In Time of Peril...

f-yeah-whopeaks:

“Doctor, where are we headed in such a hurry?”

“Not now…can’t talk…have to concentrate…”

A moment later the TARDIS bumped to a halt and the Doctor rushed past Peri and out the door. Thinking it best to keep up, she chased after him.

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I’ve posted about my weird Twin Peaks related dreams a couple of times before, but here’s some more if anyone cares…

Seems I’m always in Laura’s room in the dreams…once standing just inside the door, at nighttime, watching her sit at her desk and write.
Her back was to me, and I’m not sure she knew I was there.  The Little Man was standing just to the left of her, also apparently ignoring me.  His right hand was on her knee, and her left hand was on his head.  He looked very hunched and twisted, maybe like he was hurt.
I turned, I think to try to leave, and Donna was standing in the doorway, and she looked…enraged.  She was looking right at me, and I could feel that the rage was directed at me for some reason.

Another time James Hurley was there, sitting on the floor.  It was daytime, but a cloudy day.  There was a plate on the floor in front of James with what looked like just regular mushrooms cut up in little pieces.  The plate I recognized; it had belonged to my mother.
James pulled out a book of matches (from the roadhouse, I remember) and pulled a match out and struck it, then used it to light the whole book.  He touched the little fire to the bits of mushroom and they too burst into flames.  He left the matches to burn out on the edge of the plate and we both watched the mushrooms burn away to ash.
Laura walked in then, looking very tired and thin and worn out.  James scraped all the ashes together in his hands and stood and went to her and started to daub the ashes all over her face.  This, I felt, would somehow protect her, from BOB or from something else I can’t be sure. 

23 years ago last night, Laura Palmer had her last meal (asparagus for dinner; she hated it) and went out for her last meeting with “J.”  By the end of the night, she was dead, and 23 years ago this morning Pete Martell discovered her body, wrapped in plastic, at the edge of a lake.  Laura was gone, and rather than taking the truth of her life with her, she unleashed it (and a million other painful truths) on our little town of Twin Peaks, Washington.

RIP, Laura.

Let’s not forget the other victim of those atrocities 23 years ago, while we’re at it.  Ronette Pulaski was with Laura on that last night, in some of the last moments, and she almost met her own end at the hands of the killer.  She’s never been quite the same, and we owe her almost as much peace as we owe Laura.

In Laura’s room again, but it was just the two of us. She was lying on her bed, I was kneeling beside. She was in just a black t-shirt (I don’t think the girl probably ever wore a t-shirt in her life) and her underwear. Low-cut sort of panties.

The shirt was hitched up above her waist a bit, and I could see this long, well-cut vertical incision, freshly stitched-and-stapled, running down from below her navel to just above the pubic area. There was another one, also stitched-and-stapled, running horizontally above the pubis, forming a sort of upside down “T” with the vertical cut.

I remember reaching to touch the incisions, and now I can still feel them under my fingers as I type this.

“Does it hurt?”

She smiled at me a little.

“All the time.”

She looked past me, down to the foot of the bed and over, and when I followed her gaze, Agent Cooper was there. Dark trousers, white shirt, tie. Agent Cooper as ever.

He was unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves, smiling at Laura the whole time, and then he rolled his sleeves up and there were big, slicing cuts up and down along his forearms.

He went around to the other side of the bed and stood over Laura, and he held his arms out over her belly and twisted them like stretching, and blood popped out and rained down like he had wrung it from a sponge.

“Just how we get things done in this town,” he said, and I could see every drop of blood hitting Laura’s skin and running, but instead of running off of her body, down her sides, the blood ran to her incisions and seeped in. She groaned, whether because of pain or pleasure I couldn’t tell.

And then I woke up.

I was in Laura Palmer’s bedroom, standing near the door. Laura was there, sitting on her bed, and Bobby Briggs was there with her. She was sitting what I guess we used to call “indian fashion,” legs all pulled up akimbo, with her back to the head of the bed, and Bobby was sort of mirroring her with his back toward the foot. He had his head all down and his hair sort of flopped so that I couldn’t see his face properly. I thought maybe he was sitting up asleep.

She was telling me something, staring straight at Bobby, but talking to me. I didn’t know why at first, and I wasn’t sure right away what she was saying, but it was the same thing, over and over, in a monotone.

“This is real, you know. It’s all real. It’s real and it’s forever and I never have to go home again.”

And then she stopped and laid back and stretched her legs out so that her feet were on Bobby’s lap, and she closed her eyes and screamed, I mean SCREAMED like her doppelganger’s screaming in the Lodge-world. And Bobby looked up and looked right at me and his mouth was sewn shut and he looked like he was trying to smile, and he nodded at me, and then Laura started to laugh.

And then I woke up.