate light and health. Oh, and watched the news. They found the girl's body in the ally the day I went to the hospital and not much else was on about her. The girl's ganddad thanked the agency for seeing that her body was returned and asked after me, worried I had met his girl's fate. Several more young people where disappearing form the oldest parts of the city, but it wasn't until a wealthy politician’s son was found dead that the police took any real interest in the case. Street kids turning up dead was one thing, wealthy, good kids a complete other. The bobbies thought a new serial killer was stalking the streets and advised everyone to get home earlier.

When my flu was on its last legs, I noticed something that scared me as much as everyone was scared of the string of killings. The more dead people they found the weirder my dreams got. The worst ones where the Victorian England ones, with the big heavy dresses that weighed 20 pounds but it still felt like my b***s were hanging out. Old Stormy Eyes didn't just watch me move around the party, but came up to me, danced with me, and I grew to hate those dreams. It was bad enough I was dreaming about him, but dreaming about him walking up to me and asking me to dance is too damn creepy. I don't know if it's worse that I make him approach me or that he always charmed me. I tried reasoning with myself and came up with a farfetched explanation, but it was an explanation. I really, really needed to start dating again and stop reading fantasy novels for a little while.

As soon as I could go eight hours without getting weak and dizzy or worse, I went back to work. Gordan was glad to see me back. It was getting close to Valentine's Day, which meant it was about time for the Alister-Daniels Valentine's Day Party. Gordan Alister-Daniels was the youngest son of THE Alister-Daniels, the international business tycoons who put the custom in computers. Very big just about anywhere in the world, but they saved their best parties for their hometown of London. Gordan always invited his fellow investigators to the parties, which included me and Wayate Kore, a middle-aged man who was barely recovering from a seriously bad divorce. I met his ex, she was a hard core b***h. Good riddance to bad rubbish. Only s****y part was the custody battle still going on for his 6 year old daughter. Real cute kid. I had my money on Wayate winning, because his ex is kind of a gold digging w***e. We'd find out in late May and little Hailey was staying with Wayate's older sister until the whole thing was settled.

Anyway, the Alister-Daniels Valentine's Party was the Saturday after my first day back at work and Gordan and Wayate bugged me none stop to go. At first I said no, reminded a little too much of my recurring dreams, but by Thursday they had that answer turned into a yes. I couldn't give them a reasonable excuse for not wanting to go, except that I still felt not so well. That one reason held for about ten minutes, until Gordan promised he'd see me home as soon as I started feeling unwell. So I had to go, which meant I had to dress up, and that was a task. I'd of course be going as Jimmy Nore, since Gordan, my doctor, and the three women left in my family back in Indiana were the only living people who knew that Jimmy Nore was Jeemyma Delany. Wayate didn't even know. He though my parents were disappointed with having a girl. Hey, it happens. I went to high school with a girl whose legal name was Tommy.

So dressing up was a pain. I couldn't wear a suit because Gordan had already said it'd be highly frowned upon in the high social circles his family moved in and most of the dresses I had were for the warmer months or certain disguises. So I had to go shopping, by myself, which is the worst possible way to spend your evening if you are a woman. First rule of female shopping is always have a buddy, either a female friend, a boyfriend, or a gay guy. That's in article twelve of Girl Code and I was breaking it bad. Worse, the employee that asked me for help at the good but not as expensive clothing store was a guy, so I couldn't even ask him to help out. He was eying my nungas before he even asked me if I needed help. Very bad form.

Nothing is more pathetic than flipping through racks of nice dresses by myself. I decided to hurry the process as much as I could, picking only long green dresses to go with my eyes, and took three into a dressing room praying one would look good enough to just buy it and go. The shopping gods must have felt pity for me because one of them did, a dark jade number that would barely touch the ground if I wore three-inch heels. It would go great with a black set of accessories I had at home that included clutch purse, shawl, heels, earring and a nice bracelet. I was standing at the checkout when I saw him, Mr. Stormy Eyes, standing among the racks in the men's department. Talk about an internal freak out. I almost ran screaming from the store. As it was, the cashier asked if I was feeling okay. I guess I looked pale and shaky and my recent flu was the perfect excuse for my ill look. The girl and I laughed it off and while she rang me up I looked back at where my dream stalker had been to see nothing. I took my bag, thanked the girl for her concern, and headed home quick as a flash.

I didn't sleep that night. I didn't dare. If Stormy Eyes was creeping into my waking hours I had a serious problem. I was just as crazy as those murderers with bite fetishes I had escaped from two weeks ago. Wait, maybe they had some kind of disease that made them that loopy, like a virus, and when Stormy Eyes had bitten me he had infected me with it. In under five minutes I was on the phone with my doctor and had an appointment scheduled for Monday morning to get some blood work started. He didn't have any openings sooner than that, so I would make do. Not like I had time before Monday anyway. Friday I did office work all day, filing paperwork, calling clients with updates, arranging notes, stuff like that. I was so not ready for fieldwork, especially in the snow that was still falling. Crawl around three feet of snow is not my cup of tea. Friday night I took some sleeping pills I keep on hand for nights I have trouble getting to sleep and had the weirdest dream of them all.

It was another Victorian England party dream. My dress was the same dark jade as the one I had bought the night before, only it wasn't as loose and comfortable. My hair was up in a bun-type thing and spiral curls fell from it onto the low, scoop back and neck of the dress. I was sitting chatting with some woman whose face I do not recall when Mr. Stormy Eyes came up to us and bowed over my hand.

“Lady Durnhall, if I may trouble you for a dance?” he asked as he kissed my black gloved knuckles and drew me out of my seat. I didn't have a chance to say anything as he lead me onto the floor for a waltz. “You look lovely this evening, milady.”

“Why, thank you, Duke Puremount, that is kind of you to say.” I have no idea why I called him Puremount, but hell, it was a dream, and if he wasn't gonna leave me alone I might as well call him something other than Stormy Eyes. “Perhaps you could do another young woman the honor of your flattery and let me rest in peace. I have not been feeling well this fortnight.”

“When I see another young woman worthy of flattery I will be sure to bless her with my attentions.” He chuckled and even his laugh was the same as in the alley. It was seriously creeping me out. “Now, tell me how you are faring Elanore, or is it Jeemyma now?”

I pulled out of his arms and those stormy eyes flashed red and he smiled, showing sharp fanged canines. I screamed and jolted away, looking frantically around my bedroom, arms up to ward off an attack. I didn't start to calm down until every light in my apartment was on, Orango was in my lap, and I had searched every nook and cranny to make sure it was just us in my little apartment. It was three in the morning but there was no going back to sleep for me. Maybe I shouldn't have bushed off that therapist so quickly. If my dreams were that fucked up I was sure I was going insane.

Author's Note

Same as always enjoy.