by Kristie Cook
I couldn’t answer. Again, I wanted to scream to wake myself up. But this nightmare had become one of those where you can’t move, speak, or even breathe. I wondered if a lack of air would finally force my body awake.
“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” He stood right in front of me again, the cold breath raging against my face, blowing my hair back. I still couldn’t move, not even for a breath. His voice lowered with the next question, nearly a whisper, but more frightening to me than anything else. “You really do not want us coming after your family, now do you?”
Then he stiffened, and his head twitched. His narrow nostrils flared. He turned his head to his left, his eyes shifting over his shoulder toward the door. He let out a soft growl from deep in his chest.
And then he was gone.
I didn’t know how long I sat there, how much time had passed since I’d taken a breath. It felt like hours. I didn’t know where he disappeared to, and I didn’t know if he would come back. I still hadn’t woken up, so the nightmare wasn’t over.
But I’d surely wake up and not let myself suffocate. Right? WAKE UP!
I focused on taking a short, shallow breath, trying not to move too much, in case even the slightest movement brought him back. The brief flow of air felt like new life to my burning lungs. I couldn’t help but take another, longer draw. It was ragged, but satisfying. I concentrated on counting my breaths, trying to keep them slow and steady.
One.
Two.
Three.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
I nearly fell out of my chair. My breath caught again, and my heart returned to its flurried pace. Someone was at the door. Is it real or part of the dream? It was one of those sounds where you’re just not sure. If it was real, it didn’t wake me up. My subconscious incorporated the noise.
The vampire had sensed something. He knew someone was coming. Was it my Knight-in-shining-armor? If my hero banged on the door, there was only one person I’d want it to be. I was glad I hadn’t woken up yet.
The door flew open and hit the wall with another bang.
“Alexis!” Such a beautiful voice. “Alexis! Are you all right?”
Chapter 5
As the voice came into the room, I realized it wasn’t the one I wanted to hear. It sounded familiar. Nice. But it didn’t belong to whom I wanted.
Is this some kind of cruel joke? Is my subconscious trying to replace him? Tears welled in my eyes. I’m not ready to replace him. This is my dream. Why can’t it be the way I want it?
Instead, Owen’s voice rang into the room. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head, biting my lower lip to keep it from trembling. I couldn’t feel the pain from the bite, though. I wished I could—it would wake me up.
I sensed Owen kneel down in front of me, trying to get a good look at my face. I squeezed my eyes tightly. Stupid dream. Why can’t I just wake up?
“Alexis, are you okay?” he asked again. “I sensed Daemoni.”
“I-I’m fine,” I finally answered, my voice tiny.
“You don’t look fine.”
“It was just . . .” Oh, what does it matter? This stupid dream wasn’t going anywhere now because the wrong hero came. “It was nothing.”
“Well, if you’re okay in here, I’ll go check everything out.” I felt him move away, heard his steps as he crossed the room.
Is he really coming back? Can he just turn into the one I really want? That happens in dreams. People change into other people. Please? I didn’t know whom I begged. I guess my deranged subconscious, which liked to torture me and knew exactly how to do it.
Like dreams do, my surroundings faded out, and I heard my mother’s voice from many years ago, as we drove from some city to another. She’d just broken up with yet another man. “Don’t ever let them know your buttons. If they know your buttons, they’ll push them every time.”
My subconscious seemed to know exactly which buttons to push. Of course, it’s not like I could hide my buttons from myself. I just had to deal with the torture.
“Everything looks fine,” Owen said, bringing me back to the other dream. Yep, still had to deal with it. “Do you think you’ll be okay?”
I nodded and said quietly, “I’m so tired. I just want real sleep.”
I lay my head on the desk but wanted to go to bed. I tried to stand up. I nearly fell back down, my legs wobbly and weak.
“Whoa,” Owen said, catching me.
I refused to look at him as he picked me up. His arms were hard and strong. I kept my eyes closed and tried to pretend he was the one I wanted. It’s just a dream anyway, so it should be easy, right? The illusion came easier than I’d expected. A slight electrical current prickled where his arms touched my shoulders and the backs of my knees. As he carried me into the bedroom, I could even imagine the scent of mangos and papayas, lime and sage and a hint of man. I wanted to bury my face into his chest. But then everything would have been turned around, and my dream-self would fall into bed with . . . Nope. Not going there.
“I’ll stay here for a while, make sure you’re okay,” Owen said. He leaned over, and the soft bed gave under my weight.
“No, you don’t—”
“It wasn’t a question. I’ll keep watch. You just get some rest.” My skin warmed with the brief pressure of his lips to my forehead. I kept my eyes tightly shut, afraid my subconscious might see that button—the bright one that flashed between “Possibility” and “Nearly as Good.” But I felt the movement as he stood back up and then heard his soft steps on the thick carpet as he headed toward the door. Part of me didn’t want him to leave. But I was afraid of what might happen . . . of the possibilities. Not replacing him!
Then the memory-dream finally returned, my real hero as the star, feeling so close to me.
I lay in bed at 5:15 the next morning, holding on to those memories, on to that face that had been eluding me until now. The image had finally been clear enough for me to see him. And now that I was awake, back in my own gray world, I had to face reality that he wasn’t with me.
As soon as the sky lightened enough to run, I dashed out the door, grateful I’d decided to pack my new running gear. I ran along the unfamiliar streets, heading south, where I knew I would eventually hit water. When I did, I paused to gaze over it. The only sounds filling the air were the waves hitting against the concrete seawall below and seagulls cawing at each other overhead. The scene might have been peaceful if my body wasn’t screaming to move. As I turned to head back down the street, someone caught my eye.
He was still too far away and too hidden in shadows to see his face. Somehow, though, I knew he was the stranger. The same stranger who’d been in my yard and at the park all the way back in Atlanta. And I knew now he was a hallucination. I’d been imagining him all along. He took several steps toward me this time. The gait was painfully familiar. He’s not real. Not real! Panicked by the realization, I ran the other way, as fast and as hard as I could, not paying attention to where.
I needed to escape that delusion because it meant I really had lost my mind. I’d been trying so hard to see him, my imagination created false images, like someone lost in the desert searching for water for days and stumbling toward an oasis that was really a mirage. I slowed, tears blurring my vision.
And footsteps came from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw another runner following my path. He gained on me quickly. I sped up, but he ran much faster.
Daemoni! Evil! Run! Go! Faster!
Shit! Shit, shit, shit! He wasn’t following my path . . . he chased me. I cranked my legs as fast as they could go, digging into the ground and springing forward. A beastlike growl rumbled behind me, way too close. My heart pounded and my breathing came hard, the first time I’d had any difficulty running. But exertion didn’t tax my energy. This was all-out fear. This is real. Just a few more seconds . . .
At least I’ll be with my love.
I impulsively stopped at the thought and waited. Waited to be caught and captured
and possibly killed.
Just take me!
But the footsteps fell silent. I whirled around. The runner was gone. No trace he’d even been there.
I stared down the street in bewilderment and turned in circles. No sign of anyone. Another delusion? I swore he was real . . . but maybe not. And if not, then I really was falling over the edge, into complete madness. In fact, that was the only explanation because I’d just been willing to give myself up, leaving my son as an orphan. How could I? An evil snicker sounded in the back of my mind.
I inhaled deeply, trying to calm my heart and clear my head at the same time. And an invisible, yet crushing weight fell on top of me.
Mangos and papayas, lime and sage.
“What are you doing here? Get to a safe place!”
My heart and my breathing both stopped. That scent . . . that voice. That lovely, smooth, silky voice. His voice. And not twisted in pain, screaming my name. I’d never allowed myself to hear his voice in my mind, knowing it would be too painful. I couldn’t control scents—they wafted in on their own from innocent sources. But his voice . . . I would purposely have to recall it. My subconscious did it for me in my dreams—just to hear his last five words I clung to so desperately. But I wouldn’t allow my conscious mind to do it. I could hardly believe it still could.
The smell and the sound overwhelmed my sharp senses and crushed my fragile soul. I broke down in the middle of the street, crying, turning round and round to try to find a source. The street was residential, with big houses, old trees, and fences surrounding the yards. Nobody around. Holy hell, I’m going out of my freakin’ mind!
As I continued turning in slow circles, something caught my eye. It was so obvious. A mango tree stood not too far away, baby fruit hanging from its branches over the fence it stood behind. I took a deep, ragged breath and exhaled slowly. At least there’s a partial explanation.
Calming myself with that thought, I began a slow walk down the street, trying to get my bearings so I could head back to the hotel. I focused on the street sign thirty yards away and almost didn’t notice the runner coming from the cross street. My heart stuttered when I saw him, thinking he was the Daemoni runner again. And then I realized who he was.
He turned down the street I walked on, running away from me. He wore black running pants and a black T-shirt and his brown hair hung down past his shoulders in a ponytail. It’s not who I want. Why would I see him so differently than my memory? But I couldn’t help it. Even knowing he wasn’t real, knowing he wasn’t my husband, I impulsively chased after him, running as hard as I could. Though I’d gained some speed over the last couple days, I couldn’t catch up to him.
“Wait!” I yelled. “Please! Wait!”
He disappeared down the street. I kept running, tears threatening, not able to see where I ran. So it was easy to get knocked off my feet. Someone grabbed me from behind.
“Are you crazy?” Owen seethed, his mouth close to my ear.
“Ugh!” I moaned. He held me tightly, and I let loose on him. “Yes, I am! Actually, I’m beyond crazy. I’ve totally lost my fucking mind, Owen. I’m a basket case. Call the white coats. Tell them to bring the straightjacket and lock me up in a padded cell. That’s where I belong!”
He kept his arms around me as I threw my temper-tantrum. When I calmed down, he set me back on my feet and stepped around so he could look at me. “Are you done?”
I dropped my face into my hands, pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes. When the pulsing in my ears quieted, I sighed and looked at him. “For the moment. I guess.”
He shook his head slowly. “Come on. We need to get out of here. This is really the worst place you can be, especially by yourself.”
He led me back to the hotel and waited in the front room of my suite while I showered, dressed, and packed my laptop and the few items I’d taken out. He apparently wouldn’t leave me alone.
“I’m going to the beach house,” I said when I was ready to leave.
He nodded. “It’s better than here.”
“It’s something I need to do alone, Owen.”
He gave me a kind smile. “I understand. I’ll get out when we get close. For now, I can make sure no one sees you leave or follows you there.”
“You can shield cars?”
“Yeah, but you need more than a shield. I have to get you out of here without anyone even seeing you leave, and flashing with you is impossible, so . . .” He rubbed his hands against each other, then quickly turned them palm out at me. His eyes traveled down to my feet and back up again. “There. Perfect.”
I looked down at myself. As far as I could tell, nothing had changed. “What?”
He reached out and clumsily grabbed my shoulders, then led me over to a mirror on the wall. My jaw dropped with an audible gasp. Owen stood behind me, but the mirror reflected only him—his whole body, as if nothing obstructed it . . . as if I weren’t there.
“I cloaked you,” he said with a big grin.
I smiled with relief, although he couldn’t see it. I didn’t know how he cloaked me, but it was perfect. The thought had already occurred to me that I could have led Daemoni right to my safe place, and I’d had no ideas for how to prevent it. They were apparently aware of my presence and would have followed. Gratitude for Owen’s company swelled within me.
He picked up all my bags and led me out of the room and down the hallway. A man and woman stood at the elevators, holding hands.
“Stay very close so they don’t bump into you, and don’t make a sound,” Owen said, his voice barely a whisper.
As we reached the Ferrari, Owen went to the front to drop my bags into the cargo space, and I naturally went to the driver’s side door. He walked right into me.
“Ow! What are you doing?” I asked.
“What are you doing?” he echoed.
“Uh . . . getting in the car.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “And what happens if you pass by a cop and it looks like the car is driving itself?”
“Oh. Right.” I’d already forgotten I was invisible to everyone else.
“I’ll stop once we’re out of sight of the highway,” he promised.
Owen’s plan worked. No one paid any attention to us, except a few guys who gawked at the car and a couple of women who smiled warmly at Owen while we sat at a stoplight. My sense felt they were plain human—not Daemoni. Either the Daemoni didn’t care about me, didn’t recognize the car, or figured Owen was leaving by himself or just running errands or something. Or maybe we just got lucky and none were even out when we left. Neither of us felt anyone following us as we traveled the fifty miles to the beach house.
“Thank you,” I said as he made the turn off the highway. He drove about forty feet, then stopped the car. From the highway, our little key, which we shared with only four other homes, was barely noticeable by passing drivers, hidden in what looked like a wild overgrowth of natural vegetation.
“That’s what I’m here for,” he said.
He waved his hand toward me, presumably to lift the cloak, but I paid no attention. Instead, I stared down the sandy road that led to the beach house. A lump started forming in my throat, growing larger with each heartbeat until I thought it might suffocate me.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Owen asked.
I didn’t answer, not able to talk with that boulder stuck in my throat. I finally nodded.
“I’ll be close,” he said, and then he flashed, disappeared, leaving me alone to my task that would either lead to light and healing or push me down into the utter blackness of no return.
I heaved myself out of the car and walked to the driver’s side on wobbly legs, feeling like one of Dorian’s toys—the rubbery kind that could be pulled and twisted and bent into odd shapes. I folded myself into the driver’s seat, took a deep breath, and put the transmission into first gear.
As I turned into the driveway and the house came into view, grief slammed down on me. I hadn’t been back since that d
ay we’d left together. This was our place. I didn’t want memories here without him. Yet here I was. Completely alone.
When I stopped the car at the house, I couldn’t move.
Memories of pulling into the driveway the first time flooded my vision. The moon had provided the only light then, and our conversation had been strained. It was easy to remember—I’d been so nervous, not about losing my virginity, but about doing it right for my new husband. The emotion was still clear, but now felt from a more experienced, older perspective. That was an innocent time, a time full of joy and love and hope. We’d been looking forward to years—centuries, even eternity—of being together. And we’d been given only a couple of weeks.
I wiped my wet face with my hands while staring at the house with trepidation. It still looked the same, as if frozen in time with the memories it held. The light gray, metal roof reflected the bright sun, and the blue-gray stucco siding looked like new. The wooden stairs and deck seemed to have a fresh coat of white paint—they gleamed in the sun, too. The house hadn’t changed at all.
But it was different now. Instead of promises of love and hope, the house now held guarantees of misery and loneliness. Part of me wanted to leave. A very big part.
I inhaled deeply, telling myself I could do this. I gathered the luggage and forced myself up the stairs. I rummaged in his bag for the keys, taking time to feel each of his belongings my hand came across, trying so hard to remember his face, to feel his presence. Once I stepped inside, I didn’t have to try. I could barely punch in the security code for the alarm, my hands trembling and tears blurring my vision.
The memories of our unplanned honeymoon—so long ago now—flooded over me as soon as I entered the kitchen. We’d cooked so many meals here together, listening to U2, Nirvana, and Smashing Pumpkins, the only three CDs that had been in the Ferrari at the time. Sometimes he’d taken me in his arms and spun me around for a short dance as we waited for the sauce to thicken or water to boil. I remembered him chasing me around the island with lobsters in his hands before he dropped them in the big pot of steaming water. My eyes traced over the crack he’d left in the granite countertop the day we had to leave, and the tears spilled over.
