Dreaming Omega 
Spookey247 (spookey247@msn.com) 
 
4/7
Straw Dogs and Static: One
 
17-B BUXTON COVE DRIVE 1:30 AM
"Okay, this one is five card draw, ante up."
I dig in my pocket but my quarters are long gone. "I'm busted. Where's the change 
machine?"
Emily is a vixen, around twenty-five with a Mediterranean complexion, jet-black hair, 
and exotic almond shaped eyes. "It's your lucky day, Fox," she tells me in a lascivious 
stage whisper. "I'm winning, so I'll help you out. But it's gonna cost you later." She slides 
me four quarters and winks.
It's hard to keep my mind on my cards. She's sitting so close we're sharing body heat. "I 
think my luck is improving."
"You think she's kidding. In another hour you'll have to beat her off with a stick." This 
comes from Pete, who I met on the beach earlier today. He is a small, shifty man in his 
early thirties, slight of build, with a dark beard and a ponytail.
"Pete." Pete's girlfriend, Tessa, with a body as round as Pete's is lean, kicks him under 
the table. "That was *so* uncalled-for."
"Yeah, Pete." Emily pretends to be hurt. She turns to me with a sarcastic smirk. "Pete's a 
little bitter, can you tell?"
Joy holds the deck and now she snorts with impatience. "Are you guys finished? Leave 
Fox alone. Like he would even be interested in your little squabble. This is five-card 
draw unless we've decided on group therapy instead of poker."
I am sitting at a big, square table with a bunch of total strangers. The table occupies 
much of the available space in the living room of an upstairs apartment near the Pamlico 
Sound. Since I got here two hours ago, I've been fleeced to the tune of ten bucks, this 
amount lost bit by bit in nickels, dimes, and quarters. It's humiliating, in a way, but then 
I haven't done this since college. I'm also drunk. Third time today. Unprecedented.
My hostess for the evening is the ringleader in this shakedown. It's embarrassing, but 
once again I catch myself staring at Joy - it's been happening all night. It started in the 
Handy Mart, when I kept getting lost in her wide, honest face with its large green eyes 
and expression of perpetual wonder. All evening I've been sitting just to her left at the 
table, which means I have to invent excuses to look her way. I've tried to seem 
nonchalant, not to broadcast my admiration of the conspicuous lack of make-up on her 
gold-brown skin, of her hair in braids the color of honey and the way her faded cotton 
dress moves with the curves of her long body.
Her mind is bright and open, and I find that I crave her attention; I am shut inside 
myself and with every glance she pulls me out into fresh air, challenging me to wake up, 
pay attention, and enjoy. Now she catches my eye as she deals the last of the hand and 
gives me a smile. She's amazing. God, she really is.
Joy's friends are a lot like her, easygoing and funny, kind and unassuming. No one seems 
interested in who I am or what I'm doing at this party. They all work together at a bar in 
Nags Head, so I guess they're used to drinking with strangers. Maybe when your town is 
always full of tourists you just give up worrying about who people are.
It's hard to believe I could be sitting here, completely wasted, soaking in scatological 
humor and speculation about the sex lives of people I don't know, when it was only last 
night that I chose to forsake the depravity, deceit, and inhumanity of my dark and 
twisted life. It's a stunning reality check: while I was clawing through webs of lies in full 
expectation of a violent death, others were enjoying regular hours, the comfort of friends 
and family, and night after night of sound sleep. Surrounded by the steady, gentle 
energy of this humble card game, to have lived such a life now seems both absurd and 
unfair. How could I not have seen that?
Looking around me, I realize that these people aren't thinking beyond their next beer. I 
have never been able to choose this, the simple enjoyment of a moment. I lost that choice 
the night they took Samantha.
This revelation is like a kick in the guts. I wash down the pain with another swallow of 
beer.
"Fives and nines takes the hand. Looks like it's you, Mulder."
I rake in my first pot of the evening and push four quarters across the table to Emily. 
"Here ya go."
"No, you keep 'em."
Pete speaks up, "Em would always rather take it out in trade. Holy Fuck, stop it, Tess."
"I need a cigarette." Speaking now is Joy's younger brother, CJ. He is tall and broad-
shouldered, bearing a strong resemblance to his sister in both appearance and 
temperament.
Everyone gets up, stretching their legs, finding their cigarettes. "What time is it?" asks 
Tessa.
CJ checks his watch. "Twenty 'til two."
"Do we need more beer?"
"Always."
Tessa grabs her bag. "C'mon Pete."
When I go to the kitchen for another beer, Joy and Emily are huddled over the kitchen 
sink in an animated conversation that stops abruptly as I come through the door.
"Caught us." Emily says brightly.
"Doing what?"
"Talkin' boutcha." Emily heads for the living room, pausing in the kitchen door and 
brazenly running her finger down the center of my chest. For a moment her dark eyes 
stare into mine, then she smiles like it's all a joke and sticks her head into the living room. 
"Hey, where'd everybody go?"
"I think they went for more beer."
"More beer? God, Fox is gonna think we're a bunch of fucking lushes." She exchanges a 
look with Joy and leaves the room.
"Think we're a bunch of drunks, Fox?"
I open the refrigerator and get a beer. "Cheers."
"Get me one, too."
"So you were talking about me, huh?"
"Mm-hmm."
"All good, I hope." I open the beers and hand her one. "Emily seems to be a very 
friendly person." I say this with an ironic lift of my eyebrow, and Joy bursts out 
laughing.
"Yes, she's very friendly."
"I don't know what she's after."
"Oh, c'mon, Fox." She punches me playfully. "All the usual things, I bet. She thinks 
you're sweet. You've got a brain in your head and a real life, unlike most of the male 
population around here."
"Shit, there's nothing sweet about me." I am loose, like a poorly tied knot. Joy is 
watching me with a mixture of amusement and arousal that is truly disconcerting. 
Visions of wiping that smirk off her face are cascading through my mind. I could take 
her right now. I could take her for my own.
It might be a good idea to change the subject.
I look around the kitchen. Hanging above the table is a framed black and white 
photograph. It shows a nude woman with a shaved head sitting in profile against a stark 
white background. There is something about the lighting, or maybe it's the shape of the 
woman's head...it is a singular image, ominous and grotesque.
"That's an interesting picture."
Joy smiles. "That one?"
"Yeah...that woman looks like she just came down from outer space."
"Hmm. That's a new one on me. I'll take it as a compliment. Thanks."
"You took that?"
"Yep. Before I came here, I worked for an agency in New York ... I've got stuff in a 
gallery in Soho, too, but since I've now shunned the center of the universe I'm sure it 
won't last. Want to see some more?"
"Yes, definitely."
We go to a computer in her bedroom and Joy begins pulling up files. The tour through 
her portfolio is like a window to her world-view; realities meet edge to edge, 
perspectives purl like floodwater. She likes to work in black and white - the style 
understated and surreal, even when the subject of the photograph is a fashion model or a 
bottle of cologne. She's drawn to things off-center and unspoken, things from other 
worlds.
Sitting next to Joy at her desk, I look around her bedroom with its jumble of worldly 
possessions. The bookshelf is crammed to bursting with worn-out paperbacks, seashells, 
stones, and bird nests. A pink bicycle leans carelessly near the door. About a hundred 
shoes spill out of her closet like a pile of treasure and origami birds fly near the ceiling 
amidst Chinese paper lanterns. A concrete statue of the laughing Buddha sits at the foot 
of her bed, decorated with dried flowers and quartz crystals; it is accompanied by an 
inflatable green alien that leans against it like a drunk posing for a snapshot.
I am nearly insensible, profoundly aroused by the sweet smell hovering around her body. 
I lean in close, breathing deeply, resisting the urge to taste her long neck.
"What kind of perfume are you wearing?" I whisper, my head close to hers.
The lines on the computer screen are getting blurry. God, am I making a move on her? I 
want to. I really do.
She turns to face me. Her eyes, oh god. That smell...rich and spicy. Her lips, full and 
soft, moving to tell me, "That's Jasmine, Fox."
Whoa, Mulder, get a grip. "I like it."
"Good." Her hand on my knee. It's almost impossible to hold myself back.
The screen door slams. Someone's come back inside. I return my attention to the 
computer screen, forced back into conversation when all I want to do is get up and shut 
the bedroom door. There's a photo on the computer screen of a naked man in a city park. 
It is riveting; he is pre-historic, bestial, covered in leaves and mud, crouching wildly 
while onlookers stare in disbelief. "You must have had to do some fast talking to get that 
guy to pose that way."
She laughs. "It was cold that day, too. But I didn't really give him any choice."
"I don't see a gun to his head."
"That's my husband. I believe you've been introduced."
"Your ex-husband, right?"
"Yes. Actually, the only reason I'm here is to get away from him."
"But you didn't get away."
"Yeah, that's the pisser. He can't take a hint. But then, he's neither stable nor smart."
"He's the best argument for mercy killing that I can think of," a voice says behind us. 
CJ's massive frame fills the bedroom door. He is staring down at us with an appropriate 
degree of brotherly menace.
Joy looks at him fondly. "You better smile when you say that, Mister."
CJ shoves his hands in his pockets and leans against the door. "The motherfucker 
followed her here just so he can keep hassling her. We call the cops if we even see him."
Joy nods, looking sad. "Brian's a drummer, which if you know any drummers, should 
explain a lot. All his friends are junkies and he's not strong enough to just say no. But 
he's not all bad. He'll get it together."
"I hate it when you stick up for him." CJ says tightly, the corners of his mouth turning 
down. "Did she tell you he beat her up? Now he's stalking her. She needs to get a 
restraining order but she won't."
"God, CJ. Give it a rest. This is *not* CNN."
"You trust people too much, Joy."
Joy shuts her eyes. When she opens them, they have become patient again. "Can we 
please talk about something else?"
"Okay." The tone of her voice quells CJ's anger and he drops into a chair near the bed. "I 
think I might go for a swim. What about you guys? Feel like a swim?"
"Isn't it kind of cold tonight?" Joy looks at me. "What do you think?"
"I think I will not feel the cold," I answer, feigning bravado to ease the tension and 
hoisting my beer. This gets a laugh, but they don't know. I really won't feel the cold. I 
won't feel anything.
The smell of jasmine reminds me that's not true.
The phone rings and Joy goes into the living room to pick up. Emily comes in from the 
driveway with Kyle, Tessa's sister, and they both recline on Joy's bed. In the next room, 
we hear Joy's voice drop low.
"Who is this?" She is silent for a moment, then slams the receiver down. "Goddamm. 
Brian Cahill could never fuck himself deep enough to suit me."
"Do you think that was him?" CJ calls to her. "I picked up another call like that while 
you were at the store."
Joy returns to the bedroom door, picking in frustration at a scrap of loose paint on the 
frame. "Yeah, I think he's been trying to call all day. He doesn't say anything. He's just 
trying to fuck with my head. It's no big deal."
"That's it, Joy. If he comes down here again I'm gonna kick his ass."
The screen door slams again. It's Pete and Tessa, back from their beer run. Tessa joins us 
in Joy's bedroom.
"We're going swimming," Joy tells her. "Want to go?"
"No way." Tessa shivers. "Jesus, it's windy tonight. You guys can freeze your ass if you 
want. I'll stay here."
"Mama?" Gabriel squints in the light and runs to Joy, whimpering. Joy gathers her up and 
sits on the bed, and in no time at all she is sound asleep again.
"I didn't know she was here. She must be a very heavy sleeper."
"Yeah," Joy answers with a sigh, "she's learned to sleep through a lot of things."
Joy sits on the bed in half-lotus. I cannot tear my eyes away. Her anger seems to have 
cooled as quickly as it came and now she looks content and slightly sleepy. She regards 
me with tenderness while her daughter sleeps in her arms.
What if I could take Gabriel from her mother and carry her, like a doting father, to her 
bed? What if I could return to Joy, join my body to hers, and sleep peacefully for hours 
in the warmth of her arms?
"I'll take her, Joy, if you still want to go," Tessa offers.
"No, that's okay. I think I'm kind of ready to wind down." Joy is speaking to her 
roommate, but she's not looking at Tessa or any of her friends. She's looking at me. She 
is inviting me into that fantasy. I ache to join her there.
CJ shakes me out of my reverie. His voice is intense. "You coming, Mulder?"
I think he might not want me near his sister. That's understandable.
What the hell am I thinking, anyway? Joy is an innocent; she and her daughter are pure, 
like a pair of angels. Whatever hardships they have known pale in comparison to the 
darkness that I could bring to their lives. I don't know how to return what Joy is offering 
me. I need to walk away from this.
"Dude." CJ puts his hand on my shoulder. "You coming?"
I get the message loud and clear.
"Yeah. Yeah, let's go."
 
SURF MOTEL PARKING LOT 1:50 AM
Mulder's car is locked and the windows are rolled up tight. Flashlight in hand, I am 
hoping for a glimpse of anything that might give me a clue as to his intentions. The back 
seat is empty except for the eternal pile of files and books that travels with Mulder 
wherever he goes. The front seat does not contain so much as an empty coffee cup. I 
play my light down onto the floor of the passenger side, and then onto the floor of the 
driver's side, craning my neck for a better view.
What's that?
A dull gleam of metal is visible, jutting out from under the driver's seat.
His gun.
The gun is here the gun is here the gun is here...
Wherever Mulder is, at least I know he's not shooting himself. I breathe out slowly. 
Maybe I'm being a little too paranoid. Maybe it's going to be all right.
I park my car where I can see both the entrance to the lobby and the side entrance that 
leads out to the beach. He's bound to come back sooner or later. The waiting is hard.
I make careful circles in my coffee with a wooden stirrer. There's no need to stir, but the 
motion keeps the steam from the cup wafting towards my face, the smell of the coffee 
reminding me to stay awake. Not that I could rest anyway.
My watch tells me that it's nearly 2:00. A knot of frustration that has been growing all 
day settles painfully in the center of my chest.
He's not coming back here.
Where would Mulder go, on foot, in a little beach town on a deserted weeknight? There 
are only two possibilities: He is either on the beach or in a bar. If he's on the beach there 
is nothing I can do but continue waiting. To look for bars I'll have to leave my post. Is it 
worth it?
It's better than sitting here losing my mind.
 
SOMEWHERE NEAR THE CORNER OF NC 12 AND BUXTON COVE DRIVE 
2:05 AM
"Tessa's right. It's windy tonight."
Faint stars show beyond security lights and street lamps. I feel like a teenager out past 
curfew, skulking drunk down a tidy residential street while the rest of the world sleeps. 
Emily walks close beside me. CJ and Pete have gone ahead. Occasionally we hear them 
laugh or shout into the night.
I have a raging feeling in my loins that won't leave me alone. Normally alcohol has the 
opposite effect on my libido, but god, I wanted her...my hormones are working 
overtime. Emily is not helping things much either. She keeps leaning close to me, making 
sure her bare shoulder brushes mine as we walk along.
I couldn't feel less in control of myself.
"Joy says you're from DC."
"Yes, that's true."
"What do you do there?"
I'm getting the feeling that this small talk is just a formality. Emily sways as she walks, 
her hips and her ass undulating like a ship at sea.
"What do I do? Well ...I work for the government."
"Wow. I never knew anybody with an actual job...well, except for my dad, I guess."
There's a little ice water on the old sex drive.
She continues, "I lived in DC for a while about a year ago. I worked for a big club in 
Arlington. Capone's, ever been there?"
Uh, waiter, hold the ice water. I do remember that bar. It features entertainment of the 
topless variety.
"I may have been there once or twice," I answer.
"Yeah? Do you like the bar scene, Fox?"
"Uh, sure. I guess."
"I've been dancing since I turned eighteen. My sister dances, too, and when I was like, 
sixteen, she used to sneak me into the bar in Miami where she worked...I loved it, the 
way the guys looked at her. I mean, she'd put her body right in front of their faces and 
there was nothing they could do about it, you know? They couldn't touch her. All they 
could do was dream. And some of them hated that and acted like bastards, but some of 
them loved it...mostly the business class, the guys with lots of money. I could tell they 
liked giving it up for a beautiful woman...letting her do the driving, so to speak. I think 
it's what lots of guys secretly want."
We stop walking for a moment. She's looking at me hungrily, her intentions transparent, 
her expression loose and pliant from drinking.
"Are you one of those guys, Fox?"
I don't answer her. I *am* one of those guys, of course, trapped in my own dysfunction, 
substituting voyeurism for human affection and helpless to do anything about it, but I'll 
be goddammed if I'm going to admit it to Emily.
A few minutes ago I was feeling ashamed of the thoughts I was having. Emily had come 
across as nothing more than a very horny and very naive kid. Now that we're alone, that 
image is rapidly going up in smoke. She's far more sophisticated than she looks, and she's 
teasing me, playing a game. She's in her element; she thinks it's fun to taunt me.
Well, Mulder, you've spent your life beating off to women like this, and now you've got 
your chance to make good. Isn't this what you've always wanted?
It's all that I deserve.
She lets her body brush against mine in that maddening way. "I work in a club near 
Norfolk on the weekends. It's a horrible drive, but I hate that area and I don't want to 
live there, so I just stay with one of the other dancers and come home Monday morning. 
You can't beat the money in Norfolk, though. There are sailors everywhere."
We cross the highway and start across the parking lot of the Surf Motel. I see Pete and 
CJ disappearing around the corner of the motel's main building, headed for the beach 
behind it. Emily follows them slowly, but I find myself hanging back, trailing behind 
her. She stops; waits for me; takes my arm when I catch up, red-tipped fingers making 
trails on my shoulder.
"Fox, have you ever gone swimming in the ocean at night?" Her voice is sultry, the 
come-on impossible to ignore. "It's awesome, like when the tide is out and the water's 
really calm..."
Suddenly I feel witless, like a steer being led to slaughter. "Yeah, yeah. I grew up near 
the ocean."
I follow Emily onto the beach. "We have a spot where we always swim late at night," 
she calls over the wind. "No one will bother us."
No one will bother us. That's a really good thing.
I can hear CJ and Pete. The moon is nearly full tonight and I can see their silhouettes far 
out in the water. We walk past them, though, until the lights of the motel are remote, 
arriving at a bend in the beach where the maritime forest dips close to the water. She 
leads me toward the trees, to a sheltered spot, out of the wind, where she stops and turns 
toward me, giving me a come-hither stare and pulling her thin cotton dress over her 
head. As she sheds the white undershirt and panties that lie underneath, my mouth drops 
open at the sight of her body. She is voluptuous, inviting, tanned skin glowing in the 
moonlight as she holds a hand out to welcome me.
"Come here," she purrs. "I want to show you something."
I approach her, transfixed, and she takes both my hands and puts them to her breasts, 
which are obscenely round and firm. Both nipples are pierced through with silver rings. 
"What do you think?" she whispers. I am speechless. "How about this?" she breathes, 
sliding one of my hands toward her pubis until I can feel how bare and smooth she 
is...hairless flesh, naked under my touch.
Holy Shit. I close my eyes and turn away, blood boiling.
Emily's hands run up my back, coming to rest on my shoulders. She pulls at my shirt. 
"Take it off." That's funny. She's giving orders now. She thinks she's in charge of this 
situation, but she doesn't know what she's getting herself into. I don't give a damn who 
she is or what she wants. I'm inhuman with lust, ready to satisfy myself.
"These, too, big guy." Her hands slide down to unbutton my jeans. "Let's see what's 
under those 501s."
Who the fuck does she think she is? I spin toward her, catching her by the wrists, ripping 
her hands away from my body and holding them tight in the air. "You know, Emily, 
Pete was right about you."
I'm expecting this to make her mad, but instead she starts laughing. "Pete is an asshole 
but he doesn't lie. Lighten up, Fox. Did we come here to swim or what?"
I remove my clothes. Emily backs toward the water, crooking her finger for me to 
follow, and I do, wading in after her until the breakers are hitting my knees. She beckons 
me on and I move to take her, reaching out to pull her body close to mine.
The next thing I know, I am laying on my back spitting sea water. Giggling, Emily 
throws herself on top of me, pulling me to a sitting position and wrapping her legs 
around my waist, sitting on my legs and effectively pinning me to the sand below. A 
whitecap breaks over our heads.
"Why the fuck did you push me like that?" I shout over the din of the waves.
"You were getting cocky," she calls back, "You should have been paying attention."
Who *is* doing the driving here? I force my mouth to hers, but she's got the upper hand; 
she's on top. I'm drunk and off-balance. One wrong move and I'm back under the water. 
She grabs my wrists and pulls my arms to my sides; now she is the only thing holding me 
up. Christ, she's going to drown me.
Her voice is a dream inside my head. "Be a good boy, Fox, be still, let me touch you."
I submit. I don't know what else to do.
Now her fingers wrap around my cock like steel bands. With a smooth, brutal motion she 
strokes me from root to tip, reaching with her other hand to pull my head toward hers. 
The kiss is forceful and urgent. She seizes my bottom lip between her teeth and holds me 
captive as she strokes me up and down, taking me roughly as if there is no question that 
I am hers, like it's a done deal.
It's almost painful, the way she is touching me. My knees are locking and my legs are 
getting numb. All at once she shifts, upsetting my precarious balance and forcing me 
under the water once more. But I can feel how shallow the water has become; there's 
sand under my back; we've been washed into shore. I crawl backwards into the 
shallowest water, gasping for breath.
She pursues.
What the hell am I doing, running from a woman this way? God, she looks incredible, 
like some kind of moonlit Siren with streams of water running from her body and her 
hair, and eyes that are commanding and wild. I am frozen in place and she is crawling 
toward me, over me, the silver nipple rings cold against my chest. Our kiss is coarse and 
savage. It's all business, but the truth is I have never been so aroused.
I am watching myself lie back in the sand, watching how she pins my arms above my 
head as she kisses me. I am watching as she descends, drinking the Atlantic off my 
body, pushing my legs apart to nestle between them, taking me in her mouth.
Jeeesuuuusssssss...
She devours me cruelly, pulling me into the back of her throat, pausing to run her tongue 
up and down the length of my cock, gliding to the tip to rub the head back and forth 
across her lips and tongue. She's teasing me with her teeth, small sharp bites that send 
ripples of pain down my legs and up my spine. I lose track of time; she owns me 
completely. Now the waves begin, I'm nearly there. Oh shit, why is she stopping?
I'm in pain; I need relief. "Hey, I'm really close."
"I know. Tell me what you want, Fox."
I can barely speak. "Let me come in your mouth."
"Say 'please'." She's stroking me again...exasperating; infuriating; so fucking good.
"Please..."
"Please what?"
"Please let me come in your mouth."
"You like to say that, don't you, Fox."
"Yesssss."
"Say it again, then."
"Please let me come in your mouth..."
"In my mouth?"
"Yessss."
"I don't think so."
Her hand pumps faster, I can't quit moving, I'm whimpering like a baby, out of control, 
out of control...
She takes her hand away.
My body is on fire; my balls feel like grapefruits. I double over with pain and frustration. 
"Jesus Christ, what are you doing?"
Emily stands up. She stands over me like an exotic Colossus.
Did I just hear her laugh? "*Suffer.*," she says with contempt.
Holy shit, can this be happening? What did I do to piss her off?
"Get up," she orders, but I can't and she knows it.
Why does she think this is funny? "I didn't think you could," she sneers. Something cold 
and wet strikes my face.
It's sand. She just kicked sand in my face.
When I get up that bitch is *dead.*
Suddenly, carried on the wind, we hear a voice. A thin and desperate voice coming from 
the direction of the motel. Coming closer as if the owner of the voice was running. "CJ! 
CJ! Pete! Guys, where are you?"
Voices answer. I can see them come up out of the surf a hundred feet or so down the 
beach. A female form, obviously excited, shouts to them. It's Kyle, Tessa's sister. 
Something is wrong.
"What's wrong with Kyle?" Emily asks, running for her clothes. I heave myself up off 
the sand with difficulty and force my legs to function. I pull on my jeans, which is no 
small feat considering how wet and sandy I am, grab my shoes and shirt and run toward 
the commotion.
"...he's got a gun and he's threatening to take Gabriel but Joy won't let him in the house. 
They're in the driveway...oh my god he's so drunk..." Kyle is in tears. CJ and Pete are 
dressing, pulling on their shoes.
"What's going on?"
"It's Joy's husband. Man, he's pulled some shit before but never anything like this." CJ 
looks shaken. "I didn't even know he had a gun..."
Pete finishes tying his shoelaces and hops up, nervous, "What the fuck are we gonna 
do?"
"Kyle, call 911." I run toward the motel. CJ and Pete follow. It's hard running in the 
sand and we are all breathing hard by the time we reach the parking lot. There's 
something I need. I unlock my car and grab my gun from under the front seat.
I turn to find them openmouthed.
"Dude, if you kill his ass, you would be doing us all a big favor."
End of Part Four