The Dream Thief

by Leann M Rettell

  Pushing those depressing thoughts aside, he checked his watch. The time had come to meet with Debbie. He didn’t want to go down through the elevator like he had done a thousand times. It felt too intimate, too familiar, too painful now. He reentered the garage, and walked around the building, embedding every brick and smell into his very full memory. He could’ve parked out front, but he didn’t want her to know what he drove in case she’d set some sort of trap. He stared at the store sign with its large all-knowing eye in the center. It seemed as if it looked into his very soul—if he had one.

  A help wanted sign stared back at him from the side of the front door. He stepped into the shop with his shoulders hung low and slipped his hands in his pockets. The bell rang; it was a happy sound, but it also held a hint of foreboding. Debbie looked up from behind the counter. The move took less than a second but became one of those moments in life where time stood still. He could appreciate every small nuance of sunlight hitting her face: how her expression morphed from simple curiosity to happiness and then to apprehension before she looked away again, embarrassed. “You really came back.”

  “I told you I would.” His voice came out low, dark, and seductive. She shivered as if his words stroked her skin. “You changed your hair and shaved. Planning on hiding?”

  The worry Dharma Knight would recognize him had been the reason behind the change. He didn’t consider for a second Debbie would’ve thought it was because of her. “Not from you.”

  “You’re really going to leave?”

  “I don’t own this building anymore, or this store.”

  “You could apply for the manager’s position, and I could stay as an assistant.”

  He laughed, surprised at the tone and cadence. Most of the time, despite being an immortal, despite the strength and speed, he felt like a man and nothing more. But there were times when the singularity inside him surfaced and made his voice carry like a musical instrument, both young and old, both gentle and sharp. “It’s too late for that. Besides, I have work elsewhere, enough for both of us. That is, if you’re willing to help me.”

  She still wouldn’t look at him, and instead maneuvered from behind the counter and picked up the broom. Her arms moved back and forth. The only sounds were the gentle swish swish of bristles against the polished wood floor mingled with her breathing and the ticking clock in the back. While she thought on his words, he studied her. Today she wore her hair tucked up in a red scarf with large purple flowers, only a touch of makeup on her cheeks and lips. A large red sweater swallowed her curvaceous body, but he knew what he’d find underneath. Soft, blue jeans hugged tight to her thighs. He wished, for a moment, he could be the denim wrapped around her. He jumped when she spoke, he’d been so engrossed in studying her as if this might be the last time he ever saw her. “Do you still trust me to help you?”

  He considered her words. He knew he should say no, should tell her off, tell her he never wanted to see her again and that she’d been an utter disappointment, but it would’ve been a lie. “Yes, but first I have to prove some things to you.”

  “No, you don’t.” Her eyes finally met his, and she stopped speaking. Her mouth hung open at the resolve she saw on his face.

  “There cannot be any doubt in your mind.”

  “I…” she began, but he shook his head. He locked the front door, then crossed the distance between them, took the broom, and put it to the side. He grabbed her hand, pulled her into the hallway, and locked the door behind him. “Wait. I haven’t finished closing up.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We can deal with that later.” They walked, hand in hand into the Chai Life. They wouldn’t be closing for another two hours, but at this time of day, only two patrons sat in the cozy seats, laptops and books covering the small tables. Greta looked up as they entered, and as he predicted her skin fell ashen with a suspicious scowl on her face. He didn’t pause but squeezed Debbie’s hand, then pulled her closer. Being a good deal shorter than him, he couldn’t easily whisper into her ear, so he pulled her in front of him. He took advantage of the position and whispered, “See her face. See the distrust. This is why I can never come back.” Her head nodded as her body quivered. Yes, she saw it.

  “Good evening Mr. Jones. I’m glad to see you’re back. What can I get you?” The chipper attitude and smile didn’t reach her eyes.

  “Oh, I’m not back. I’m sure you have been informed that this building, along with Eye of the Beholder, has been sold. I’m here this evening to pack up my personal belongings. I’ll be moving abroad. Debbie has graciously offered to help me pack, so I’m buying us some coffee and pastries to keep us energized.” He watched, hoping Debbie caught Greta’s shoulders slacken and her face relax when he said he was leaving and never coming back. It didn’t matter that he’d known her for at least five years; it didn’t matter that she had seen him almost daily, had been pushing her daughter on him. Now that something might be wrong with him, she could never see past that suspicion. He’d become a dangerous stranger, plain and simple.

  He ordered their usual drinks and a pastry for Debbie and then paid, but before they left, Greta waved their way. “Debbie, if you need anything, you have my number. Do check in with me later.” Her not-so-subtle hint didn’t go unnoticed by Debbie as her cheeks paled.

  “I’ll be fine. Thank you.” Debbie waved her off. As soon as the door closed behind her, she jogged to Eye of the Beholder, fumbled with her keys, unlocked the door, and broke out in tears as soon as she crossed the threshold. Through the heavy tears, sobbing, and a lot of snot, she finally got it out. “I’m so sorry. I’ve messed up everything.”

  Malcolm put away the food on the check-out counter and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have burdened you with the truth. Shouldn’t have expected you to believe so easily or to bring you into my world at all. I still haven’t proven it to you.”

  She wiped the tears away, blowing her nose. “Yes, you have. I saw it in Greta’s face. She’ll never look at you the same. You truly can’t come back.”

  “No. I mean that I’m not human. You can’t have any doubts about that either.”

  Before she could utter another word, he picked her up, stepped through the door, and jumped into hyper-speed, whizzing past cars and people, letting the world disappear into a haze of colors. She squealed and clung to him. He laughed and ran faster. She cringed, tucking herself smaller into his chest. In mere moments, they traveled from Eye of the Beholder to her favorite park several miles away. He halted, and she quivered in his arms, adrenaline flying through her veins. “You can look up now.” She shook her head into his neck like a small child. “Come on Debbie, open your eyes.” She did, but with careful movements. When she saw that they no longer moved at impossible speeds, her mouth gaped open. “I think I’m going to puke.”

  He laughed and put her on her feet, steadying her until she regained her balance. Debbie, despite the greenish tinge to her skin, giggled like a young girl at a magic show. “What else can you do?”

  He felt like a young boy himself during this show-and-tell. He checked for any witnesses. Finding none, he moved lightning fast to a nearby tree. He paused, allowing her to look for him. To her, it would seem like he disappeared and reappeared. She laughed, covering her mouth with delicate hands. The tree he stood beside had been roped off, and he could see why. The trunk had all but rotted away, and the city had set it up for removal to avoid it falling on any pedestrians. He grabbed it around the trunk and yanked upward—hard. It pulled from the roots, with only minimal effort. He lifted it out of the ground, turned it on its side, and let it hit the grass. Then, just for fun, he punched along the trunk in several places, shattering it into fragments. Now any homeless person walking by the park at dark would have easy and free access to firewood. He picked up a shard of wood and carried it to Debbie who watched with childish glee. He handed her the stick, and she grasped it, confused, until he said, “Stab me with it.”

  “What?
Are you crazy? No! Absolutely not.” She tried pushing it back into his hands.

  “You can’t have any doubts.”

  “I don’t. I believe you. I don’t want to kill you or hurt you or whatever.” Her head shook from side to side.

  He smirked. “You can’t kill me. I can’t die. Even if you chopped my head off, my body would turn to ash, and I would regenerate.”

  Her eyes flashed wide. “What, like here?”

  “No. My regeneration spot isn’t here. It’s in Cairo.”

  “Egypt? Seriously?”

  “Yes.” He smiled, still not taking the branch from her.

  “So if I killed you. You would turn to dust and reappear in Cairo.”

  “Mmm-hmm. Naked. It’s not the most pleasant thing in the world. So I’d prefer you to stab me instead of behead me. I can show you my healing ability, again, and then hopefully you’ll believe me, but if my death and rebirth is what it’ll take, then we should get a better weapon. This would be one nasty decapitation.” He shuddered as he remembered the botched execution he’d suffered in the mid-seventeenth century.

  She glared at him, making him want to laugh. “So I could stab you, and you’ll heal, but if I cut off your head then you’ll vanish into ash? What about a stake through the heart? Are you a vampire?”

  “Nope, no blood, just coffee, tea, and alcohol. I can’t die, but I’ll regenerate if I get decapitated or blown up, stuff like that. Which sucks by the way. Dying. It’s not fun. So come on, let’s get this over with.”

  She threw the stick on the ground.

  He sighed, staring at the would-be weapon. “Fine, would you like a knife better?”

  “No!” She recoiled. “I don’t want to stab you at all.”

  He picked up the stick, wrapped his arms around her, and using his speed, forced the stick into her hand. He paused with it poised at his stomach. She gasped as he stepped forward, pushing the sharp wood deep in his abdomen. Pain rippled through him, but he only allowed a hiss to escape his lips.

  He lifted his shirt, so she could see it embedded in him, blood spilling over her hands. The blood flowed out of his belly, hot and sticky, down his jeans. She turned pale, but he wouldn’t let go. “Debbie,” he said through gritted teeth. He might be immortal, but this hurt like hell, and it had taken all his willpower to walk into the shard.

  She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the wound and the blood while it tried to heal.

  “Debbie.”

  Her head snapped up, tears filling her eyes. “Is it real?”

  He nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. He didn’t want to vomit blood and really freak her out. He steadied the nausea. “Later you’re not going to say I used some prop to fake you out?”

  Her head moved side to side.

  “Or that I gave you some kind of drug to make you hallucinate.”

  Another shake of the head. He released her hand, and she quickly backed away several steps. She tripped and landed on her butt. He grasped the bark, preparing to yank it back out of his belly. The grunt left his mouth before he could bite down on it. This wasn’t going to be easy. He’d pushed the damn thing in so far it had gotten lodged in a part of his spine. His legs tingled, no doubt from a nerve healing, as he fought an overwhelming urge to vomit. He’d have to pull slowly, lest he leave sharp little shards behind that his body would have to eject. He had no doubts that would take at least a day, if not two, and that the pain would linger. He should’ve used a knife. The bark inched out of him as he controlled his breathing.

  While the blood slowed to a trickle, he took deep calming breath, waiting for the wound to heal to a pink and fragile state, but at least it would be whole. If she doubted again, he could show her the healed, unscathed skin.

  “Believe me now?” He asked, sweat glistening on his brow.

  “Yes,” she said, voice scratchy.

  “Good.” He dug into his jeans pocket, annoyed at the blood covering them, and tossed her his cell. “Call us a cab.”

  She caught the phone, but stared at it, and looked around. “Why? Can’t you zip us back?”

  He groaned, then snatched her up, and jumped into hyper-drive. Back in the hallway, he dropped her and unlocked the store. The bell rang as if complaining at how violently he’d opened the door. He took three steps inside before he collapsed.

  16

  He opened his eyes one at a time, and the ceiling of Eye of the Beholder swarmed into focus. A thick layer of dust had accumulated on the light fixtures, and a bug had crawled in and died. That would need to be cleaned. He turned his head, and pain pounded in his skull at the slightest movement. Nausea rose up in him, hard. He slammed his eyes closed, taking deep, slow breaths, fighting back the bile.

  “Malcolm?” Debbie’s voice carried from far away, but in the next instant, he sensed her crouching near to him.

  “Mmm,” he moaned, grunted, and even that hurt.

  “Oh, thank God. Can you open your eyes?”

  He did so, and the room moved in a slow circle around her face. The nausea pressed again, and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes. “Need syrup.”

  “Huh, like maple? Chocolate?” He found her pretty when she furrowed her brow, but he didn’t dare smile.

  “No. In a vial in my pocket.”

  Vertigo raged in his brain making the world float. His brain argued that he remain still, but his eyes didn’t agree. Debbie tugged at his jacket, making him roll, and he dry heaved, over and over.

  “Sorry.” She patted his arm. “Are you sure you can keep this down?”

  He doubted it, but he had to do something. She didn’t hand him the vial, and instead, she walked around him and tilted it to his lips. The sugar hit his system. It didn’t take long for the nausea to subside, but he would need more.

  “I’ve seen you chew aspirin. Can you take other medications?”

  “Like what?” He croaked, still breathing slowly, waiting for the world to stop moving.

  “I have liquid Phenergan in some old cough syrup. It’s for nausea, too.”

  He’d never had it before. The worst that ever happened when he ingested something his body couldn’t tolerate was throw it up, so it couldn’t get any worse. “Yeah, give me some.” He heard the sounds of her moving away and rummaging into something. She returned with water and poured the foul-smelling liquid in his open mouth. The gesture was intimate and caring; it was something that no one had done for him in, well, he guessed forever. She tilted a water bottle to his lips, and he swallowed to get the taste out of his mouth. It was followed by two more vials of syrup. He would need to make more. “What happened?” he asked after he began to feel a bit more human—for lack of a better word.

  “You scared me to death that’s what. You dragged me back here, all Superman style, and then collapsed. I kept waiting for your body to turn to dust and disappear.”

  He laughed. He couldn’t help it. The medications, as with all things his body could ingest, entered his system quickly and worked already. Still not taking any chances, he moved with slow, calculated movements to a sitting position. Debbie scowled at his response.

  “It’s not funny. You said you were immortal.”

  He shrugged. “I am, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have weaknesses. Getting stabbed in the gut does take a little time to heal, and I have to replace the energy I used to fix it, and I need more energy when using super speed. If you would’ve called the cab like I asked you to, I wouldn’t have passed out.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “If you would have told me that, then I would’ve called the cab.”

  She had a point. He drank his last vial of syrup and got to his feet. The room swayed, but he held onto the counter. She had somehow dragged him behind the counter and put a pillow under his head. He gave her a strange look. She shrugged, her gaze moving to the pillow. “What? I couldn’t leave you in the middle of the floor. If Greta looked through the window, she’d call the cops for sure. And, well, I wanted t
o drag you to the elevator, but you’re too heavy.”

  For a few long moments, he could do nothing but watch her, amazed. She flushed and looked away, fidgeting with her hair that had been windblown during their swift trip. Dare he hope she actually believed him? She wasn’t going to run away or call the psych ward again. She moved away from him, grabbing her black coffee that had way too much sugar and was now cold. He took it and drank it down in three gulps. Now that the nausea and dizziness had passed, he realized night had fallen. She must’ve turned the store’s lights down. Quiet settled around the building, save for the steady hum of traffic outside, the heat running in the background, and their mingled breathing. “Shall we go upstairs?” he asked. Debbie’s stomach growled loud. “And order you some takeout.” He smiled at her mid-section.

  Her arms wrapped around her stomach protectively, and she flushed. “Yeah, I’m starving, and it’s not like you have any food.”

  “Guilty.”

  They gathered up the empty vials and rode up the elevator. Now that the truth had been laid bare between them, all the pent-up feelings lingered, charging the air. The elevator felt tiny, like a small bubble, and her every movement drew his full attention. The sultry scent of her incense wrapped over him like a warm blanket pulling him in deeper, wanting more. Inside the apartment her scent spread out, loosening the growing ache deep in his belly. He flipped on the lights, and she eyed the boxes with a sad expression. “I can’t believe you really have to go, and it’s all my fault.” Her voice cracked on the last word. Covering her face with her hands, her shoulders moved up hard with a sharp intake of air as she fought her emotions.

  Never comfortable with people crying, he closed the distance between them and lifted her chin to meet his eyes. “Stop that. I shouldn’t have expected so much from you. I still shouldn’t.”

  He tried to step back, but she grabbed his shoulders, holding him close to her. “Don’t do that. Like it or not, you brought me into your little secret world. You have to accept that and tell me how it is. No half-truths. Lay everything bare and spread it on the table.”