Dream So Dark: Book 2, Dream Maker Series (Dream Makers Series)

by Quinn Loftis

  She screamed and lunged forward in an attempt to catch him unaware and get past him, but he was surprisingly quick for someone so intoxicated. His arm snatched her around the waist and pulled her back against his chest. He held her close and managed to keep his legs mostly out of the way of her kicking feet.

  “Feeling feisty this evening, pet.” He growled as he leaned his face against her neck. She felt his tongue against her skin.

  Emma dry heaved and threw her head around wildly. She screamed and tried slapping him over her shoulder, but she wasn’t strong enough. He held her and cussed her and when he’d had enough of her struggling, he threw her small form across the closet. She hit the wall with a sickening thud, and pain radiated throughout her body. The impact made her bite her lip, and she tasted the blood as it spilled into her mouth and ran down her chin. As she pushed herself up, her ankle was grabbed before she could fully right herself, and she was jerked down onto her back. A fist slammed into her face, and she fought to keep from passing out as the pain radiated through her jaw and head. He hit her again and again, and nothing she said would make him stop. Eventually he did stop, though, and then Emma felt her hands being jerked over her head. A rope was wrapped around her wrist. He’d attached the rope to something heavy because when he let go she couldn’t pull her arms down. Her survival instinct kicked into overdrive, and she fought with a renewed strength. Her body flailed and she tried to roll but he was on top of her now and he was heavy, and so much stronger than her.

  When Emma realized her fighting was completely futile she reached deep into her mind and closed her eyes tightly. She pushed herself away, not letting herself mentally remain where her body was trapped. She could still feel what was happening, but she almost felt as though it was happening to someone else. She grabbed onto that.

  You’re going to survive this, she told the young girl who was enduring abuse and rape. You will be broken at first, but then you will heal and be stronger. She knew the bad things were happening to her, but if she could pretend it was someone else, someone that she could help, she could deal with the questions that were already being thrown at her. She heard the small voice laced with tears and pain. Why? Why is this happening? What did I do? I don’t want this to happen to me. I don’t want to be someone who has this experience in their past. Why, why, why? Please save me, please God, please save me. The voice pleaded over and over again. Don’t leave me here, don’t forget me, please hear me. PLEASE HEAR ME! I’M HERE GOD, I’M HERE! CAN YOU SEE ME? Emma wept. The voice was no longer someone else in her mind. It was her own. As dirty hands grabbed at her and her clothing was ripped away, she wept, her voice growing hoarse as she screamed out loud and in her mind. Mama said You would always be with me. PLEASE I NEED YOU. PLEASE.

  What else could she say? Was there anything else to say? She didn’t know. Was there a right thing to say? ‘Emma Jean, remember even in the darkest of times that God is good. When you can’t remember anything else, you remember God. Is. Good.’ Her mother’s words reverberated in her mind as her tears continued to fall. It was as though her mother was sitting right there beside her. She could feel her fingers running through her hair and smell the flowering scent that was her perfume.

  ‘Mama, if God is good, why do bad things happen?’ she remembered asking her mama. ‘Why would God not stop the bad things from happening?’

  ‘Let me ask you a question,’ her mama said. ‘Why do heroes exist?’

  ‘To save people who need to be saved,’ she answered. Her mama nodded.

  ‘What does it take to be a hero?’

  ‘Bravery, sacrifice, willingness to act, courage.’

  ‘Correct, now how does someone gain those attributes? How does a person become brave if there is nothing to fear? How does a person learn to sacrifice if they don’t ever experience a trial that requires sacrifice? How does a person gain courage if there is never a reason to be afraid? How can we be extraordinary and do great things that God calls us to do if we do not ever face great adversity?’ Her mama tugged on her hair gently to make sure she had Emma’s full attention. ‘How can we learn to love our enemies and pray for them as the Good Book says if we have no enemies? How do we learn patience if we are never faced with a situation that requires waiting? God uses all things for good, Emma Jean, because He is good. Promise me you will cling to that. Promise me you will not forget that because one day it may be the only light you have to shine in the darkness.’ Her mother’s voice faded away, and the fingers that had been caressing her face and hair were gone but the warmth they’d brought remained.

  “I promise,” Emma murmured, as she realized the weight was gone and her hands were no longer bound. Emma pulled herself into a ball and rolled onto her side. Her face throbbed, and her body hurt in a way she’d never known it could. She tucked her chin into her chest and let the pain flow through her. She cried because she had to. She needed to mourn what she had lost. She needed to grieve and feel the anguish that was threatening to drag her into the pits of hell. She could almost feel the flames beneath her feet and smell the sulfuric fumes. She could just barely hear the laughter of the demons as they cajoled her and belittled her. She shook her head, attempting to purge those things from her mind.

  “I have heard you.” A voice smooth and as comforting as a warm fire on a cold, bitter night filled the small space.

  Emma held still, her breathing slowed, though the tears still streaked her face. She was waiting. She was still and waiting because she wanted to hear that voice again.

  “I have heard you, child. You are not forsaken. You are not alone.”

  A breath shuddered out of her as she gasped on a sob. Her shoulders shook, and her lips trembled as she whispered. “Will you raise me up?”

  “I will. In my time, you will stand mighty before your enemies. You will be faced with adversaries on all sides, and you will prevail. I will place you in a position of great command. Your words will be my words. Your decrees will be my decrees. I will take you broken and hurting, and I will restore you. Many will come to know me through your suffering. Many will hear your testimony and find hope, hope that leads them to their Creator. You will remind a nation that I am their God, and they are my creation. You will remind them of my promises. You will remind them of my commands. You will remind them of my sacrifice. I have torn you down, young though you are, so that I might build you up, stronger than you could have been.”

  “You are good,” Emma whispered.

  “I AM.”

  “You are good,” she said again.

  “I AM.”

  “You. Are. Good.” She paused. “I am angry.”

  “I am still good.”

  “I am hurting.”

  “I am still good. I feel your pain.”

  “I don’t know if I will survive this.”

  “I am still good. There is nothing that you have gone through that I have not endured. I am not unable to understand what you feel. It is the strength I give you that will sustain you.”

  “I don’t want to hate.”

  “I am still good. You are mine. There is no room for hate in my perfect love. I have called you to love not only your friends, but your enemies as well. There is no room for hate in love.”

  Emma let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know what to pray.”

  “I will intercede for you.”

  “Because You are good,” she said.

  “Because I am good. Because I love you. Because I created you. Because you chose me.”

  “I’m afraid.” Her voice shook as she spoke. Her eyes were still closed and she knew, even if she tried, she wouldn’t be able to open them. She could feel his presence so strongly that she wondered if this was what Moses felt on the mountaintop when he was prevented from looking at the Creator’s face.

  “Emma Jean, do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have summoned you by name. You are mine.”

  She felt peace fill her. There was no other way to describe it. Even though she hurt and sh
e was still crying, she felt a peace that she knew could only come from God. Her mama had talked about God’s peace, telling Emma that only He could give complete, true peace in the middle of turmoil. God was giving her His peace. He didn’t take away the pain, but He didn’t leave her alone with the pain either. She felt Him inside. She felt as though His words had been written on her heart. And she was grasping onto them as if they were a life raft and they were the only thing that would keep her from drowning.

  Emma didn’t know how she did it, but she pulled herself up and dressed. She opened the closet door and walked to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door. She undressed and bathed, not thinking, simply going through motions. She washed her face, cringing as the water touched her bruised skin. Once she was cleaned up and re-dressed, she went back to her closet and shut the door. She didn’t know where Mr. Jones had gone. She didn’t care at the moment. She was trying to deal with emotions that threatened to debilitate her. She felt compelled to pull herself together. She needed to be thinking clearly when Raphael returned. She couldn’t leave yet, and she knew he would want to take action to get her removed from the house. She didn’t want to stay but she had to.

  She didn’t know how long it was until the angel reappeared. His eyes landed on her face and his jaw clenched, his hands folding into huge fists at his side.

  “I will get the human authorities, and we will get you out of here now.”

  “No,” Emma said firmly, holding her hand up quickly to stop him. “I cannot leave, Raphael, not yet.”

  “Yes, you can and you will. You need to be treated by a doctor, you—”

  “No,” she said, cutting him off as she shook her head. “No doctors, no DHS workers, no counselors. Not yet. I have to be here. What if David had walked away from Goliath? What if Martin Luther King had walked away from the calling he was given to show people that God created all of us equal? What if Abraham Lincoln had folded under the pressure of those who opposed his ideas of a united nation and a free people? What then? I am where I am supposed to be, at least for the time being.”

  “YOU ARE EIGHT YEARS OLD!” Raphael roared.

  She pressed herself against the wall. She wasn’t scared of the angel, not in the least. But his presence could be overwhelming.

  “You are not a boy with the responsibilities of a man. You are not a grown man facing people filled with hate. You are not a president attempting to lead a country that was tearing itself apart. You are a child, and you should not endure such evil.”

  “Why?” Emma challenged. “Why I am I any more deserving than the next person? Why shouldn’t evil touch me? Why shouldn’t I endure pain? I don’t want to, nobody wants to, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t.”

  “The Creator allowed this,” Raphael said through clenched teeth. “Why? To what end could this really serve?”

  “Raphael,” Emma said gently. “Can I ask you a question?” Emma felt the tears gathering in her eyes as she stared at the angel.

  He nodded, his arms folded across his large chest.

  “How much more amazing is a God who can bring good from evil than a God who wouldn’t permit any evil in His works?” Tears fell down her cheeks, and her voice shook. “How much more powerful is our Creator because He takes horrible circumstances and brings about incredible change and healing and growth and love? It doesn’t negate the fact that the bad things that happen hurt. But how would we know joy if we never experienced pain? Would we truly be able to recognize joy? How can someone offer empathy if they have not experienced the trials and tribulations of another? How can we see the beauty around us if we never experience the darkness that covers it?”

  “You ask me this when you have just endured something so terrible? A grown man attacked you, and you ask me these things?”

  Emma wiped the tears though they didn’t stop falling. “I am not immune, Raphael. I am hurting. I am scared and so many other feelings I don’t know how to express, but I cannot let myself go down the path of anger and hate. I can’t. It will destroy me. I am eight years old, but I have seen people who have let their hardships destroy them and twist them into bitter, angry people with no happiness or joy in their lives. I want to smile again. And I will. I want to laugh again. And I will. I want to forgive. And I will. Because there has to be good that comes from this ugliness. There has to be a rainbow in this storm. There has to be.”

  Raphael squatted, resting his forearms on his knees, and met her eyes. She could see the hurt there. He was broken for her.

  “There have been times when I envied God’s children because you were created in His image. You are His beloved. And then there are times where I think I would never, ever want to be human. But then I meet someone like you, and I see why the Creator loves you. With all your flaws, your brokenness, your wickedness, your loveliness, He sees it all and He loves you anyway. You are lovely, Emma Jean, because you let your Creator inside of you, and you let Him make you lovely.” He reached out his hand to her, and she grasped it without pause. “I am honored, Emma Jean Whitmore, to know you. And I am so sorry that this has happened. To what end, only the Creator can know, and He will direct your steps, I know that. And as long as He will allow me, I will walk beside you.”

  She couldn’t smile at him, not yet. But she squeezed his hand, letting him know that she appreciated his words. He released her and then picked up the blanket and wrapped it around her. Emma tugged it close and shut her eyes. Her mind kept trying to latch onto the horrible memories of what had happened, but she wouldn’t let it settle there. Without thought she began to sing. Her mama had always been singing something, usually an old hymn. But sometimes it would just be something she said God had laid on her heart. The words that flowed from Emma now were from deep inside her. They spoke of loss, sorrow, hope, and healing. They were words that her soul was pouring out in an effort to keep the darkness at bay. As she sat in the dim closet, she used her voice to reach out to her Creator, asking for Him to hold her together.

  “I’m wounded, nothing works right.

  I’m empty, no faith left in sight.

  I’m broken, falling apart,

  God, is this the end or can it be a start?

  “And, God, I need you now,

  right in this instant.

  God, I need you now,

  Not yesterday or tomorrow.

  God, I need you now, I’m on my knees,

  Wounded, broken, empty,

  Won’t you hear me please?

  “I’m lost, down this dark road.

  I’m weary of this heavy load.

  I’m sorrow, only pain in my heart,

  God, is this the end or can it be a start?

  “And God I need you now,

  right in this instant.

  God, I need you now,

  Not yesterday or tomorrow.

  God, I need you now, I’m on my knees,

  Wounded, broken, empty,

  Won’t you hear me please?”

  Emma fell asleep with those words on her lips and a tiny spark of hope beginning to burn.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dreaming of snow means an important relationship is about to go through a difficult period. Someone close to you is going to give you the cold shoulder. Resist the urge to make light of the situation, making snowmen and having snowball fights while your loved one suffers a lonely winter. Instead, prepare for the hardships that winter will throw at you, and be stronger when spring finally arrives.

  Dair bit back frustration as he brought Serenity’s hand to his lips. He kissed it gently, allowing his lips to linger. “I’m sorry,” he said gently.

  “Duty calls?” Serenity asked.

  “That is does, my lady, that it does.”

  “Knock, knock.” Darla’s voice filled the room as she opened the door, interrupting their conversation.

  “Perfect timing,” Dair whispered to Serenity.

  “I thought you could use some girl time,” Darla said. Her hands were full of bags. She he
ld them up and shook them a bit. “I brought crafts!”

  Serenity laughed. “Sounds fun, aunt Darla.”

  “I was just on my way out,” Dair said as he stood from the bed. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Serenity’s lips. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can. Stay awake, alright?”

  “I’ll give it my all, coach,” she teased. Dair had noticed she’d been in a little bit better spirits since he’d been staying with her and only leaving when he had an assignment. She smiled more and he was the one putting that smile on her face.

  He tapped her nose playfully and then turned to face Darla. “I leave her in your hands. Please don’t let her fall asleep and don’t let in any doctors or nurses. Glory has been giving them the excuse that she’s unclothed, in the bathroom, or my personal favorite, or otherwise occupied with her fiancé. The towel she’d placed on the door was a clue for them not to disturb her.”

  Darla shook her head as she laughed. “That girl, she’s a mess.”

  “I’d prefer you just tell them that she doesn’t want anyone giving her care unless I am present. She has the right to ask for that.”

  “Don’t worry your handsome head about it, Dair. Nobody will get through that door unless they take me out first. And I’ve got a taser in my purse and I’m not afraid to use it…on anyone.”

  “Alright then, I’ll see you ladies as soon as I can.” Looking back at Serenity he saw the mirrored fear he knew was in his eyes. She would be okay, he kept telling himself. She would be okay because nothing else was acceptable. “I love you,” he told her just before he closed his eyes and let his power take him.

  When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to find himself in Reginal Jones’s house. Why would the Creator lead him there?

  “What happened?” Dair asked as he stared down at the sleeping form of Emma Whitmore. She was curled up in a tiny ball, her face tucked into the blanket. The small part of her face he could see was swollen, and there was a cut next to her eye. His gut clenched at the sight of the abuse she’d endured.