The staircase leading up, no way ended. It seems that it is, however, the staircase in heaven. Is it limited to the roof of an old house or leads directly to the night stars? Claire did not see, but felt that the house was in Venice. The sounds of fluid water came to her, similar to singing. This is the song of the mermaids! Only mermaids are downstairs, in water. She rises to the very top of the old building. To the magnificent suite of room, where she will look for him.
For whom? Claire frowned. She could not remember. And the pale nightgown with the golden threads, similar to the outfit of Shakespeares Juliet, was drowned around her legs. What an unusual outfit! In life, she did not wear anything like that. But it was a dream. Claire reached the suite of the empty rooms and moved forward. In the span of the ladder, which remained behind, stood the statue of the very deity, which she had already seen in the museum. Only this time the statue moved. The tentacles crawled out of a mask and a long raincoat. They stretched to Claire, but could not get her, because she had already reached the gallery of the mirror halls. For some reason, they do not dare to rush there.
In the dark end of the gallery, she was waiting for something. Freshness of water that came from the canal, mixed with breathing heat and fire. Claire felt the smell of hot metal and burned flesh, and yes, she could not confuse this smell with anything. Blood!
There were of luxury galleries around her, and at the end of them, it was like a torture chamber. Incredible, but the heat intensified. Claire did not see the fireplace, but she felt its proximity. Or it was a brazier. She stopped, noticing someone ahead. Some strong creation in the mask bent over the corpse of a woman. There was a knife in his hand, and he applied cuts.
Claire did not feel horror. In the end, it was just a dream. But the creature, tortured the victim, suddenly sniffed to the air and raised his head. Even in the slots masks it was visible that his face was maimed. Claire could not shout. She waited. And it was stupid. After all, he could rush to her with a knife. This creature always needs a new victim. A crippled arm kept the head of a dead womans head. The knife cut off not only the jewel with her neck, but also the skin from the body. The cuts bloomed as greedy mouths on a female corpse.
The creature, only noticing Claire, managed to break away from the victim. Only this time there was neither threatening whisper, no sharp movements of the predator. It only uttered only one word:
«Cordelia!»
Claire woke up with this name on the lips. It came to her that the suite of the gloomy halls was still revealed before her, but now in her own house, they reflected by many mirrors. Someone attracted her from this gallery with his mutilated hand.
Cordelia, repeated Claire. Whether the woman was so called, which he tied and killed. Claire remembered a beautiful corpse profile, a sparkled antique brush dress and a lily skin of the deceased, covered with purple knife trails. His knife. The knife in the hand of that creature for some reason seemed even more frightening than a whole set of surgical items that use maniacs in horror films for torture of victims.
Claire brought her hand to the forehead. Curly strands of hair merged from sweat. Head burned. It seems that she became too nervous in order to watch horror films in the evenings. So it is better to leave this genre for more bold people.
Claire did not remember when she was last so afraid. And in her lonely house there is no one to console her. Of course, you can take a phone and dial someone from your relatives or the closest friends, but whether they will not be surprised that she calls them at such a time then so that they encouraged her by their voice.
Now was too late or too early? Claire squinting on a luminous clock clock. Soon four in the morning. She can sleep until dawn, but she was afraid to see another similar dream.
Dreams like parasites. They invade reality, capture consciousness, drive crazy. Claire heavily leaning back on the pillows and felt a cold necklace on her neck. Now it also seemed to her parasite. It is strange that it did not heat up at all from the heat of her body. Pearls always remained cold. And it is even more strange that she did not decide to remove it. The necklace is as part of her body. Almost an integral. Sometimes it even seemed that this is the main part, and the body itself does not matter under it.
Claire looked into the mirror on the wall. Pearl thread looked at a thin neck so beautiful that it would be a pity to part with it. Claire remembered a nostalgic comparison the pearls are a treasure left from the deceased oyster, the testimony of its death.
Who told her about it?
Claire frowned. Someone spoke. But who? And when? The memory eluded, as if she was whining with drugs.
Who among her friends could have given such words? She figured out them without herself. Pearl! Death! Pearls evidence of death!
Where did she hear it?