OOM: Doppelganger plot - nightmare

[ikissdhimbck]

The dream starts the way it always has before.

She's in that carriage, swaying uncomfortably as they clip-clop along, over scrub and brush and dusty field. The blue overhead stretches on forever, barely a cloud in the sky. That little white fence at their property line needs to be repainted. Jackrabbits and lizards scurry and dart, seeking out holes dug in cool red earth.



"Henry!"

The ground feels strange under her feet, like it might fall away at any moment.

"Where is he?!"

"Miss Kate, please try to calm yerself down. Maybe you'd like to get changed from..."

She plays out the whole conversation, standing there in front of her father's little farmhouse.

plum and cotton candy pink

"Oh god. Oh god!"


A cloud of dust bursts into the air when they drop his body on the ground, creating little puffs, little sideways cyclones.

(Whirlwinds.)

Bill Crocker is leering at her.

"Best I can tell, it was a hunting accident, Miss," says the sheriff. "Stray bullet meant for a buck. Terrible shame."

She turns her tear-streaked face to look at him.

(Gray-green eyes look back.)

"Terrible shame."

'You know, I can't even tell you how many men I've killed.'

She raises that little Colt, and puts a bullet in his heart.

(His body jerks as his feet come out from underneath him, whiplash throwing that blonde hair in his face as he groans. Lead meets bone and tendon and marrow, a sickening crack audible even beyond the echoing blast.)

"Kate?"

She puts another one in his shoulder.

Another in his thigh.

Another through his hand.

(She's seething, screaming through clenched teeth, tears in her eyes and blood on her hands.)

Another in his stomach.

"...Kate?"

And that last one, she puts between his eyes.


The hammer clicks over and over and over, and he's leaning back in his chair in that dirty little sheriff's office, gold badge affixed to his lapel, sprinkled with blood.

(click click click blood is pooling on the ground beneath his chair)

He lifts his head and glowers at her, dead eyes narrowed and burning with hellfire and fury.

"So. S'this how you treat all the men you love?"

click. click. click.

He sneers at her.

"Or am I just special?"


"Miss Katherine?"

She spins on her heel, paling when she comes face-to-face with Sam. He's damp with lake water, bleeding from a gushing hole in his neck. Brow furrowed, chocolate eyes focused on her eyes questioningly, his (soft sweet warm) lips tremble.

"Did you do this?"

She gasps, feeling sick. Tears prickle her eyes as she steps back, away from him.



"...Sam?"



"Is this your fault?"






She is still looking at him when his lips come to her ear.

"Of course it is."

She whips around again, eyes wild, gun drawn and pointed at him. He's sitting in that chair now, wearing the bloody shirt with the little gold badge in the corner. He smiles at her.

"Isn't it, Kate?"

click. click. click.

"After all, everything you love dies."


"No."

(click. click. click.)

"What? Frustrated because you can't kill me, too?" he sneers.

"I'm not like that!" she screams, arm trembling.

"Oh yes you are."

He stands up from his desk, palms flat against bloodstained paperwork and spilled coffee, eyes sharp and boring into her like bleak, dark coal, bottomless, endless, without hope of escape.

(click. click. click. click. click. click.)

"It's what you were born to be."


She gasps, feeling ice water pump through her veins. She's staring down the barrel of a gun -- her gun -- gripping the arms of the sheriff's chair. He's standing with the gun leveled at her head.

Nastily, he smiles, cocking the hammer back.

"Now, tell me."

'You kissed the onion picker.'

'You kissed the onion picker.'

'You kissed the onion picker.'

'You kissed the onion picker.'

'You kissed the onion picker.'

'You kissed the onion picker.'

'You kissed the onion picker.'

"...You still want that kiss?"

(She whimpers.)

click.

click.

Bang.

.