Twist

by

Myron Night

Chapter 1

I woke up screaming, my arms spinning like the blades of a fan, trying to push the dream away. That same dream.

My heart pounded. I had fallen asleep at my desk again. I looked around the office, focusing on the details, to bring myself back to reality. Sure, I knew every crack and stain on the walls of that crappy office like I knew my own name, but it was better than thinking about the dream.

The fly-specked, pitted walls, the bruised acoustical ceiling tiles, and the matted carpet the color of used chewing gum. Yeah. It was all there.

I pressed my palms down on the scarred green surface of the desk and forced myself to focus and breathe slowly.

It was an ancient oak desk, from the office of an old-time public school. The top was covered with a green material like linoleum, the way they made them in those days. The desk was beat to hell, but substantial. It weighed as much as a small automobile. It was a comfort to me, like a grandfather. Besides, it had some real value, since there wasn’t that much oak around anymore.

I rocked back gently in the swivel chair, just to remind myself that I was sitting in it. It creaked slightly, a familiar sound, a good sound, like your dog sighing when you touched him behind the ears. If you had a dog.

The chair was of the same yellowed oak as the desk, with a slatted back, sturdy arms and rollers on the bottom. It cupped me like a large, muscular hand. On the other side of the desk were two straight-backed oak chairs. They were for my clients.

Not that I had many clients.

I scanned the reversed black letters on the inside of the frosted glass door:

ADAM TWIST

PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS

The words were silhouetted against the pale fluorescent light of the hallway. My shakes started to go away. So, the office was a rat-hole in the shadow of The Wall--so, I ate dog food out of the can