Midnight Dreams

"What's up?"

"Maybe I can just get a folding chair or something," he said.

"What are you talking about? Just come sit next to me."

Reluctantly, he slid onto the bed next to her, being careful not to spill the popcorn. She looked at him quizzically. Why was he being so weird?

"I'm sorry," she said as she paused the movie at the flickering Obelisk Studios logo.

"For what?"

"Can we turn off the lights? It's kind of bright in here." She grinned apologetically.

He made a faux-resentful noise and slid back off the bed. One by one, he flicked off the lights in the RV, until the only radiance came from the blue light of the TV.

"Better?" he asked, sitting next to her again - a little closer this time, she noticed.

"Better. I'm excited for this, Dad."

"Me too."

She started the movie again. Their shoulders brushed as she settled in next to him, feeling happy and content.

***

As Juliet had both feared and hoped, the movie got weird right away. The first scene opened on some kind of demonic ritual. In true Douglas Pierce fashion, there was a lot of nudity. Naked men and women chanted in a strange language around a blazing bonfire, while a young couple, also naked, copulated passionately on an altar.

"Oh," Juliet said. "It's going to be that kind of movie, huh?"

"Not surprising for Pierce," her dad said.

"I was just thinking the same thing." She nudged him affectionately.

They watched together, drinking cocoa and eating from the same bowl of popcorn. The film unfolded, slow and deliberate, in the surreal and dreamlike style of Douglas Pierce. Juliet knew her father had fallen in love with them because of their languid, sensual style punctuated with moments of intensity, and she had cultivated that same love over the years. Seventh Sacrifice did not disappoint.

The movie told the story of a British mystic Roarke, living as the patriarch of a remote village in 1970s Britain. Roarke's ambition was to make a deal with a demon to gain immortal life. To satisfy the demon, Roarke schemed in the lives of the villagers, leading them one by one to bizarre, macabre deaths.

Even more intriguing to Juliet was the character of Roarke's daughter, Lisbeth. She was young, supposedly innocent, but as the film went on, she grew more involved in Roarke's dark crimes. It became clear she was every bit as dark and clever as he was. Soon the two became emotionally intimate, and she began to aid him in his occult work while distracting the American detective who was the movie's supposed protagonist.

"Give me your cup," her dad said, standing. On the TV, a leisurely scene unfolded in the last third of the movie. Roarke and his daughter stood in a gloomy vestibule, talking about how best to dispatch the meddling detective.

Juliet handed it to him without looking, enraptured by what was happening on screen. The tension between the two characters was undeniably erotic, from the dialogue to the way they looked at one another. Not only that, but the character of Lisbeth had traded in her chaste white gown for a scarlet dress with a plunging neckline and slits up both thighs.

"So is it just me? Ryan asked as he rinsed the cups in the sink, "or is their relationship a little out of the ordinary?"

"Uh, yeah," she agreed, unable to take her eyes off the movie. The tension in the scene was building. She could feel it, a quiet certainty deep in her bones.

He lay down next to her again, crossing his sock-clad feet as he leaned back against the pillows.

On screen, Roarke looked down at his daughter. She swore allegiance to his dark designs, asking to stand by his side in immortality. He requested a display of loyalty. A moment of silence passed between them. Then Lisbeth went down on her knees.

"Oh," Juliet said softly.

The action was not explicit, though it was abundantly clear what was happening. Lisbeth was performing oral sex on her father.

"Uh," she heard her father say.

The music in the movie swelled, blaring and caterwauling as if to imply this was all terrible and evil. But Juliet found herself utterly absorbed. The scene was just short of pornographic visually, but instead focused on the emotional details - his hand on her hair; her hesitation and doubt, mixed with raw carnal lust; Roarke's agonized and ecstatic expressions as she urged him to climax. The final shot was as close to explicit as she'd ever seen a movie get: a long shot showing Lisbeth kneeling, her father's hand on her head, thrusting into her mouth as he, quite vocally, finished.

The scene ended, fading into a shot of the village countryside. Juliet was no longer paying attention. She realized she was flushed, breathing quickly, her skin hot.

She also realized she'd put her hand on her father's leg, fingers clenched. She jerked her hand away self-consciously.

"Sorry," she breathed, then cleared her throat.

"It's okay," he replied. If he noticed her arousal, he didn't say anything. She wasn't sure how he could have missed it.

Neither of them spoke again until the end of the movie. From there, it grew even more sexual and extreme. Lisbeth spent much of the rest of the movie naked as she wandered the old castle. She and her father made love in a pair of brief but highly charged scenes. Lisbeth seduced the detective and led him to a grisly death, just as she'd promised.

As they watched, Juliet found herself wanting to look at her dad, to see what he was thinking. She didn't quite dare. She could feel the tension there, like an invisible line drawn between them and pulled tight. But it didn't feel awkward. Not in the way she'd expected. It felt strangely comfortable.

In the final third of the movie, the remaining villagers turned on Roarke and Lisbeth, hunting them down and finally cornering them in the trap-laden cellar of the old castle. The deaths were gruesome and frequent, the suspense spring-tight.

Juliet inched closer to her dad during the worst of the gore, until her entire body was pressed up against his. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, his hand warm against her skin.

When Roarke was messily dispatched by one of his own traps, she flinched and pressed her face to his chest. He chuckled a little under his breath.

"Oh my god," she said. "Is it over?"

"No, he's still dying. Want me to describe it to you?"

"No!" She giggled.

The ending of the movie was consistent with everything she'd ever heard about the director. After a gruesome bloodbath in which Lisbeth killed a good half-dozen villagers, they finally caught her, bound her, and burned her at the stake. The final scene, in which Lisbeth burned while the crowd jeered and shouted, was protracted and merciless.

As the credits finally rolled, Juliet realized she'd been pressing her body hard against her father's for several minutes. Her pulse was racing again, her breath quick - not arousal at Lisbeth's death, but excitement at the raw violence and tension of the movie's final moments.

She looked up at him, smiling nervously.

"That was intense," she whispered.

"Yeah," he said. The screen had faded to black, and now the glowing white letters of the credits were the only light in the RV. She could barely make out his features in the gloom, but he was staring straight back at her.

"Did you like it?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. The director is kind of..."

"Messed up?"

He laughed softly. "Maybe a little."

"I wasn't really expecting a couple of those scenes," she said. She felt awkward mentioning it, but at the same time, she felt an intense desire to talk about how it had made her feel. She knew that wasn't appropriate - but at the same time, she didn't entirely care.

"Me neither," he said, running a hand through his hair. He shifted on the bed, uncrossing his legs. Some awkwardness in the way he moved drew her gaze, and she looked down to see the clear outline of an erection in his sweatpants.

She drew in a sharp breath. She looked back to his face again, saw the embarrassment there.

A forbidden thought raced through Juliet's mind, sudden as a lightning bolt. The movie had aroused her. The scene between Roarke and Lisbeth in particular. She wanted to touch it. To touch him.

"It's really late," she found herself saying, almost as if the words came from somewhere else. "That was longer than I thought. I should go."

She didn't want to go. She wanted to stay. But if she did, she didn't know what would happen. What she might do, or try to do.

He reached out to touch her arm. She pulled away, slid off the bed, and went to retrieve her things from the RV's passenger seat.

When she turned back, he was still sitting on the bed. He couldn't stand. She knew why.

"I love you, Dad," she said. "I'll talk to you soon."

Heart hammering in her chest, she fled before he could say anything else. Like ask her to stay.

***

As she sat down in the car, Juliet realized she was extremely wet. She gave a little moan of frustration as she started the car.

Her mind raced the entire drive back. Images kept surfacing in her imagination: the father in the movie, plundering his daughter's willing mouth. How own father's erection, plainly visible through his clothing. The look in his eyes as he realized she'd seen. What had it been? Concern? Embarrassment? Had there been desire there, too? Or was that only wishful thinking on her part?

Was that what she wished - for her father to feel desire for her?

The question burned bright in her thoughts. As her car crossed into the no-man's-land of Culver Park, she realized these feelings were not truly new. For months, during these Thursday night movie sessions, something had been changing inside her. She'd begun to think of their time together as a kind of date, from the first hello to the goodbye kiss. A kiss she'd missed tonight, because-

Well, she knew why. They both did.

By the time she got back to her apartment, she felt more confused and emotional than ever. She parked the car, turned it off, and sat in the dark for a moment, trying to calm her thoughts.

To distract herself, she checked her phone. He hadn't texted. He always texted while she was driving home, to tell her he loved her and make sure she got home safe. Not tonight. She didn't blame him, but it still caused a twinge of hurt that she didn't like one bit.

She had so little connection in her life. Few friends and fewer people still she could call close. Her dad was one of those few. Was it so wrong that she had feelings for him that lay outside the norm?

She thought of the end of the movie. Of Lisbeth screaming as she burned.

Before she could ponder any further, she unlocked her phone and sent a text.

[I'm home safe. Love you Dad.]

She locked her phone again before he could reply.

***

Juliet fell into bed without taking off her clothes. She lay thrashing for awhile before finally falling into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

She awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming through the half-open blinds. With a a groan, she rolled over and grabbed her phone from the nightstand.

Two messages from her dad.

[love you too pumpkin. good night]

And then:

[you left the movie here]

"Shit," she muttered. She'd forgotten all about it in her haste to leave. It was hardly an emergency, but she'd still have to go back for it.

She looked at the messages until the words were meaningless. Perfectly normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. But last night had been anything but normal. She hadn't imagined what had happened. She'd been turned on by the incestuous scenes in the movie - and so had he. Even as doubt crawled into the back of her mind and settled there like a scorpion, she knew what she'd experienced.

Now the question remained: what, if anything, was she going to do about it?

Juliet dropped the phone on the bed and stood. Stripping off her clothes, she moved into the bathroom for a hot shower.

As she stood under the steamy water, she tried to make sense of her own thoughts.

At first, she felt defiance. So she was attracted to him. So what? Didn't a lot of daughters go through a phase where they fell in love with their dads.

Not quite like this, a voice whispered in the back of her head. Loving your dad doesn't mean wanting to fuck him.

Where had these feelings come from? What had brought them on? Part of her mind wanted to blame the movie. Not just the incestuous scenes and the romantic drama that surrounded them, but the emotional bond Juliet and her father had forged from the movie-watching tradition. Yes, the sex scenes had been hot, in that weird Seventies sort of way.

But she'd also loved the emotional closeness between Roarke and Lisbeth, the conspiratorial intimacy of two against the world. On some deep level, it had spoken to her. It had shook something loose inside her, and she had to deal with it in some way.

But how? What was she supposed to do? Couldn't she just put these feelings away and pretend it never happened? Wouldn't that be easier?

Her thoughts drifted into fantasy as she rinsed her hair. She imagined the two of them standing close in the tight confines of the trailer. It was overly warm, in her fantasy, and she was wearing little. Her boy shorts and a tank top, the blue one that was just slightly too small. Thighs, cleavage and midriff on display. Something a girl would never wear in front of her father.

She imagined herself confessing her feelings to him. Touching his chest lightly as she told him everything in hesitant tones. He looked down at her, his expression indecipherable, his brown eyes looking at her face. Down at her body. She wanted him to look at her, to desire her.

His hands on her waist, squeezing. Pulling her to him as he leaned down to kiss her. In her fantasy she could feel his erection through his clothes, rock-hard and urgent. She reached down to pull it out-

"Okay," Juliet breathed, bringing herself back to the present. The water was getting cold. She finished rinsing her hair, washed the soap off her body, and turned off the shower.

She wrapped herself in a towel and wiped off the mirror above the sink with her hand. Staring at her own dripping reflection, she frowned.

"He's your dad," she told her reflection sternly. "It's not okay."

She was disappointed, but not surprised, to find it didn't change how she felt.

***

It was her day off from Midnight Dreams, which gave her lots of time to kill on a day when she wanted anything but. The oceans of time in front of her gave her plenty of time to consider her situation. She made herself a meager breakfast and watched some videos on her laptop, thoughts still turning over in her mind.

She knew people sometimes asked the internet for advice on subjects like these. She considered the idea and immediately rejected it. There was no way strangers on the Internet could know her life, how she felt, what she wanted. The thought made her anxious to the point of nausea.

What about Kendall? Her friend and co-worker was nothing if not sex-positive, but this was a taboo subject, and she doubted Kendall would understand. Juliet also wasn't sure she could be trusted.

As time went on, she realized she had nobody she could talk to about this. Or, rather, there was only one person in her life she could talk to, one person who would almost certainly understand. The one man who had always been there for her, who had always played a role in her life.

"Oh no," she muttered, burying her face in her hands. Sitting cross-legged on the bed - in the tank top and shorts she'd fantasized about wearing in front of her dad - she picked up the phone and texted him.

[what are you doing today? can I come over and pick up the movie?]

Juliet placed the phone gingerly back on the bedspread, as if it were explosive. She didn't think it was likely he'd be busy today, but she didn't want to assume either.

She watched more videos while she waited. Time seemed to stretch out into an infinity of anticipation.

When the phone finally chimed, she picked it up with lightning speed.

[sure, come on over!]

She grinned and sighed in relief. Then the relief passed as she remembered she actually had to face him - and her own feelings.

"I'll figure it out when I get there," she said to reassure herself.

***

She decided to stick with what she was wearing. It was skimpy, yes, but it was also hot out, and she didn't feel like changing. A little voice in her mind told her she had other motives for what she was wearing, but she chose to ignore it.

Despite what Juliet had told herself, her mind kept trying to solve the problem of her feelings as she drove. What would she say when she got there? What would she do? What if she confessed her feelings and he rejected her - or worse? What if he got angry? What if she'd been absolutely wrong about everything?

"Forget it," she whispered, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. She'd figure it out when she got there. Or not. Obsessing on it wasn't going to make anything better.

***

The heat was sweltering by the time she reached the RV. It hit her in a wave as soon as she stepped from the car, and she was already sweating - partially from the heat, but also from anxiousness.

She walked to the RV door and knocked. A muffled voice said something that sounded like an invitation, so she opened it and stepped in.

The RV was marginally cooler inside. Her dad had rigged up a small swamp cooler in one window, hooked to an exterior generator. It was hardly chilly, but definitely better than outside.

Her dad stood at the kitchenette counter, putting together a sandwich.

"Hey, pumpkin," he said. He was wearing a tee shirt and shorts, his feet bare. He looked a little like he'd just rolled out of bed - his hair was a bit mussed. "You hungry? I can make one of these for you."

"What is it?"

"Bologna."

She wrinkled her nose. "Gross. What is wrong with you?"

"Fair enough." He grinned and pointed behind him, to where the DVD case lay on the countertop. "I put it back in the case for you."

"Thanks," she said, feeling oddly dispirited. She took the case and turned it over in her hands, pondering.

Her dad pushed away the sandwich, untouched. "Something wrong, sweetheart?"

"I just. We didn't get to talk last night. About the movie. After it was over. I was so tired." She laughed nervously. That was true, but also not the reason they hadn't talked. She let the lie fall between them, unacknowledged.

"I know, I missed having our usual conversation," he said.

He turned to the fridge, grabbed a beer, and opened it. The crack and hiss startled her, despite her looking right at him while he did it.

Her dad took a drink. "Do you have work tonight?"

"Nope."

"Do you want to watch it again?"

A slow smile spread across her face as her heart leaped in her chest.

"Yes, I would."

***

Juliet situated herself on the bed, stretching out in the air-conditioned comfort. Ryan put the movie back in the player. For whatever reason, the movie resumed at the end credits, and she mocked him gently while he struggled with the remote.

He skipped back to the opening credits and lay down next to her, beer in hand. She felt a tingle of contentment and anticipation as the credits played.

"You want anything?" he asked. "Should I make popcorn?"

"I'm good," she said. "Thank you for doing this."

"Of course."

Watching the movie again with him was an entirely different experience. They both knew what was coming in the story, so the suspense was diminished. It let her focus in on what she'd found truly interesting about the movie: the relationship between Roark and his daughter Lisbeth. This time, she picked up on many more subtle clues that pointed to the attraction between them. Several times, she opened her mouth to mention it, but her courage always failed her at the last moment. She had an idea where that conversation might lead.