|Talking Heads (standard:horror, 20284 words)|
|Author: Reid Laurence||Added: Aug 03 2008||Views/Reads: 1874/1129||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Too strange to be true... or is it? Shockingly enough, it's difficult sometimes to tell the difference, but you be the judge...|
Introduction Every passing eye had to at least glance at her as she walked down the street. The natural grace and femininity with which she carried herself seemed to make her something more then just a very pretty woman in the prime of her sexuality. She was a true star. A shining star that no one person, or any one thing could deny. Men in their cars would slow down at the sight of her. Some with less nerve then others just to gaze at the splendor of her person and some to ask - or beg of her - to sit beside them, to share the same vehicle for just a few passing moments, anything, just to get close enough to her to feel enviable; to feel lucky; to feel alive. Enamored of her – on such a brilliantly lit day as this – one of the many men too shy to make her acquaintance by any power of his own had just caught sight of her. He was gently slowing his car down, about to come to a four way stop on one of numerous, crowded Chicago city streets that he frequented when suddenly, their eyes met and what began as a nonchalant glance, became in milliseconds, a locked embrace of mutual understanding that neither fully understood, or fully realized at that moment. Fidgeting nervously with the steering wheel as he came to the stop, the driver wondered what to say and feeling estranged as he usually did at times like this, looked fretfully away and said nothing at all. Instead, he decided to drive around the block then hopefully, by stalling his intentions, he might gain some shred of the nerve he needed just to say, ‘hello'. Upon circling the block as it had dawned on him to do, he returned to the exact same spot he'd been... the well known six corner intersection in Chicago, where Milwaukee Avenue; Irving Park Road and Cicero Avenue all merge, but found no trace of this elusive, walking dream anywhere. Still, unable to let go of the astonishing image this stranger had created in his mind, he pulled the antique but unassuming car to the curb, put change in the parking meter and walked swiftly to the southwest corner of Irving Park and Cicero. There he stood, apprehensively scanning the streets for what he was now beginning to think of as more an apparition then anything else. Even so, his stubbornness prevailed and upon noticing the fashionable department store standing proudly on the opposite corner, he very hurriedly crossed the street and began pressing urgently against the heavy, tempered glass revolving door in his path. A path to which some - by this time - would have intuitively thought best not to follow, but nevertheless, he persistently did. Chapter 1 Wandering around the ground floor of the prominent department store, turning in circles and appearing lost, this overwhelmed young man was about to give up chase when suddenly a friend of his – or so he believed it to be – began to speak casually to him... “Hey buddy, you can't give up now, she's a beauty. Only a loon would walk away now. You ain't a loon are ya?” “Of course I'm not a loon, but I can't find her anywhere. Besides... there's something strange going on. I don't know how to explain it.” “Someth'in strange? What? She's the kinda stuff dreams are made of. But then, I wouldn't expect a nut like you ta appreciate such perfection. She's a dish.” “Why don't you quit picking on him?” answered a second voice. A voice no one but Raymond Mort could distinguish from any other component of deluded imagination, and one he knew simply and affectionately as, ‘Guy'. “Why don't you quit butt'in in?” replied Joe, an imaginary, longtime friend Raymond had created for himself out of a desperate need to fill a void of scattered and sparse - at best - relationships. But although these self-fabricated personalities kept Raymond occupied, they also served to distract him and at a time like this, Raymond needed all the concentration he could summon. “You guys, you're mixing me up,” complained Raymond, as a lady standing at the cosmetics counter next to him couldn't help but overhear the oddly, one-sided conversation in progress. “Young man,” she asked with uncertainty. “Were you addressing me?” “Well excuse me for breath'in lady. I didn't know I was in between you, an a develop'in world crisis. Tell her where ta get off Ray.” “Shut up Joe,” answered Raymond out loud. “Excuse me?” responded an approaching saleslady who'd been watching from a short distance. “Is anything wrong?” “This young man was just talking to...” began the irritated patron. But even as she spoke, Guy had begun a much more sensible, useful conversation with Raymond and was about to let on all that he suspected from the very start, or at least from the time Raymond had entered the store. “Hey,” he said shyly, deep from the frontal lobe of Raymond's brain. “I bet I know where she is.” “Huh? Who?” interrupted Raymond, speaking over the Click here to read the rest of this story (1633 more lines)
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