Exhaustion, unfortunately, had no power over Leo Torres’ dreams in Oklahoma, and his body soon writhed and twisted across his tangled bed. A man was in his dreams. He was pale, fat and sweaty. He was frightened of something. His small eyes gleamed as pinpoints; his mouth opened to scream ... Then the picture that was the man's face tore into separate pieces and dispersed, only to be replaced by another man's face. After this one had fractured, another appeared, and so on it went in the pageant of Leo's tortured subconscious until at last he woke, sweating, and completely unsure of his whereabouts.
The rural night shrieked terrifying noises.
Almost shivering, Leo rose silently amid the strange illumination and nightmare noises. A familiar, steady calm, settled over him as soon as he was fully awake. Noiselessly, he found his knife, dressed, and pushed the outer door open. Then he stood back and waited. The noise was worse, but there was no sign of a threat. He waited a good interval, then slipped quickly through the door and outside the building.
He stayed close to the outer wall while he strained to listen and to see. Nothing was familiar, everything was unprocessable. Eye-level and below, he could see almost nothing except a flat silvery shape that he took to be a body of water a short distance away. But above was the first fully darkened night sky that Leo Torres had ever experienced in his lifetime. It took a moment to absorb, but it didn't soften his wariness. He edged out from the building and angled toward the odd-shaped silver.
As he progressed, the shrieking, all-permeating noise grew worse and worse. Still no sign of its source. At the edge of the water, he crouched to watch and listen. A shape stirred at the waters' edge a dozen feet away. Then it stood erect, nearly a man's height, and contemplated him silently. It was aware of him, but its intentions were not clear. Joe checked behind himself one more time, then spoke up.
"Who's that?"
The shrieking cacophony suddenly stopped. Silence wrapped around him like the blackness, and the creature before him moved.
"Oh, you stopped them!" said the same friendly, talkative tone he had enjoyed the afternoon before. She walked closer, and he could see that she was dirty with pond mud and moss. "It took some time, lying still, to hear their songs. Come and join me and we'll wait together. They'll start again."
"What were they?" he asked, while making sure his body was between her line of sight and his shiny blade.
"Frogs. There're millions of them. But they're afraid of everything, and they won't sing at all when they know we're here. Why don't you come sit with me? There's more to it than you realize. I can tell different ones by their tones and rhythms, and I can almost tell what they're singing about, sometimes."
"Enjoy it," he snapped, and turned back.
"Wait, Commissioner. I'll walk back with you."
He was sure that she wanted to talk, maybe ask more questions he couldn't answer, and he wasn't sure if it was fakery or genuine naivete. Either way, he wasn't lying in any Oklahoma mudhole for her or anybody else. He walked ahead silently, concealing his knife.
When the reached the rear of the building, he heard her stop and pump the handle of the creaking iron water pump. He turned to look back at her as she rinsed herself naked and clean. Even in the starlight, her skin and hair were illuminated against the surrounding blackness. She was more beautiful than he could have imagined.
Was this a come-on? Was she some pawn in Johns’ plan to get a good recommendation? What would she do if he took a few steps toward her? What if he reached out?
"Good night," he said with finality, and returned to his room. Before he slept, the frogs' shrieking serenade resumed.