The Hour of Dreams

by Shelena Shorts

  “I dreamed you were a boy named William.”

  He bolted upright, his perfectly proportionate face no longer relaxed and inviting, but distorted and surprised.

  “What?” I asked.

  “William?”

  “Do you know him?”

  He huffed and raised his brow. “I’d say so…since I’ve been him, in my own dreams.”

  “Your own?” He nodded. “So, that makes it a…”

  “Memory,” he finished.

  Part of me had already known what it was, but it took my groggy brain a minute to grasp it.

  “And I was—”

  “Phoebe?”

  “Oh, my God,” I whispered.

  He just stared at me in the darkness while I sat with my mouth surely sitting open.

  “You see it now?” he asked quietly.

  I nodded, still hesitant to believe it. A few silent moments passed before Wes unexpectedly leaned over me and kissed me hungrily.

  The emotions from the dream lingered, making me feel for a moment that he was unfamiliar and forbidden. Or was it thoughts that he had been right about a past between us all along. I wasn’t sure, and there was no time to think, because soon the unfamiliar faded into the familiar and I melted into him, pulling him on top of me.

  He shifted his arms beneath me and held me to him in a way I’d been missing for days. The whats and whens of our dreams didn’t matter then.

  All we wanted was to be together, in a way only eternity could appreciate, and it was a moment that neither of us was willing to take for granted.

  I made the first move to tug at his Henley so he'd know just how close I wanted the moment to be. He pulled away long enough to pull it over his head, revealing the firmness of his chest.

  Wanting more, I slid off my tank and pulled him back to me, where the coolness of his chest calmed the soaring heat of mine. The dream had felt so real, but not nearly as real as this moment. He’d always thought we belonged together, but now we both were more convinced than ever, and it showed in the intensity of the moment.

  After awhile, I lay there, thinking. Not many people find the person they’re really meant to be with. Most people grow impatient and force things without waiting for the right person. It’s those same people who probably don’t believe in soul mates.

  I knew Wes was significant the very first time I saw him. Even though I had been horrified to crash into his car, there was something about his presence that swarmed its way into my very core. And I just knew. Knew that I would miss that feeling, whatever it was, the very moment he drove away.

  And I still did. He made me feel so alive and complete every single time he was in the room. Without him there, I missed it. So much that I feared not having it. But now I understood that I shouldn’t spend all of my days worrying and hanging on to moments, because, somewhere, there truly was a forever.

  Wes held me in his arms all night while I recounted my entire dream, which ended up being more than I expected to remember. He was fascinated by the details, but once the fascination wore off, I could sense disappointment, even lying there in the dark. It didn’t make sense, given that I was now very much on a big high, full of hope.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  He paused for a moment, which made me sure he was going to avoid my question, but then he spared no punches.

  “Well, I think it’s great that we know my dreams are actual memories. But I can’t forget what I saw.”

  “Which was?”

  “Which was me running toward your house burning.” I tensed a little, remembering he had mentioned that. “And I couldn’t find you,” he finished.

  “So. We still knew each other. And that’s a good sign. Right?”

  “Yes, but it still doesn’t show us past your twentieth birthday.”

  I shifted against his side. “No, but you already told me you had a dream of us being old before. Maybe these memories will lead to that?”

  “Maybe,” he said, doubtful.

  Part of me wanted to argue with him, but one dream wasn’t enough to convince me of anything contrary to his worry, especially since, in the last image I saw, he was injured. I shuddered and nestled closer to him as we both lay there, him falling back to sleep and me pondering the last few hours.

  The following day, I wrote it all down in my journal. Every detail, from William to Charity to Samuel to, of course, Phoebe, being sure to capture every detail. Writing the story was invigorating and hopeful in many ways. One, because I knew Wes was right about us. And two, because it bought me more time to uncover answers. He was still worried that we hadn’t seen Phoebe any older than nineteen, which meant he was not sure whether I was destined to have a short life, or if it was only a result of him not “setting nature back on course.” If Phoebe died at nineteen too, then Wes’ theory was out the window. That meant, even though he’d scurried off to the lab that morning, time was on my side, for now.

  I went to work as usual and found myself compelled to read books we had on the American Revolution. But even though my fingers lingered along the spine of several that looked old and incredibly tempting, I held back, knowing I wanted my dreams and my memories to be my own.

  There was something exhilarating about feeling and reliving the era for myself. I didn’t want someone else’s written words to taint or sway my own thoughts. No, I would remember on my own. I would find out everything I could about Phoebe. Including how old she was when she died. So I left the books alone.

  Dawn arrived in the afternoon, looking tired and pale. Worried, I followed her into the back room and asked if she was okay.

  “Um, I threw up two times this morning. I’d say, not okay.”

  My face scrunched up in disgust and then distorted to shock when I realized she was directing her anger at me again. She faced me with a scowl. “It’s so not fair.”

  “What? Life? Tell me about it.”

  “I don’t get it,” she complained. “Boys have it so easy. They just do whatever they want, and we get stuck with everything. The stigma, the responsibility, the suffering. Ugh! I hate his guts so bad.”

  And the full-blown anger was back. Wisely, I went along with it and then eased my way to the front, next to Mr. Healey for protection.

  She was in a foul mood for the rest of the day, and nothing I attempted to do could pull her out of it anyway. Plus, I was itching to get off work and cook Wes a nice dinner, so I figured that if I crowded Mr. Healey, he would let me go early.

  Just because this small window of time stunk at the moment, it didn’t mean a light wasn’t at the end of the tunnel, shining ever so faintly for both of us. Dawn would be just fine, and regardless of what happened to me and Wes now, we would be too, eventually. And that was something to celebrate.

  For dinner, I made angel hair pasta with chicken and shrimp, roasted red peppers, and pesto sauce, plus Italian bread, and sparkling cider. When Wes came home, he was shocked.

  He walked into the kitchen, glanced around, and then looked back to me with one eyebrow raised.

  “You’d better watch it,” I warned, waving a wooden spoon.

  “What?” he asked, raising the other eyebrow also.

  “You'd better not act like I can’t cook, like you’re surprised. Because I can, you know….even if I don’t…often.”

  I rambled on a weak defense until he smiled and moved toward me. “I didn’t say anything. I was just wondering what I did to deserve this.”

  I grinned and nudged him in his chest. When he didn’t move, I nudged him again. He still didn’t move, but then caught me off guard by lifting me over his shoulder and carrying me out of the kitchen.

  We’d been through this routine before, so I didn’t bother fighting him. Instead, I dangled and went with it, laughing. He held a firm grip on the back of my thighs and carried me up the steps.

  “Wes! The food.”

  “It’ll wait.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it l
ook like?”

  “You’re taking me upstairs now?” I asked, feeling heat flush my cheeks as the blood rushed to my upside-down face.

  “Yeah,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “But my food,” I whined.

  “I’m not hungry right now.”

  “That’s rude,” I said, trying to sound irritated.

  We reached the top step. “You won’t be calling me rude in a minute,” he murmured, on a mission.

  “Wes!”

  We got to the bedroom entrance. “Do you really want me to take you back down?” he asked, pushing open the door.

  I thought about it for a millisecond. “No.” I smiled, but before I could enjoy the moment, something slid up my cheek. I blinked, wiping my face to find the dreaded smear of red.

  He slid me off his shoulder and set me upright, a frozen look on his face. He paused for only a moment and then turned me toward the bathroom, practically shuffling me in.

  “I got it,” I said.

  “No, I got it. Stay there.”

  He hustled to grab a cold washcloth and pressed it to my nose as I leaned over the sink.

  I was certainly capable of handling a bloody nose, but having him take care of me made my heart warm, though it also made me a little sad for what it meant. Nevertheless, I found myself smiling at the closeness of his presence.

  When he noticed, he glanced at me sideways. “It’s not really funny, Sophie.”

  “I know. I’m just happy you’re here. That’s all.”

  Against my will, my eyes moistened, and I tried to blink it away, but he still noticed.

  His shoulders sank and he ducked his head eye level with mine until I was looking at him. “I’ll always be here for you, Sophie. Always.”

  With his deep brown eyes gazing into mine, I leaned forward and pulled him into a hug. He held me for a few precious moments, and then quietly finished wiping my face with a cool cloth. He made me take my medicine right then and there. For once, I was happy to do it, knowing it would make me tired. Knowing I just might be able to find out what happened in the rest of my dream.

  After many more tight hugs, I convinced him to eat dinner, threatening to be forever offended if he’d made me cook for nothing. He agreed, and was surprisingly upbeat at the table.

  Apparently his ego was a little shot, but he chuckled when reflecting on how his plan to seduce me hadn’t worked.

  “How is that funny?” I asked, taking a big bite of my pasta.

  “It’s not, except when I think of how my friends tease me about married life. How we won’t, you know, be spontaneous anymore. That we’ll grow old and boring. They’re wrong.”

  I raised a brow, not understanding.

  “Let's just say I never thought I’d be trying to be intimate with you one minute and holding a bloody rag to your nose the next.”

  I chewed slowly. “I still don’t see the positive side of that.”

  “It’s positive because we’re together. And we’re taking care of each other. We’re making memories. As crazy as this one is, it’s a memory I won’t forget.”

  A small smile touched my face as I processed that. We were two messed-up newlyweds, but he was right. We had each other and that was important.

  “I love you,” I said.

  “I love you more,” he replied, and then took away the moment a little too quickly with increased excitement. “Dr. Carter has found something.”

  “Really? What?” I asked, leaning forward. He paused, but it was too late for any hesitation. “What did he find?”

  “Well, he took samples of my blood, and there are new antibodies that he’s never seen before. They were created when my blood was blended with cold-blood.”

  “And?”

  “He thinks the antibodies might heal you. And not just you, but all kinds of diseases.”

  “Really? That’s amazing.”

  He nodded. I always knew Wes’ blood could help create cures, but I never thought it could fix me.

  “And the best part is, he thinks he’ll be able to produce more of the same antibody my system created by blending human blood with cold-blood, without it needing to be transfused first.”

  “Wow. Are you serious? That’s huge! Why are you just now telling me?”

  I leaped up and sat on his lap, hugging him in excitement.

  He was chuckling in his own subtle way. “I was going to tell you, but you looked so cute in your apron thingy that I got all distracted.”

  “Really?”

  His face turned serious. “Really.”

  My gaze traveled to the soft smile lines that lingered around his mouth, inviting me to focus on his lips. I kissed him greedily, but he pulled back.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He cringed again.

  “Wes…tell me.”

  “Well, I want to be honest with you.”

  “Yeah…” We had agreed to that.

  “Now that he has a formula going, he thinks he can create the antibodies on his own. So there isn’t a need for me to stay around.”

  “Stay around? Like what…around here? The lab?”

  He gave me a squeeze that didn’t feel so reassuring. “Well, yeah, those places too, but I meant like in time.”

  My body tensed, and he held me on his lap. “I just mean there’s no need for me to stay like I am forever. He’s gotten what he needs from me. I think he can reverse my transfusion.”

  Normally, I would’ve protested. After all, we’d been down this road before. So to buy time, I just said the only thing that popped up. “Can you please just wait until I have a little more proof about the past before you decide? Let me see whether I can remember more about Phoebe? Please?” I pleaded.

  More readily than expected, he agreed, and he kissed me one soft time before leading me back upstairs, making me forget that I had just agreed to something that terrified me entirely.

  Chapter 10

  KNOWING

  As I lay in bed, it felt colder than usual. Wes normally kept it pretty warm in the house, and I had grown used to sleeping in a tank and shorts while he slept in long sleeves and sweatpants.

  Cold was something we avoided, so I pried my eyes open, planning to make my way to the thermostat. That’s when I realized that the dark walls surrounding me were not my own.

  Somehow knowing that there was no way to turn up the heat, I wrapped myself in the knit blanket that covered my narrow bed. On the outside, I felt better, but not on the inside.

  I glanced over and saw my brother and was comforted that he was sleeping soundly. I rolled toward the wall and became lost in thought. What day was it? I tried to sort through the memories. The most recent, though hazy, was of my mother explaining to me that Charity’s youth had been forever taken. That she had been beaten and strangled until unconscious. The one good thing about it was that she didn’t remember much of anything. Only that she'd set off to meet Samuel shortly after I’d made my way home.

  I shuddered with anger, and then vowed to visit her in the morning, hoping she would forgive me. I’d tried to warn her, but I hadn’t tried hard enough. When I’d seen the joy in her eyes at the thought of Samuel fancying her, I hadn’t been able to ignore the feeling in the pit of my own stomach about William. It was a stupid curiosity of young and naive girls.

  Or was it? It all felt so confusing. William appeared to be nothing like Samuel. He had placed himself in front of my father, and was now the one suffering. If he was as selfish and uncaring and dangerous as Samuel, then why would he have done that? He wouldn’t have.

  As daylight filtered through the small window, I dressed hurriedly, ate breakfast quickly, and walked to Mr. Corey’s, the town doctor. Or at least he was the closest to a doctor that we had.

  His large house sat on a sprawling property on the north side of town, and somehow I knew I’d find both Charity and William there. When I reached his porch, there was a small gathering of locals, whispering and hovering about.

  “Good morning, Ph
oebe,” they said upon sight of me.

  I nodded. “Good morning.”

  “You’re lucky, you know?” Rosana, a town gossiper, informed. “We heard. You could very well be in there, thanks to those blasted savages.”

  Something about the idea of including William in that category caused me to give her a cutting glare. I knocked on the door and was greeted with the narrowed eyes of Mrs. Corey. I cleared my throat.

  “Good morning. May I visit Charity, please?”

  She studied me a moment and then softened. “Of course. She’s resting, but I am certain she would be glad to see you.”

  I followed her upstairs and noticed two doors open, showing empty beds inside, and two closed. She took me to the last room and slowly cracked open the door so I could enter.

  Charity was lying on her back, and her mother was sitting next to the bed, holding her daughter’s hand. They both looked at me with glossy eyes, only Charity’s were swollen, with fresh purple rings under them. In that moment, guilt consumed me, and I was about to back out, when her mother stood and called my name.

  “Phoebe. It’s all right. Charity has been asking about you. Heaven knows this is not your fault.”

  Relief immediately struck me, and I strode over to her bed and knelt beside her.

  “I’m so sorry, Charity,” I whispered, needing her to believe me.

  “I know, Phoebe.” Her voice was weak, which made me cringe.

  Her mother excused herself and left us to talk alone. It was true, what they'd said about Charity not remembering the attack. She said the last thing she remembered was meeting Samuel to talk in the woods near the hill. He asked whether he could write to her, and she agreed. Then when it started to get dark, she tried to go home. The next thing she remembered was hearing the sounds of dogs barking and people calling her name, but she couldn’t move or respond.

  I apologized again, but she insisted it was not my fault. “I’m the stubborn one,” she whispered. “I should have stayed home.” A tear spilled over her bruised cheek.

  Just then, her mother came into the room and announced breakfast, followed by more rest for Charity. They expected her to go home later that day, and I promised to visit her soon. I kissed her forehead and slipped out while her mother helped her sit up.