It’s barreling straight for me. I have a terrible habit of not thinking things through. On instinct, I turn and run, fleeing from the dangerous beast. My feet shuffle along the ground as I divert down another passage. Turn after turn has my head reeling. I lose count of how many I’ve made before coming to a ledge. My arms rotate backward slowing my speed to prevent myself from falling over.
Once I’ve regained my balance, I peek over my shoulder to see the monster still advancing on me. The ground shakes slightly with each thundering footstep. Its yellow eyes staring into my soul.
I peer over the edge where the waves of an ocean dance, creating a small layer of white foam that quickly dissipates. I search for another way out but it’s useless, there is no other escape. It’s either be eaten by the smoke monster or dive into the unknown waters. I inhale quickly, holding my breath, and jump. As I rapidly approach the water, I squeeze my eyes shut and kick my legs. The icy waves stab at my skin as they envelop me.
“Nadia, wake up, you were screaming again.” Hanna’s voice is a little frantic, but calms my frayed nerves.
“I’m awake.” I sit up feeling my clothes. The water felt so real I expect my clothes to be soaking wet.
“This is the second weekend in a row you’ve woken up screaming. How often are you having this dream?”
Hanna is the only person, outside of my psychiatric listeners, I’ve told about my dream. She’s the only person I trust with it. She never looks for some deeper meaning or tells me I’m crazy. She just listens and lets me talk. The only thing I haven’t told her is how often I have it.
“Every night.” She tries to hide it, but the worry is all over her face as I admit this. “This time was different, though. I didn’t just hide in the shadows.” I feel an odd sense of pride when I say it out loud.
“What happened?” She bounces on the couch like a dog impatiently waiting for its treat.
“I jumped up and got its attention.” Realizing how ridiculous it is, the pride I felt a moment ago, disappears.
“You actually saw the monster? What did it look like?”
I hesitate a moment before responding. “Like an overgrown bear made out of black smoke.”
She gives me a skeptical look before continuing her investigation. “Ok, you jumped up and then what?” She’s waiting for me to give her some heroic tale, but I don’t have one. I’m never the hero in my dreams. “I ran. It chased me. Then I jumped off a ledge into the water before it could catch me.” I almost laugh hearing it out loud.
“You stood up to the thing?” I try not to be hurt by her surprise. I guess I’m a little surprised myself.
“I don’t think I would call that standing up to it, but I at least did something.”
Hanna rubs the sleep from her eyes. “Something is better than nothing, and I don’t want to discourage you, but you realize the monster could have just gone back and attacked your dream guy after you jumped, don’t you?” I snort before laughter escapes my lips. Hanna joins in, forcing her way onto the couch next to me. My feeble attempt at saving the man’s life was a failure. I will need to come up with a better plan.
Each night of the following week, I do the same thing. When the monster appears, I command its attention and lure it into chasing me away from the man. Every night I run a different path, choose a different passage, trying to find a way to kill the monster. Maybe when I finally kill it, the man will be safe, and the dream will end. I begin mapping the place with all the different corridors and turns I find. The more I discover and draw out, the more my dream world begins looking like a labyrinth surrounded by a large body of water. And to make matters worse, every alley looks the same. I wasted a couple night’s sleep, going down the same alleys I had previously mapped. I’m losing hope of ever finding a way to beat the monster. The only items that litter the ground is garbage. No weapons or sharp objects can be found. I need a new strategy.
I let the monster get a bit closer to me now before jumping into the water. It looks no different up close than it does from afar, swirling black smoke taking the shape of a large bear with yellow, unsettling eyes. I want to touch it, see if it feels like smoke too, but I can’t let it get too close to me.
With each passing night, I feel stronger and more daring. Hanna expresses her concern over my obsession with the dream, but how can it be bad when I’m no longer avoiding sleep. My bloodshot eyes have returned to white, and the heavy bags under them are barely visible. All day long I look forward to sleeping and trying out my next plan. This time, I want to try something completely different, something I haven’t even considered before. I want to try to get over to the man. I’m hoping I can sneak over to him and we can escape without ever facing the monster. Saving him seems more important than actually killing Old Smokey.
I’m anxious to fall asleep, so when Hanna asks for another marathon, undoubtedly to divert my attention away from the dream, I decline her offer. I don’t want to delay it anymore. After fifteen years, I feel like I’m finally getting to the bottom of it. It’s only eight o’clock, but I have all the lights off, and the curtains drawn. I’m determined to fall asleep. I try everything, counting sheep, listening to white noise, drinking warm milk, which is disgusting by the way, but still, sleep eludes me. The time ticks by as I stare at the clock from my bed. Two hours creep by, and I still can’t fall asleep. It must be the anxiety over trying out my new plan that keeps me awake.
I try to relax my mind with a warm cup of chamomile tea, but it’s useless, the more I fight to go to sleep, the more alert I feel. I finally give up and turn on the television, watching old sitcoms on rerun until I finally drift off to sleep. When I wake the next morning, I realize last night was the first time in over a month the dream never came. Did I run out of time? What if I never have the dream again? A small part of me feels unsatisfied by that thought. I feel a need to save that man, and now I might not have the chance.
CHAPTER 2
“IT’S GOING TO BE EPIC!” The clinking metal shrieks as Hanna sifts through the clothing rack, not even trying to contain her excitement.
“Hanna...” I try to interrupt as I put the dress she’s offered me back on the rack. Out of the eleven eyesores she pulled for me, I’ve only kept one. And to be perfectly honest, I’m only holding on to it, to spare her feelings. My closet doesn’t house any floral prints, and I have no intention of changing that.
“Before you start your formal protest, just hear me out.” I have a reputation with her for making excuses to be antisocial; it seems she’s already planned out her counter argument.
“Fine then, let’s hear it.” I concede, moving to the opposite side of the clothing rack.
“Ok, so you already know Thatch’s parties are always a can’t miss so I won’t go through that reason this time.”
“Amazing how you still did.”
She ignores my interruption and continues. “The more important reason is it will get your mind off things.” She holds up a god awful blue and green flowery dress and I quickly shake my head, scrunching my nose. Does she realize we aren’t shopping for old lady Barbara? With a huff, she places the dress back on the rack, although it belongs on a 1980′s sofa. “I think it would be good for your health to get your mind off certain things.”
A long sigh escapes my lips. I want to pretend I don’t know what she means by things, but I’ve been consumed by the dream even more now than when I was having it. “You have a good point there. I could use a distraction.” I admit, adding a hunter green dress to the pile of clothes hanging from my weary arm.
“And there’s no better distraction than Thatcher’s party.” I can argue against that. As with most people who are polar opposites, we share different opinions on what defines a good time. Where she likes to party and meet new people, I like my books and television marathons. But arguing with Hanna about parties is always a futile attempt.
“What time?” I groan, shaking my head at the hideous pink dress she’s offering me. That’s a terrible
shade, even for people who like pink.
“Is that a yes?” She bounces on her feet draping the ridiculous pink dress across her shoulder. She’s convinced she can force me to at least try it on.
“Fine, but you’re driving.” I try to sound detached, but to be honest, I’m excited about having a night off from mourning the loss of the dream and the man I can’t save. She shrieks with excitement dropping the clothes from her arm. “And you owe me food. I’m starving.”
“We can grab some food as soon as we finish shopping.”
I throw my head back in a mini tantrum. “Are we not finished yet?”
“Of course not. We haven’t tried anything on.” She picks up the fallen clothes and grabs my free hand, dragging me to the fitting rooms. Once she’s confined me to the small room, she releases her death grip from my wrist. “I can’t wait to see these on you. Oh, and don’t forget this one.” She tosses the pink monstrosity over the door.
I ignore the urge to scream and try it on first. If I give her what she wants, maybe I can escape trying them all on. “I think I need a bigger size. This is squeezing the life out of me.” I tiptoe out of the dressing room, careful not to bend over to far, and take a look in the floor length mirror. It looks worse on me than it did the hanger. If that’s even possible.
“You don’t need a bigger size, it’s supposed to be like that.” Her door opens, and she’s wearing the blue and green floral dress she tried to force on me. I have to admit, it doesn’t look half bad on her.
“I need to get out of this straightjacket before I faint.” I head back to the fitting room.
“You’re overly dramatic.”
Pot meet kettle.
“You’re just looking for a reason to hate that dress.”
“Well, I don’t have to look very far.”
“Fine, try on another.” I hear her zipper release and wonder how she manages to twist her body enough to reach it.
I snatch the little golden dress covered in sequins. Again, it’s not my style, but it’s the only one Hanna likes that slightly appeals to me. It slips on much easier than the pink one and is surprisingly comfortable. Standing in front of the mirror, I smooth the front of the dress, trying to add a little length. At least this one covers most of my thighs. I do a couple spins and find myself smiling at it.
Hanna gasps, startling me. “You look so amazing.” She steps out of her room in a strapless purple number.
“You won’t believe it, but I sort of, maybe, like it. I’ll need some tights to go with it, but I like it.” I study myself in the mirror one more time.
“It would look great with a black pair. We can grab some on the way out.”
“Out? As in we’re leaving? Now?” I cross my fingers hoping to hear that blessed word.
“Yes, I don’t want to give you time to change your mind.”
“Did you find one you like?” I shout to her as I quickly change back into my jeans.
“I still have a handful of dresses I haven’t worn yet. I’ll be fine.” A handful is a gross understatement.
I place the clothes from the fitting room back on the rack, happy to be done with shopping for the day.
Hanna follows my lead returning a mound of clothes from the floor in her room to the rack. “Let’s go to Ginos. They have the best lasagna.”
“Sounds good to me.” Who can say no to pasta and breadsticks?
Hanna kicks the last handful of items under the rack and leads the way to the register and then out of Lulu’s Closet, the only place she’ll buy clothes from. “See you later Hanna.” Lulu waves us goodbye.
“She may stop being friendly to you when she sees the mess you left her.”
“Oh, don’t worry, she’ll think it was you.”
“And why would she think that?”
“Because the last time I did it, I told her it was you.”
…
With my stomach full of pasta, bread, and salad, I return to my house with every intention of napping. Hanna, on the other hand, has a different plan. “Let’s start getting ready.” She grabs my arm, hauling me to the bathroom.
“You are aware this is my house, right? I’ve lived here for 21 years, I don’t need your guidance to find the bathroom.”
“Of course, I know that, but if I left you to your own devices, you wouldn’t start getting ready until 10 minutes before the party.” She pats the counter, politely ordering me to sit.
“Who needs more than 10 minutes?” I oblige her command.
She glowers at me. “Every respectable lady should allow the time to pamper herself.”
A laugh erupts from my throat, ricocheting off the tile, and I miss the end of her sentence. My interruption, once again, has me at the end of her death glare. “I’m sorry but when have I ever been a respectable lady? Allow the time to pamper herself. Do you even hear yourself right now? Thatcher has already seen your bed head, you can relax.” I’ve never taken longer than 15 minutes to run a brush through my hair and throw on a little makeup, but Hanna spends hours getting ready for any occasion, no matter how small. A quick trip to the corner store for frozen pizza and cookie dough calls for at least an hour of preparation.
“You know Nadia, I just wanted us to spend some girl time getting all gussied up, so we can stun everyone at the party, but if you want to go looking like you always do, that’s fine by me.”
“What’s wrong with the way I always look?” I glance back at my reflection in the mirror, my attention draws to my eyes. It’s the first thing everyone notices, even when I don’t have my purple framed glasses on. They’re my mother’s eyes, a little sunken in but vibrant green with flecks of hazel. My dark brown hair is pulled back into a messy looped ponytail with hairs sticking out on all sides, remnants of the layered cut I mistakenly tried two ago. If I’m honest, it kind of looks like I just rolled out of bed. Which is almost true. With my usual minimal amount of makeup on, all I need to add is my peppermint lip balm, and I’m ready to go.
“There’s nothing wrong with the way you always look, you’re gorgeous, but you never change. You always wear your hair and makeup the same messy, but adorable, way.”
“Thanks?” I’m not sure if I should count that as a compliment or not.
“All I’m saying is you should try something different.” She tousles her golden blonde locks.
I let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “How about I let you do my hair and makeup for tonight.”
I shudder as she jumps and clasps her hands on my knees. “And pick your outfit?” She’s like a child. Give her an inch, and she’s reaching for that mile.
“Fine, but please remember it’s a beach and not a nightclub.” She releases something that sounds like a pig being murdered and claps her hands together while I furiously chew the corner of my bottom lip.
…
I’m already regretting my decision to let Hanna play dress-up when we arrive at Thatcher’s parent’s beach house. My teeth scrape across my lower lip, trying to ease my nerves. I don’t know what it is about this guy, but whenever I’m around Thatcher, an uneasy feeling sinks in the pit of my stomach. If Hanna weren’t so enamored with him, I wouldn’t hide the fact that he gives me the creeps. The one time I tried bringing up the subject, almost ended in a fight.
“Are you ready?” Her smile puts all of her teeth on display. She’s always in her element at these parties, bouncing around from person to person. I usually keep to myself with the exception of Hanna and Will, the only other friend I have in this small town.
I met Will at Corner Brew, the local coffee shop, almost a year ago. Most people go for the coffee, but I go for the cozy furniture and atmosphere. I frequent it so regularly, I can be found there more often than my own home, and always with a book in the corner recliner. Will’s there almost as often as me, but he works as a busboy.
It was last Halloween when we met, I had managed to talk my way out of Thatcher’s costume party and headed to Corner Brew to prepare for an exam. Will was working
as usual, and I could see the craziness of the Halloween coffee goers was wearing him down. He had just finished cleaning a particularly dirty table left by two girls dressed as cops with inappropriately short skirts. After smoothing out the creases in his forehead, he looked up and caught me watching him. I quickly lowered my head, searching for the paragraph I had just read.
“Where’s your costume?” His silvery voice brought heat to my cheeks.
I looked up hoping he wouldn’t notice the color change. “I’m wearing it, can’t you tell?”
My nerves shook as his eyes roamed over me and his brow pinched. “I haven’t a clue what you are.”
“I’m a feminist. I haven’t shaved in weeks.” I kick my leg to emphasize the humor.
His smile produced wrinkles under his eyes, and the cutest dimples I’ve ever seen. “Ok then, let’s see them.” He motioned to my legs.
“Is it legal for you to ask that? You’ll just have to take my word for it.” I wasn’t expecting him to request a visual.
“And why should I trust you? I don’t even know your name.” He looked over the belongings I had scattered around the table, unable to find what he was searching for.
“Who would lie about hairy legs?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe someone who was caught without a Halloween costume?”
“Well…” I stretched my neck to read the name on his shirt. “William, where is your costume?”
“This is it, I’m a busboy.” He puffed out his chest and corrected his posture.
I tried to stifle a giggle. He had more pride than I’ve ever seen in any other busboy. “That’s not your costume, that’s your job. It doesn’t count.”
“I would say it counts as much as the nonexistent hair on your legs.”
“Ah, but you don’t know it’s nonexistent.”
“Out of all the times you’ve been in here, not once has there been a single hair on your legs.”
“And, how would you know that?”
“You usually wear shorts.”
“Do you always stare at your customer’s legs?”
The Other Side of Dreams (Nighstalker Novels Book 1) Page 2
