His Avenging Angel
I dream I am in an old run down Victorian theater, in a side room, where it looked like you would have dinner before the show or drinks afterward. There is a show going on on the stage and the house is packed. I sit alone in this room at a long dark intricately carved wooden table. The doors slide back on my left to allow a view of the stage. Beside me on the floor to the right is Sylvia’s sewing machine. A tall man enters the room, older, middle aged, weather worn, working class in jeans, tee shirt and a jean over shirt. I say hello and look down at my phone and start to type. I am shy and uncomfortable since he is a stranger. He sneers down at me with a scowl on his face says “I hate fucking bitches like you.” He looks me up and down focusing attention on my chest tattoo.
I am startled and get up to leave quickly as another man comes into the room. I ask him to help me and cut my eyes over to the other man as he starts to stomp toward me. I notice too late that this man looks like the other bearing the resemblance of a cousin or brother. He lunges for me and I run. Outside the room I run into another man with similar results. He is younger though. I realize the resemblance before it is too late.
I run outside the theater where I fall to the pavement crying I haltingly call K and am telling her crying into the phone that these men are after me. She says with confidence not to worry because “He has sent his Avenging Angel to take care of the situation.” She no sooner says this than the doors of the theater burst open and the bodies of the men go flying through the air. Following them is a supernaturally tall, dark, fit man dressed like a mobster in black pin stripes and slicked back, blue black hair. Eyes of blue flame calmly and purposely making his way over to the men laying on the ground. I am in awe. I feel both safe and cautious. Then I wake up.