Something To Dream On

by Rinella, Diane

  We follow her inside, and Jensen steps up to her. “This is urgent. Someone's life could depend on it.”

  I take a shot and touch her arm. “Hi, Zolta. Remember me?”

  Zolta’s torso retracts. “You did not come alone. She is with you.”

  “Oh, we are so not alone,” Griffin sasses. “You remember Lizetta?”

  “The one with the terrifying reading? How could I forget?” Her gaze goes to my direction. “Oh, dear. What happened?”

  “The Tower,” Griffin says.

  “But she didn't die,” Zolta mutters. “Death feels cold.”

  “No, she's in a coma.”

  “Can either of you see her?”

  The boys shake their heads. Zolta circles me. “How did you learn that she walks with you?”

  “Animals react to her.” Jensen says. “Don’t they only freak out over ghosts?”

  “No, no, no. Animals react to energy.” She swipes her arm back and forth. Each time she does, it passes through me, and the buzz of her energy interacts with my own. However, she feels no reaction until I hum. Then her fingers flutter to the sky. “Fascinating! Are you sure she's in a coma? Usually, the living stay within their bodies.”

  Jensen perks up with words that are firm. “I just checked with the hospital. Lizetta is alive.”

  With a bounce of her knees, Zolta’s hands clasp together. “A traveler! Oh, this is wonderful! How did I ever miss that she was a traveler?”

  Zolta keeps swiping her hand through me. The constant buzzing is uncomfortable. “Would you please stop that?”

  Her hand drops. “Oops! I seem to be annoying the girl. Sorry, dear.”

  Griffin’s eyes go wide in reaction to Zolta talking to me. His words crawl out. “Miss Zolta, what is a traveller?”

  “An astral traveler! It takes a very long time to master—if you are going about in a normal existence.” With her hands landing squarely on her hips, she juts her head in my direction and squints. “Something must have knocked her out of her body.”

  “But her body is going to die,” Griffin says, sounding panicked. Jensen shoots him a death glare before swallowing back the acceptance that Griffin is probably right.

  “What happens if she doesn't make it?” Jensen asks.

  “Not to be blunt, but if she dies … Well, then she dies.” She flicks her hand at the boys. “That's not our concern. The real question is, why is she outside of her body?”

  Jensen’s words go to the floor while hiding his guilt-ridden face. “She was looking for a wedding dress. It’s my fault. I was too impulsive. If I had planned a proper proposal, she wouldn't have been—”

  “Hold on!” With the stance of a proud warrior, Zolta’s hands drop onto Jensen’s shoulders. “Fate would have intervened regardless of where she was.” Her eyes grow firm. The voice that comes out is strong and deep. It also makes Jensen’s muscles freeze. “You must continue your life exactly as you have. Do not waver!” With an unheard snap, Zolta turns to Griffin and resumes being her animated self. “Now, what else happened?”

  “Lizzie was walking near a crane that wasn’t properly blocked off. The latch failed and a piano came crashing down. Several pieces stabbed her chest, but two large ones upsided her to the ground.”

  “Did she go directly into the coma? What state is her body in now?”

  “Boy Friend and I don’t understand half of what they are saying. All we know is she’s been experiencing seizures and hemorrhages. The doctors say there’s not much more they can do before—”

  “Holy cow.” Zolta releases a long exhale. “Lizetta, if you have a silver cord, like I think you do, there is a big reason why you didn’t stay locked in your body.” She taps a finger to her lips and starts pacing. “The interesting thing about astral travel is that you are boundless. If she's really traveling—” Zolta halts. “Oh! It is so obvious! Of course! You need to—”

  Harold appears in the corner, stopping Zolta dead in her tracks. She sees him? How can she see him and not see me? “Seriously, God, a manual! Would it have been so hard to give me a manual?”

  “Why are you stopping?” Griffin asks. “What does Lizzie need to do?”

  “She just …”

  Harold wags a finger. “Tisk, tisk, tisk.”

  Zolta’s look of deep thought snaps away. She tosses her hands up, making her turn cartoon-like again. “We’re done!” Her strides whip toward the door to shove the boys out.

  “No way!” Jensen protests. “You're on to something. Is it money you want? Believe me, whatever it is, I'll make sure you get it. We need to know what’s—”

  "I'm sorry," chimes out of her. "All I can tell you is that time is of the essence.” Harold’s torso enlarges. Wings slice through his jacket and flare up. Zolta seems to shrink. She looks to us and mutters so quietly that I have to strain to hear her. “There is a huge difference between traveling and dying. Dying sends you to the next plane. Traveling is nearly boundless, but you are confined to this plane.” Like a lightning strike, her hands shoot out, her eyes flare, her teeth grit, and her voice grows harsh. “Leave! I command you to leave!”

  Jensen again starts to protest. Zolta reaches into a drawer and pulls out a gun. Griffin’s hands fly up in surrender. “Look,” Jensen says, “all we want is—” Zolta fires a warning shot into a vase, spraying water and glass across the room. The guys flee, but I’m not budging.

  Zolta turn sheepish in the presence of Harold. “Ernesta,” he warns. “If they, or this girl, show up again, you ignore them. Got it?”

  Rapidly, she nods. “Yes. I understand. Absolutely.”

  Harold puts me in my place as well. “Take what you've been given and be on your way. If she tells you anything else, ignore her!”

  The sound of Peaches starting up seeps through the windows. It is soon drowned out by Bertha’s roar. If I don’t hurry, I will miss my ride, but Harold has pushed my buttons. “You make it sound like she’s given me the keys to the kingdom.” Bertha’s tires squeal as Jensen’s lead foot send her ripping out of the driveway.

  Harold grabs me by the ear. I’m being schooled, yet the lesson is lost on me. If anything, this has shown that there must be something I can do, or Harold wouldn't have gotten so bent. There is some kind of reason why all of this is happening. Harold must be hoping I don't figure it out; else his booty may be on the line.

  Or maybe he wants me to get it, which is why he didn't force me out of here sooner!

  Yeah! He could have stopped me from making it here. He could have kept me from communicating with anyone in the first place. My guardian angel is an ally.

  “Just remember, in due time, everything changes. You really should listen to a mother’s wisdom.” Harold throws me out the door with the force of flying piano parts. Fear slams my eyes shut. When I open them, I’m at the hospital, clutching my flipping stomach and standing next to my mom, who sits in a chair, knitting. Well, doesn’t that bruise my banana? Either I can travel on my own or Harold has angelic super strength.

  All this time I’ve been walking or riding in cars. Does this mean my body simply needs to be told where to go? Okay, I want to be in the hallway.

  Nothing happens.

  Maybe I need force. I try to mentally throw myself forward.

  Again nothing happens.

  I tune out the world, and then focus on where I want to be. A slight movement is detected, and I’ve progressed to the doorway. I have super powers! This is awesome!

  The familiar sound of Jensen’s boots meandering down the hall grabs my attention. How did he get here so quickly? Granted, it is a short drive, but he got here way too fast for someone driving safely, or even dangerously.

  I speak as he steps into me. “Jensen, you have got to be more careful!”

  He halts and mutters, “Thank God that you’re still here. Don’t leave my side if you can help it, okay?” He proceeds into the room, kisses Mom on the head, and takes a seat.

  What were Harold’s parting words? �
�Just remember, in due time, everything changes. You really should listen to a mother’s wisdom.” What the heck does all that mean, and what does it have to do with astral travel? I take a seat next to Mom and listen intently while trying to remember everything she has ever told me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Sunday, July 30

  The moonlight that seeps through the window and shines upon Jensen and Etta as they sleep fills me with the warmth of being kissed by angels.

  There must be answers in what I’ve been told. Shaking me by the shoulders was the first thing Harold said that stuck with me. What exactly did Zolta say when he flared his wings? Fudge bunnies! She was just about to tell me what I needed to do.

  It may be foolish, but I have hope for this situation. While I am not convinced that my body will ever pop up and walk away, somehow I have found faith that this is happening for all the right reasons. The hope I hold is on an eternal scale. I’m witnessing too much not to see that this experience must have purpose, and I have faith that someday I will take joy in learning what that purpose was.

  Jensen’s cell phone rings. The sudden noise makes him and Etta bolt to attention. I touch his arm. “I’m still here.”

  My racing heart reminds me of when I over-tuned Bertha’s engine. Warmth hits my arm. Lizetta is telling me she is still here and not to worry. My muscles unclench.

  Etta recognizes AC/DC’s “Hell’s Bells” as Laura’s ringtone and tucks her head back down. She’s so fed up with the situation that Laura is now only worth Etta’s bark if she is a direct threat. After pressing the ignore button, the phone is tossed back onto the nightstand. Two in the morning is way too early to deal with her drama.

  I snuggle into the pillow. The second I’m comfortable, Laura sends the bells chiming again. Etta glares as I reach for the phone. She doesn’t bother with the courtesy of growling. “Yes, I know. I'm an idiot. I did promise to help her, you know?”

  Crap. Does Lizetta know what’s going on? Does she know how conflicted I’ve been? I’m damned with guilt no matter what I do next, so I tell her that I need to hold true to my word. “Honey, it’s a long story, but I promised to help a friend.”

  I don't even get a greeting in before Laura slurs her words out. "You remember that time we all went to Los Angeles to meet with that guy?"

  Yeah, that was the first time I woke up and didn't remember where I was, or how I got there. This is gonna be a doozy.

  “Remember how we each had one of those bottles with the tinsey winsey gold flakes in it because we all thought you were going to be super, filthy rich within like … a week? After that hangover, I thought I was never going to touch anything cinnamomom … cinnamomony again. But you know what? These bottles are soooo tasty!”

  “Laura, we had an agreement. You're supposed to call before drinking.”

  “Yeah … Well … Larry has a bunch of guys here. They booted your replacement’s replacement of the eighth replacement and are auditioning a new loser to replace next week. We got to talking and …”

  I envision her head nodding as her words trail off. Etta raises her eyes, and I swear to God she’s giving me a don’t-you-dare-help-her look. She’s way smarter than I'll ever be. "Where are you now?"

  Laura’s voice perks up. “Home.” Then I hear a swig and a swallow. "You should so totally come rescue me.”

  Yeah, there’s no way I’m falling for it. If she’s talking about my replacement, Larry pressured her into the call. Not only that, but “We had an agreement, and you broke it."

  God, what is Lizetta making of all this? If she’s aware of what’s been going on, she’s probably just sticking around until she finds a way to make franks and beans with my dude parts.

  Laura’s voice becomes strained. "You said you would do everything you could to help me.”

  There's no way I'm getting back to sleep. I pop up on the defense because the guilt is already seeping in. “Yes, I did say that, but you chose to drink before calling, which means you don't actually want help.”

  A smack blares through the phone. My educated guess says it’s a bottle she’s thrown in desperation, hitting a wall and denting it. “It’s your fault that I screwed up! They started talking about how you bailed on them, just like you abandoned me. Then they brought up all the good times we've had, and all I could think was how much I miss you. But it also pissed me off. So I kept drinking. This is your fault, Jensen! My being drunk is all your fault! You bailed out on me when I thought you loved me!”

  No, those guys aren’t hurt. Laura has probably yapped enough for Larry to play her from a new angle. I stand by my promises, and normally our pact would send me over to be her knight in shining armor. But even if she did catch on to Larry’s intention, if I happened to get jealous enough to reclaim my dignity, she could see how her victory was still inevitable. She really blew it, though. I would have kept up my end of the deal, if she had stayed clean and then claimed everyone else was out of hand. She’s usually not so dumb as to screw up like this. “Larry got to you, didn’t he?”

  She stammers, but it’s not from alcohol. Her voice is filled with desperation. “This—This is your fault! You need to help me!”

  She forgets that I know her, too. "Laura, every day we make choices. Your bad one of allowing Larry to motivate your actions is your fault. If you can't accept that, I can't help you anymore." With a new sense of resolve, I lie back down. There's no way I'm going to her now.

  She plays the crying card. That's such a cruel way for me to think, especially since the emotion behind the tears makes me think they are real, but the days of caving to Laura’s pain are gone. She’s had her chance. My sobriety depends on me looking at it that way.

  "Good night, Laura. You need to stand up to people on your own.” I toss the phone onto the nightstand. I should turn it off, but I'm more concerned about knowing if something happens to Lizetta, than I am about ignoring another call from Laura. I swear Etta is smiling in approval. I pet her head before curling back into the bed. “God, Lizetta, you must really hate me right now. How do I even begin to explain?”

  “You fucking bastard!” I scream at the phone. “How dare you hang up! What about me?”

  He can’t run away like this! I fucking need him to get Larry to leave me alone or at least give me enough stuff to help me suffer through this shitty existence. I keep talking, hoping that by some cosmic miracle Jensen will hear. “Please, it’s not the same as before. It used to be fun to think I was upsetting you by being with other guys. Then you left, and I banged everyone in exchange for anything they would give me, just to ease my sorrow. Now they don’t even ask. I’m passed around like … Hell, at least whores get paid.”

  My phone starts going crazy with calls from Laura again. It’s a three round cycle of call and ignore. Eventually it beeps with a text message. “Please help. It's ugly here.”

  “Lizetta, you have to know what’s going on. Do you understand that I need to help a friend who isn’t strong enough to help herself? You’re an understanding person. How do I work through this without getting dragged down?”

  The silence is so thick it’s deafening. I turn to Etta, looking for a sign. All I see is a dog that’s trying to sleep. If I know Lizetta, she is purposely holding her silence and letting me make this decision on my own. She’s probably coaxing Etta to stay out of it as well. “Please, Lizetta. Can’t you tell me anything?”

  Nothing.

  Nothing but silence and guilt.

  Is Laura really so dumb as to fall for Larry’s tricks again? Maybe she really is in trouble.

  No. She’s fine.

  The image I had months ago, when I told Mom I left Laura behind like an abandoned soldier, haunts me. She’s been through enough bad stuff. I’ll do this to right my wrong. Then the score is even.

  Etta doesn’t bark as my feet hit the floor. Still, I know what she’s thinking, and it changes nothing.

  Bertha roars as I turnover her engine. My hand hits the gearshift, and a new
kind of guilt smacks me.

  I made promises to Lizetta too. One was to stay clean. While I have been challenged in that department, so far I have made it.

  I touch my hand to the passenger seat, right where her heart would be if she were here. “You are with me, letting me make my own mistakes, aren’t you?” My hand buzzes, and her radiating disappointment kicks me in the gut. No matter what, I will let someone down tonight.

  Self-preservation is more important than being a savior. I shut off Bertha and head straight back to bed. “I’m sorry, honey. Thank you for respecting that I needed to make that decision myself. I promise that I will never let Laura into my life again. I have never broken a promise to you, and I will not start now. Laura is on her own.”

  Jensen spends nearly half an hour flopping back and forth in bed. Finally he smiles and tells himself, “I’m free. There is no way I can turn back now. That part of my life is truly over but …”

  Jensen rolls over, as if looking at me. “Forgive me, Lizetta. There is one last thing I need to do before I can fulfill that promise. I’ll do it this one time, and you can hear every word of it.”

  He faces upward. “Dear God, please bless Laura with whatever it is she needs to recover, but I am sorry, it can’t come from me. Then, please let me know that she has made it. As much as I will hold true to my promise, I can’t see myself ever escaping the guilt of hurting her.” He releases a gratifying sigh. “Now I can let go of the urge to help. She’s stronger now.”

  He rolls into his usual position and drifts off to sleep. I believe he will follow through on his promise, but guilt tore at him before. How will it be now that he knows how much worse Laura has become? Lord, it’s been such a fiery trail for Jensen and his faith. Please let him come to peace with this situation.

  A throat clears, and I find Harold standing in the corner. “Jensen will be fine,” he assures. “Come with me.” Since there are no signs of his normal, goofball self, I’m apprehensive over his invitation. Was that it? Jensen is done with Laura and now I move on? “Oh no! You are not taking me away!”