The Dream Travelers Boxed Set #2: Includes 2 Complete Series (9 Books) PLUS Bonus Material

by Sarah Noffke

  I sized the guy up. We’d had at least half a dozen sessions. None of my usual lies had worked, so I decided he was ready for the truth. The truth I always saved until I was in the most amount of trouble. The truth invariably set me free, but not because people believed me. Rather because they thought I was crazy, which I probably am.

  “I keep acting out because,” I began in a rehearsed voice, “well, it’s complicated, and it’s actually a secret. I’m not sure if I should tell you. You may get mad at my parents since it was their insistence that I keep this private.”

  “Ren, I won’t get mad at your parents,” Dr. Simon said in his soothing therapist tone. “You can tell me anything and we will work through it together. Your parents will suffer no harm by your truths.”

  I nodded. Inside I smiled with glee. “The truth is that I was born half Dream Traveler, and not only can I travel through space and time using my dreams, but as this special race of humans I’m also gifted with a skill. Some Dream Travelers have one or maybe even two gifts. I can control people using my mind, hypnotize people with movements, and if I touch someone I can hear their thoughts.” I scuffed some imaginary dirt off my shoe. “That’s the truth. The big secret. Don’t be mad at me or my parents for it.”

  The therapist took in a long annoyed breath. “Until you, Ren, are ready to actually talk about your crimes in a real manner then these sessions are futile.”

  A slow smile formed on my face. The truth was always the better option in these situations. No one believed it and therefore just assumed I was a no-good teen. A troublemaker. A pathological liar. The truth was I kept telling the truth over and over again and no one believed me. My father, who had spent his life hiding the fact that he carried Dream Traveler blood in him, hadn’t especially liked that I did this. But he was smart enough to realize no one was ever going to believe me. I was Ren. The boy who had been there when my teacher pulled her knickers down during my solo detention last year. The boy who had been the one to call authorities when my entire church group, including our teacher, fell into inexplicable comas. I was the strange boy. The one who things happened around. But people thought it was because I was a troublemaker branded with the word “cursed” across my head. They had no idea it was because since I was ten years old I’d come into my gifts and could control most using my mind and hypnotize anyone I dared. I told them to hold my hand so I could read their thoughts, but they’d totally shrugged me off most of the time. Even though I kept telling the truth, I was dismissed. And that’s what made the whole thing even more fun. What fools they all were. Utter, stupid fools.

  But my mum saw through it and knew I was manipulating the lot of them. And her look of heartbreak did cause me a bit of stress. She kept professing her faith in me though. She thought that a heavy hand would never make me see my awful ways, but rather the hand of our Lord and Savior. That’s why she kept convincing the church to take me in after each of my crimes. Counsel me. Absolve my sins. Steer me in the right direction.

  However, my mother was as short-sighted as the rest. As a Middling, those who are without gifts or the power to dream travel, she’d never see how much fun it was to manipulate. My mother didn’t see a lot. Mostly because her life was so limited. And I wasted too many years of her life with my antics when I could have been with her, learning the lessons only she could teach me. The ones I only now realize Middlings can teach. Those of the heart. Dream Travelers are too distracted by our minds, by our gifts, to fully understand how love works. However, Middlings aren’t complicated in that way.

  “Ren, we’ve been doing this regularly,” Dr. Simon said to me that evening. He was thoroughly done with my shenanigans, and soon the poor chap would sod off to his meager dwelling on the outskirts of Peavey, where his family would abuse him with neglect and pesky remarks about his feeble appearance. He sighed deeply. “Ren, when you get caught, your mother makes her case to the vicar and somehow you end up seeing me instead of the constable. These opportunities for you to have rehabilitation instead of punishment are running out. I suggest you be real with me. I want you to tell me why you act out. Many of your teachers describe you as having a chip on your shoulder. Of being hostile. Do you want to tell me why? This is your last chance.”

  More than once throughout my life I’ve been asked what it is that made me so hard, so hostile. Why would something have to make me the way I am? I’ve known dozens of happy people who have nothing to be happy about and still they plaster stupid grins on their faces every bloody day. There are those who are all scared and tortured and they’ve got no good reason for the self-pity. Nothing more than a few trivial things have ever happened to them. Forgetting their lunch. Missing an exam. Not getting the girl. And yet these lowlifes go through life like they were given a curse at birth.

  It’s mostly just a choice. Life doesn’t make most of us any certain way. We wake up, and usually without knowing it, act in a way that fits our personality. Nothing made me the way I am. Not really. Things colored me. Persuaded me. But no experience is responsible for making me hostile. It’s just the way I prefer to be. Also, who I am is a result of something inside my bones. Probably a monster who feeds off my unhealthy behavior. I’m not a victim of circumstance. I’m a man who believes that the best strategy involves being extremely cynical and even more conniving. And if there’s one thing I’m more excellent at than all the other things, it’s strategy. I’m a bloody master at it. Hell, I’m fairly certain God takes notes out of my book. He should. If he knows what’s good for him.

  I brought my eyes up to meet the therapist’s gaze. I’d made a great show of putting real emotions on my face. My bottom lip quivered a bit. My eyes were filled to the brim with fake tears. And when I opened my mouth an actual croak happened out. “It’s my sister, Lyza,” I wailed. “She abuses me. She abuses me badly,” I sang.

  “Your older sister, Lyza?” Dr. Simon said, sitting forward, almost knocking the pad off his thin lap.

  “That’s right,” I said, furiously nodding my head. “The one due to graduate early this year and with an acceptance to Oxford. That one. But what you don’t know is she does things to me,” I said, putting a look of shameful hurt on my face.

  “Don’t you worry, Ren,” Dr. Simon said, leaning forward, placing a hand on my shaking arm. “We won’t let her hurt you any longer.”

  Truth be told, Lyza only hurt me with dirty remarks and cold stares. But Lyza had told our mother since she was thirteen that our mum was no better than a servant in our house. She had despised our mum for being a Middling and I in turn despised Lyza. And now I was going to make her pay for every hurtful thing she did to our mum. See, the thing is, when Ren gets in trouble, so do other people.

  I allowed the doctor’s hand to linger on my forearm. Now was probably not the time to tell this homosexual that I didn’t quite enjoy his touch, but definitely go and cart my sister away for abusing her little brother. I grabbed one more thought out of the doctor’s head before he slipped his hand away. That one thought was enough for me to know that the punishment Dr. Simon saw for Lyza would fit the bill until I could up the ante.

  Chapter Two

  An oppressive wind swept across my face when I exited the shrink’s office. He was already busy calling my parents, then the vicar, and finally the academy. After the abuse I alleged my sister Lyza did to me, all the authorities would be brought in to intervene. It was only her first mark on her pristine record. Overdue really. The way I saw it I was actually doing her a favor. Everyone needs a charge or two on their record, otherwise they look too perfect. No one likes perfect people. And Lyza might have looked fabo on paper and therefore like quite the catch for the universities. However, anyone who actually met my snobby sister wouldn’t assign the characteristic of “perfect” to her. “Overcompensating” maybe. Or “faking it.” Not “perfect.”

  One reason, on the long list Lyza would never be considered perfect, was she had the same red hair I did, a violent shade resembling
the sirens on ambulances. Thanks to inheriting our mother’s Irish genes, we would never be considered pretty people. Interesting yes. But giraffes are interesting. Unique. Eye-catching. However, no one wants to snog with a giraffe. Poor Lyza had to depend on her brains to get anywhere. I, on the other hand, had too many ways to overcompensate for my startling red hair and almost neon green eyes. I might have looked like a different race of human, but what most judgmental Middlings who took double looks at me didn’t realize was that I am one. I’m a special race of human. A Dream Traveler. And not only that, but if I so desired I could turn their revulsion into lust. If so inclined, with a few hand movements and a well-placed thought I could make almost anyone do anything. I’m obviously a genetic mistake, because no human should have powers like mine.

  I threw a smug look at the monstrosity of a church as I strolled by. Then I tossed a salute in its direction. “Thanks for really bodging me up, God,” I said. I’m a monster for sure. Too much power. No conscience that I know of and an unhealthy obsession with abusing my God-given talents.

  “Who are you talking to?” a boy propped against a tree in the church yard said. Jimmy was chewing on a long straw of grass. His forgettable brown hair was lying flat against his forehead, obstructing one eye.

  “You’re going to get hand, foot, and mouth disease,” I said, walking up to him and yanking the grass out of his mouth and throwing it to the ground with disgust. “For God’s sake, if it wasn’t for me you’d get yourself bloody killed, for sure.”

  He gave me a sly smile under his knit cap. “Without you I’d get myself in a lot more trouble, but that’s only because I’d actually get caught.” He kicked off the tree. “Thanks for covering up my involvement with the Bentley.”

  “Well, it’s not like you were to blame,” I said, continuing my walk down the pothole-riddled road. “You’re not even talented enough to be a bloody sidekick. You’re just a blasted tagalong.”

  Jimmy had been in the car when I wrecked it. It was probably his bloody fault it happened since he had been laughing like a stupid hyena the entire time. He was red-faced and doubled over by the sheer thrill of stealing a Bentley and barreling it through town. Jimmy was a Middling. He couldn’t dream travel and his only gift was that he was one of the few people I could tolerate. Actually he was a pretty entertaining chap. Most don’t appreciate my wry humor and abrasive, endearing nature, but Jimmy had always cherished it. We’d been friends since nursery school. And he was the only person besides my family who knew I was a Dream Traveler with some dangerous skills.

  Jimmy was actually there when at ten years old my powers came to me. Still remember that stupid grin on his face when I pulled my first prank on Lyza. He had no idea what I was capable of. Neither did Lyza. Imagine her surprise when I threw weak punches into her shoulder. Then I spouted her most intimate thoughts, sitting on the top of her mind for the three of us to hear. Before that moment, it had never been voiced that Lyza fancied Jimmy, thought my parents should put me in boarding school, or that just that afternoon she picked one of her boogers and wondered if it was still stuck under her fingertips. As soon as she figured out I was reading her thoughts she ran to the opposite end of the house and locked herself away. Lyza has never allowed me to touch her since then, which doesn’t matter because I have no interest in her thoughts. They’re like stale peas in an aluminum tin.

  “So did you get away with it?” Jimmy asked, trotting beside me, a mischievous glint in his dirt-colored eyes.

  “What do you think?” I said with an indignant huff.

  “They’re not doing anything to you? You got off scot-free?” Jimmy said in astonishment.

  “Absobloodylutely, just like every time before,” I said, through a long, bored yawn. “Why do you look so surprised?”

  He kicked up some dust on the old road. God forbid the mayor actually pave our roads. Hell, why even have roads when we were outnumbered by sheep five to one in that blasted town.

  Jimmy shrugged at my question. “I don’t know. I just figured one day your luck would run out. That you’d find someone you couldn’t manipulate with your mind.”

  The thought had crossed my mind. It had actually strangely intrigued me. The idea of finding someone who could stand up to me and challenge me was actually an exhilarating notion. So far I had yet to encounter a person who I couldn’t brainwash or read or hypnotize. There were those who were more resistant, like my pops, but still if I was heavily motivated I could break his opposition. Peavey, the town where I lived, was small though. I was certain when I ventured into London I’d find people who’d make me actually strain, even if just a little.

  “I can’t control sheep,” I finally said to Jimmy. “Those bloody animals don’t do a damn thing I want.”

  Jimmy laughed. “What do you want them to do?”

  “Jump off the bloody edge of the fucking earth,” I said, meaning it.

  Another laugh. This one a little nervous. “Say, Ren, do you ever use your powers on me?” Jimmy asked, appearing to be taking a great effort to not look at me.

  I slapped him on the shoulder, careful to keep my hand on the clothed part and not touch his exposed bicep. I didn’t want to read any of his thoughts. I was certain they’d make me sad, pity the poor chap. “Oh no, I don’t have any interest in wasting my powers on you,” I said, a laugh in my voice. “This is when I have the awful burden of informing you that you’re my friend because your soul is as black as mine. It’s not because I’m making you be my friend. And besides, I don’t want to know what demented rubbish streams through your tiny brain, so I never read your thoughts.”

  Jimmy let out a relieved sigh. “All right, well, then what’s our next stunt?” he asked, giddy excitement in his voice.

  The exasperated breath made my lips drum several times against each other. Sure I had a dozen or more crafty ideas but what was the bloody point? They mostly felt like a repeat of the last trick. Different victims. Same trick. There were only so many tricks to play on a repugnant town the size of Peavey. One school. One church. One inn. One pub. One market. Pops moved my mum there when they decided to start a family. He wanted to protect the Dream Traveler children he knew they would bear. That’s how he said it. But what he meant was shelter. He wanted to shelter us. And later he admitted that once I came into my powers he was grateful for the decision.

  “Think of the kind of trouble you’d cause if we lived in London,” he told me more than once.

  I only smiled inside. I was dying to discover the trouble I’d cause in a big city. Yes, I spent most nights dream traveling to London, Montreal, New York. Wherever I desired. But it was different in dream travel form. No one could see me. I couldn’t manipulate people when I wasn’t in their dimension. I needed to be in physical form to really experience the potentials.

  And yet I feared that no matter what I’d always grow restless. I feared that over time the city would bore me. It’s hard to be content when you can have anything and do anything. Most would think that I’m a god with every reason to be happy. But I’m a mistake God made. Too much power doesn’t create happiness. It steals it. To have it all means there’s no struggle and without having to pay a price, nothing has value. I wasn’t gifted with powers. I was cursed with them.

  Chapter Three

  Jimmy and I parted ways at the Gretchens’ farm. The cottage I shared with my family was on the edge of town. It wasn’t enough for us to live in a town that shared one brain cell, we had to live on the edge of it. Living in the town’s center would obviously have been too exciting. We’d probably have stayed up a full hour after the evening meal. The traffic of the two or three cars that passed through town might have kept us up all bloody night.

  I left the front door open after I walked through. The old house had a musky odor that no matter how much Mum cleaned it never disappeared completely. Even though we didn’t own farm animals their smell still seemed to infect our residence. Oh, the charm of rural living. People t
hink it’s romantic. Wholesome. Inviting.

  It’s shit.

  Literally, it’s shitty living. Animal waste was everywhere in that town. It was like our bloody currency. It’s ever a wonder that Peavey got any attention for its pungent cheeses and grains. We should have been known for our manure-laced air and shit-caked shoes.

  When I strolled into the house, Mum lowered her chin at me and regarded me with a disapproving stare under her short red curls. She’d been chopping onion. Deliberately she laid the knife on the chopping board beside the pile of onions and tried to make her stare menacing. Still I spied the sliver of a smile under her false exterior. My mum was always smiling. Even angry she’d have a smile hiding close to her surface emotion. “Renny…” she said, a quiet warning in her tone.

  “Yes, Mum,” I said, batting my red eyelashes and giving her an innocent look.

  “Did you give Dr. Simon the impression that your sister Lyza physically threatens you?” she asked and although I knew she was trying to hide her amusement, it was still prickling through. She really should have gotten better at acting. Would have helped us all out against the green-eyed monster, also known as Lyza.

  From the back hall there were thunderous steps against the ancient wood floors. My sister blazed into the living area, coming to a stop next to my mother by the kitchen island. She threw a shaking finger at me. “He told Dr. Simon that I’ve made sexual advances at him.” Her face flushed into a ridiculous shade of red which clashed awfully with her severely straight red hair, pulled back too tightly in a high ponytail. “He said he’s caught me watching him undress and that I also stand over his bed at night. They think I’m at risk of being a pedophile!”

  With a blank expression I shrugged. “Oh, is that how the good doctor misconstrued my words? Hmmm,” I said, stroking my chin. “That’s awfully strange.”

  “Ren!” Lyza screamed at the top of her lungs. “You knew damn well what you were doing!”