Dream Keeper

by Amber R. Duell

  He started toward the narrow, sloping steps, his tattooed hand gliding over the rail. Unspoken words pressed against me. I frowned and watched him climb higher alone. Something about the way he moved left me immobile. For a split second, I saw a man in loose cotton pants and a hooded tunic. The image was gone faster than it came, but the damage was done. I couldn’t un-see it.

  When the curly haired boy stopped halfway up, I jumped. My teeth clacked against each other in an attempt not to say anything. Ben wasn’t the Sandman. Because the Sandman did not exist.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked innocently.

  I lifted my chin, cleared my throat, and sprinted up the first few steps. Not crazy, not crazy, not crazy. “Where are you from, Ben?”

  He resumed his ascent. “All over, really.”

  A small, cynical noise escaped my throat before I could stop it. He hadn’t done anything wrong. This was my problem, my instability, not his. I couldn’t take it out on him because he happened to remind me of someone else. Maybe his family moved around a lot. Maybe he really was from all over. My fingers tingled at the memory of the sand on Katie’s pillowcase, and I crossed my arms, pressing them into my sides.

  “Dreamer, Dreamer,” whispered a low, rasping voice behind me. I spun around, gripping the railing, but no one was there. A metallic taste coated my tongue. “Not a screamer,” said the voice, this time right in my ear. Cold dread oozed down my spine. “Snapped his neck and—”

  “These stairs,” Ben said too loudly, chasing away the whispers. “Bit of a hazard.”

  I blinked the shock away. “Yeah, they’re not the best.” I dragged in a breath and shot the rest of the way to the second floor with terror rippling across my back. “Bedroom sets.” I forced lightness into the words, but it rang false, even to me. Ben shifted closer. He smelled of lilacs and crisp morning air. I shut my eyes and held my breath against the memories it stirred, but the aroma lent me a moment of clarity, of comfort, offering stability to my voice. “It saves the customer more if they buy the whole thing, but they can buy individual pieces if they want. There’s a chart on the back of the tag for pricing.” The scent grew overwhelming, tightening my stomach with something other than fear. My gaze fell on him. He ducked his head and reached up to pinch the air beside his temple in a familiar gesture. For a moment, I imagined him tugging at a hood. “You...” I paused. He what? Ugh. I needed to take a mental health day.

  “Nora,” Lisa shouted.

  “Up here,” I called back, thankful for the interruption.

  She popped up in the archway below. “I’m going to run home and see if Randy is there. Can you watch things for me while I’m gone?”

  “I...” Don’t leave me alone with him. “Okay. No problem.”

  “I’ll be back soon,” she said, already disappearing.

  Ben stepped up beside me. “She’s...”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. There wasn’t really a word to describe Lisa, but she was a good boss when she wasn’t trying to micromanage everything. Or everyone. “Anyway.” I shrugged, diffusing some of the tension between my shoulders. “That’s it for the sales floor. I’ll show you the stock room after Lisa comes back so we can watch for customers.”

  His arm brushed against mine, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. “What do we do now?” he asked.

  “We wait.” I started back down the stairs, my eyes darting from one side of the stairwell to the other. My ears prickled but the voice was gone, if it had ever been there to begin with. I let out a slow breath. “Come on. I’ll show you how to check the system to see if something is in stock.”

  Ben’s eyes burned into my back, and he followed me silently to Lisa’s desk. Not in a way that bothered me, but in a way that should have. I rolled my shoulders. I didn’t know Ben. There wasn’t a voice in the stairwell. Katie had a nightmare. No one laughed.

  Didn’t, didn’t, didn’t.

  I threw myself into the rolling chair, still warm from when Lisa sat in it and clicked the power button on the computer. “It takes a minute for this to get going.”

  “Okay.” He grabbed a chair from the other side of the table used for customers and swung it around to sit beside me.

  My finger rapped on the mouse. Twenty minutes down. Seven hours and forty minutes to go. My stomach grumbled, and I brushed my long bangs down to hide the side of my face.

  “Hungry?”

  “Not at all,” I lied. Even if he did notice the rumbling, he didn’t have to comment.

  He laughed. “Liar. When did you eat last?”

  The screen popped up with a system update. I flung myself back in the chair. Of course. “This is going to take all day,” I said, ignoring his question. The last thing I ate was a grilled cheese sandwich yesterday afternoon and a handful of chips at the party. If Natalie and Emery hadn’t guilt-tripped me into going out, I would’ve chowed down on leftover beef stew before bed. Then my cookie heist was interrupted, but it was none of his business. “While we wait, I can show you—”

  “The vending machines?” His eyes glimmered, and my face warmed. “Excellent idea. I already know where they are.”

  “That’s not—”

  But he was already out of his seat, striding toward the break room in the back. I leaned my head against the headrest. It wouldn’t hurt to eat, but my appetite had vanished along with my sanity. My mother couldn’t find out. For two months before the first psychiatric visit, I rarely ate, only wanting to get back to the Sandman. Now, if I so much as left a few bites on my plate, she hovered near my door at night to make sure I wasn’t in bed too early. Falling asleep before nine on one of those nights almost guaranteed her looking up the phone number of a doctor again. I dragged my hands down my face. Three years without mentioning the Sandman, and she still refused to let it go.

  “Pick your poison.” Ben dumped an armful of snacks on the desk. “Each one equally delicious and peanut free.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Are you allergic to peanuts?”

  “No.” He lifted a hand to his temple again, tugging at air, and plunked down beside me. He focused on the bags as he arranged all of them to face up. “Pretzels? They had loops and sticks.”

  I snagged the closest bag—the sticks—and pried it open without looking away from him. There was no way he could have known I was allergic to peanuts. None. Just like there was no way he was a fictional person that lived in my head. Peanuts are a common allergy; maybe he was used to looking out for someone in his family.

  “So how did you talk Lisa into hiring you when there were no openings?” I asked.

  He held his hands up to his chin. “My charisma?”

  “Ha. Ha.” My lips curled against my will.

  “What? You don’t think I’m fascinating? Perhaps I should try harder.” He batted his long eyelashes. “How about now?”

  I slapped a hand over my mouth before I could laugh a mouthful of pretzel into his face. “I think you should save it for the customers.”

  A siren wailed in the distance. Whatever spell he cast, broke. The smile fell from my face, and I surged up from the desk. I needed to put some space between us. It was too easy with him, like I wasn’t pretending. No good could come of that; my secrets were too important to risk.

  I opened one of the doors, wedging a piece of wood beneath it to let in some fresh air, and the siren grew louder, followed by another. “I wonder what’s going on,” I said more to myself than anything.

  Ben was at my side then, his expression tight. A rock settled in my gut. I didn’t know him well enough to know where his thoughts were but seeing him like this unsettled me.

  “Let me guess. You have a warrant out for your arrest,” I joked.

  His smile was taut, his eyes following the flashing lights when they turned the corner and whizzed by the store. “Why? Are you into bad boys?”

  I snorted. “In your dreams.”

  His eyes flashed, the tiniest of true smiles breaking through. “Maybe in yours.”

  M
y heart squeezed. I opened my mouth to speak but the blast of sirens stole my ability to think. To breathe. I tore my eyes away from his, from the secrets written there—and they were there, ringing through every bone in my body.

  A black Toyota flew into Howell’s gravel parking lot in a cloud of dust. The driver slammed the vehicle into park before it came to a full stop, jerking the car to a halt. Lisa’s father climbed out, his face beet red.

  “We’re closing up,” he said in his usual raspy tone. “Go on home. We’ll call you when we’re ready to reopen.”

  “What happened?” I asked, craning my neck to follow the police. Ben stood as still as a statue beside me.

  Lisa’s father brushed by us without another word and flipped the row of light switches. A large ring of keys swung on his belt with a bright orange tassel. Lisa’s keys.

  “Grab your things,” he barked.

  Katie’s screams rose up in the back of my mind again, a faint, distant ringing, mingled with a deep chuckle. I shook my head. It was fine. Everything was fine.

  “Are you okay?” Ben asked.

  “Yep.” I bolted toward the desk where I set my purse.

  If Lisa’s father wanted us to leave, that was fine by me. Between Ben and the creepy, nonexistent voice playing mind-games with me, I was more than ready to go home.

  Where Katie had screamed. And another nonexistent voice chuckled.

  I swallowed my secrets, shoved down my doubts.

  Fine.

  I’m absolutely fine.

  When I swept through the front door, my mother poked her head over the kitchen counter, her brunette ponytail limp. “What are you doing home?”

  I shrugged and kicked the door shut with my heel. “I thought you were in bed.”

  “I forgot to put dinner in the crockpot.” She glanced at the television. Breaking News scrolled across the bottom of the WNOX 11 station. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  “There was...” I started. The reporter stood outside a small ranch house that was surrounded by yellow tape. Countless police lights flashed in the background and an ambulance was backed into the driveway. Officers lingered near the door, speaking with two men in suits. “Turn it up.”

  My mother set the cutting board down. “Did something happen at the store?” she asked, ignoring the scene on TV.

  The reporter motioned an older woman forward. I strained to hear what he said, focusing on his lips, but only caught a thank you. I darted around the recliner and knelt in front of the entertainment center, tapping the volume button. “And you were the one who discovered the body?”

  “Yes,” the woman answered in a shaking voice. “Some of their mail was delivered to my house. I have a key, so I went in to set it on their table, and he was on the couch.” She placed her hands on her chest. “His neck was snapped at the most hor—”

  One of the people in suits—a bald man with dark skin and silver glasses—touched her shoulder. “That’s enough.” The reporter opened his mouth to object, but the detective pointed a finger at him. “This is an open murder investigation. You know better.”

  Open murder investigation. My heart dropped, and I gripped the edge of the television stand. The detective ushered the woman away. The reporter turned back to the camera, his face grim. He lifted a finger to his ear and nodded.

  Behind him, the EMT’s wheeled out a stretcher. The camera zoomed in to reveal a woman with an oxygen mask on. I gasped, slamming a hand over my mouth. It couldn’t be...

  “Is that Lisa?” My mother’s voice rose to a near screech.

  I nodded, my body numb. She was fine when she left the store. Did she walk in on the murderer? But the other woman found the body, and she appeared fine. So, what happened? The blood drained from my head, and I shuffled back to plop on the couch before I fainted.

  His, the woman had said. Randy. Randy was dead. Murdered. His neck... His neck. The voice from the store echoed in my ears. Dreamer, Dreamer, not a screamer. Snapped his neck and—

  It knew. The voice knew.

  My mother jammed the power button, but I could still see the image of Lisa on the stretcher. My hands shook. If by some miracle I wasn’t losing it, I had somehow gained psychic abilities overnight.

  Insane, insane, insane.

  “Nora? Are you okay?”

  Tiny wrinkles formed at the edges of my mother’s eyes, and she chewed on the inside of her cheek. I knew that look. It was the I’m-worried-you’re-about-to-snap look. The one she got right before she started suggesting I be reevaluated.

  “Howell’s is closed until further notice,” I said in a flat voice and cleared the lump from my throat. Act normal. It didn’t matter my boss was just killed or my other boss was on the way to the hospital. Any sign of weakness, of an oncoming emotional break, in front of my mother, spelled disaster. I stood and rubbed at my eyes. “We were out late last night, and I had to wake up early, so I think I’ll go back to bed for a little while.”

  “Oh? Are you sure you don’t want to stay up? You can help me chop the carrots.” She hovered at my shoulder, and I shook my head. “How was the party anyway? Did you have fun?”

  I hid my wince behind a yawn. She didn’t need help with the carrots, and she certainly didn’t care about the party. She only wanted to make sure the horrible news didn’t send me swan-diving off the deep end. More than anything, she feared the resurgence of the Sandman, which, in turn, meant she lived in terror of major change. After all, he was born from the stress of her divorce so, why wouldn’t her remarriage, Katie moving away for college in the fall, or my final year before graduation bring him back? Because he never left. Her list of possible triggers hadn’t included people-I-knew-being-murdered before, but I was willing to bet it now held the number one spot.

  I forced a smile, skirting around her. “It was lots of fun, Mom.”

  “Good, good,” she said, relieved. But her eyes followed me all the way up the stairs.

  Once inside the safety of my room, I dug my sketchbook from its hiding place and threw myself into the desk chair. My hands shook as I flipped through pages full of blues and purples and silvers. Past dozens of sketches of the Sandman—that brought an image of Ben to the front of my mind. Those vivid violet eyes belonged among the other images. I could already feel my hand gliding over the sheet of paper, making the perfect sweep of his eyelashes. Could visualize the thrill that would spark through me, shading those impossible irises until they reflected the same mysterious glint as the real things.

  But, instead, I slid the black pencil from the box. The tip scratched against the page with a sharp rush. My hand moved feverishly, leaving harsh, angry lines in its wake. When I was finished, the colored pencil slipped from my grip and rolled off the edge of the desk, clattering to the floor.

  The words Dreamer, Dreamer swallowed the page. They stared up at me. Mocked me. I slammed the notebook shut and clasped my hands over my ears as if it would stop the voice from coming back.

  4

  Nora

  The television blurred as I clicked through the channels. Every time I tried to sleep, Katie’s scream haunted me. I refused to ask for the Sandman’s help again, though. After two full nights without him, I couldn’t stomach it if he ignored my call. False hope only led to disappointment; I wasn’t going to risk confirming he had vanished completely.

  But my body languished with news I couldn’t share with anyone but him. The Sandman didn’t yet know that I had watched police cars race past Howell’s on their way to a murder scene. Didn’t know it was Lisa’s house where Randy was found murdered. His neck snapped. Just like the voice whispered in the stairwell. Impossibly. Unbelievably. Why would I hear that? Of all things, why that?

  I hauled the blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around myself. This was so not healthy. Anything was better than sitting in my living room, feeling sorry for myself, but I couldn’t find the energy to move.

  The cushions shifted near my feet. “Hey,” Katie said around a spoonful
of cereal. “What are you watching?”

  “Nothing yet. Here.” I tossed my sister the remote.

  We hadn’t spoken about the other night. I wasn’t sure Katie remembered having a nightmare, or if she blamed her hoarse voice the next morning on too much singing in the shower. Really, it could have been either, but it was hard to imagine that she could forget a nightmare that vivid.

  “I’m surprised you’re up,” I glared at her puffy eyes, willing her to give me the smallest opening to ask. “It’s before noon.”

  “Well, someone likes to blast the television at the crack of dawn,” she said.

  The surround sound wasn’t that loud. “It’s not the crack of dawn; it’s almost eleven.”

  “Precisely.” Katie slurped another spoonful of breakfast, and I cringed. “I could’ve slept until two, and still made my date with Jen by four.”

  I glared at her. “Don’t you want to enjoy summer vacation? You’re only here for a couple more months.”

  “I am enjoying it.” Katie leaned into the cushions and flipped the channel, “Nothing exciting happens before lunch.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Howell’s is still closed, right?” Katie asked.

  “Yep.” My stomach churned at the thought of going back there. Paul found out from a coworker that Lisa was fine—the sight of Randy’s body triggered a severe asthma attack—but I imagined it would be a long time before she reopened. It would be impossible to walk past the office without remembering all the mornings I found Randy taking a nap inside. Impossible not to wonder how different things could’ve been if he came back to the store to sleep instead of going home.

  “That’s so bizarre. I mean, why would someone kill your boss? I heard nothing was missing from the house, and there were no signs of forced entry. That’s super fishy. My money is on the wife. She had the opportunity, and I’m sure they’ll dig up a motive.”