Dream Keeper

by Amber R. Duell

  I paused. He wasn’t really asking, and if I didn’t cooperate, things would look bad. Worse. If they asked Paul to be there, it meant I wasn’t simply considered a witness anymore. It meant the people online weren’t the only ones to think of me as a suspect anymore. “All right.”

  11

  Nora

  “I don’t know what else you want from me,” I said, avoiding my reflection in the two-way mirror behind Detective Bell. “I’ve told you everything.”

  My step-father was a steady presence at my side in the frigid interrogation room. The red light of a camera blinked down from a corner of the ceiling and the grey brick walls made the room feel like the dankest part of someone’s basement. Paul spent the last forty-five minutes scratching the stubble on his chin, staring blankly at a dent in the metal table, but I knew he was absorbing every word. It was his focused face. The one he got when he didn’t like what he was hearing but wasn’t ready to make his case yet.

  “None of this adds up. I want to be sure I understand everything correctly,” Detective Bell said. “One murder is a travesty but when they start piling up, it sends people into a panic. It looks like we’re dealing with a serial killer here, and we must figure this out before anyone else gets hurt. Right now, you’re the only thing connecting all of the victims. And, of course, you were present for the incident at the mall.”

  I clenched my teeth. I did understand, and if anyone wanted the killer stopped, it was me. Telling him about the Weaver wouldn’t do anyone any good, though. It would land me in a straitjacket, and then I would be a sitting duck. The Weaver could get to me anytime. Torture me. Kill people. I couldn’t stop him from a locked ward.

  “I can’t tell you something I don’t know,” I said, sighing.

  Detective Bell clicked his pen. “Is there a new drug you kids are doing? Something that wouldn’t appear on the test but would make you do things you wouldn’t normally do? Like stab yourself or hurt the people around you, for instance. I don’t work in drug enforcement—you can tell me the truth.”

  “That’s enough. Nora passed the drug test,” Paul said in a low voice. “She’s cooperated with you every step of the way and answered all your questions with more patience than I would have. I’m not going to let you harass her so if you want to talk to her again, you can contact our lawyer.”

  His eyes swiveled to my step-father. “We have to explore all our options.”

  “You think a girl that weighs one-ten sopping wet broke a man’s neck? Can you honestly tell me that you think she looks capable of doing any of those things?”

  “Mr. Thompson. With her history—” Detective Bell snapped his notebook shut and slid it off the table with calm fury. “Could we speak in the hall for a moment?” he asked in a strained voice.

  Paul shoved up from his seat and stormed from the room. When the door clicked shut behind them, leaving me alone, I rested my head in my hands.

  Deep breaths. In. Out.

  My history. By now, they had to know about the psychologists I used to see, though the subject matter was confidential. I never threatened to hurt myself or anyone else, so unless my mother told them all the specifics, they had no reason to believe it was for anything other than my parents’ divorce.

  I scrubbed at my face. My mother may have been watching me like I would break, but she couldn’t think... I slammed the door on the thought. My mother couldn’t believe I had anything to do with this. Even if I was crazy, she had to know I wouldn’t hurt anyone. Not like that. Not like anything.

  “Dreamer, Dreamer,” the Weaver whispered. “Such a schemer.”

  I jerked back, my spine perfectly straight. He hovered in the corner beneath the video camera. I couldn’t reply without someone seeing me talk to an empty room, and I wasn’t going to out myself as mentally unstable. A-plus for his effort though.

  “Had a secret...” He inched around the shadowed perimeter of the room with a sly grin. “Couldn’t keep it.”

  My hands balled into fists under the table. I couldn’t take the bait. Couldn’t. Even if I wanted to lunge across the table and strangle him with my bare hands.

  “Ah, Sun-Kissed Keeper, does that piece of technology frighten you? Do you think they will lock you away if you’re recorded talking to me?” His lips curled. “You do. I see it. Smell it. You fear they will assume you lost your mind and killed your friends during one of your episodes. That’s the word your mother uses, yes? Episodes?”

  I squinted at him. I didn’t think they would. I knew they would. Doubt reared in the back of my mind. Give it to him. Give him the dream, and he’ll go away. My family would be safe, and I could return to some semblance of sanity. But at what cost? The Sandman was going to give me answers tonight so I had to wait until then, at least. Besides, I still wanted justice.

  Not justice.

  Payback. I wanted payback.

  “No? Perhaps I’m projecting. That’s what the Sandman used to call my… Well, episodes.” The Weaver leered at me over his shoulder, something human flitting across his eyes, gone as quickly as it came. “Before they began playing on an endless loop, that is. Who knew one teensy banishment would—” He cleared his throat. “Never mind.”

  Endless loop this. I tapped my middle finger on the table as casually as possible.

  The Weaver cocked an eyebrow, amused, then rose into the air, a gossamer trail stretching behind him, tethering him to the floor. “Impressive,” he said and stared into the camera lens. “Unable to capture my image, of course. The only reason you can see me is because of that tiny piece of my world residing in your brain.”

  Each taunt was gasoline on the fire, an inferno in place of a beating heart. Once Katie was back, I would unleash the heat building in my veins and burn him to the ground. I took a deep breath. He couldn’t get to me when I was awake, or he would’ve had me strung up and tortured by now. I had to wait until I knew how to get the upper hand.

  “You know.” He lowered himself and turned to face me again. “If you don’t wish to give me the dream, you could ask the Sandman to take it back. He could hide it in some other poor soul. As he’s so torn up about putting you in danger, I’m sure he would honor the request.”

  The Weaver knew nothing of what the Sandman felt. He couldn’t; he didn’t have feelings. Besides, if someone else had the dream, he would do the same thing to them. More people would die. Not my people, but people nonetheless. And what if they caved? What if they gave him what he wanted? I couldn’t take that risk.

  “Ah, little Keeper, you look perturbed.” He shifted back into the corner, his gold eyes gleaming, and crossed his arms. “We sense each other, you see. I know what the Sandman is feeling as he knows what I am. For example, I know right now, he is worried sick about what I’m doing. He feels it—the thrill of having you so close. Just as he felt my ecstasy this morning when I murdered your father.”

  I flew to my feet, the interview room echoing with the scrape of metal chair legs. “Wh—”

  The door swung open. Detective Bell and Paul looked in with matching looks of confusion. “Everything okay?” my step-father asked.

  “Cramp,” I lied, clutching my calf. The Weaver chuckled.

  “Maybe you should sit down,” Paul said carefully. When I didn’t listen, he rolled his shoulders. “Detective, I think we should wait for her mother before making a decision about this.”

  “About what?” I stammered and rubbed the imaginary cramp away to hide my shaking hands. The room tilted. My father wasn’t dead. The Weaver was lying. He had to be because my dad was over a thousand miles away. How would the Weaver even connect us? It was impossible…

  “A polygraph,” the detective answered.

  I plunked back into the chair. They would ask if I knew who was behind the murders. They would ask, and I would fail. Then what? They wouldn’t let me leave until I told them everything. “A lie detector test? Is that really necessary?”

  “No, it isn’t,” my mother snapped from the hallway. Re
lief washed over me. “I just talked to your partner, Detective, and you won’t be speaking to my daughter again. You said there were a few things to clear up with her, not that you wanted to put her through an interrogation.”

  “Ma’am, as we’ve stated, your daughter isn’t a suspect,” Detective Bell said with an exasperated sigh.

  “You’re doing your damnedest to make sure she becomes one.” My mother shouldered her way into the room and grabbed my hand. Her eyes were red and glassy with tears, the purple bruising beneath them stark against her ashen face. “We’re going home.”

  I didn’t argue; I wanted nothing to do with their investigation. The only way to solve this was to find Katie myself and stop the Weaver before anyone else could die. With the Sandman’s help, I could do it. I had to.

  When I murdered your father.

  Nausea gripped my stomach. He couldn’t be dead. Because he was all the way in New York City, like a mile off the ground in a penthouse or something. Or, if he was on a business trip, maybe he was even halfway around the world.

  “Val, I think we should talk about this,” Paul whispered on our way through the parking lot. The sun felt blistering after being in the air conditioning for so long. “It could put an end to their focus on Nora and let them concentrate on finding who really did this.”

  My mother pressed the unlock button and the SUV lights flashed. “This is a witch hunt, Paul. It’s obvious Nora had nothing to do with what happened to those girls. Right now, all we have to do is find Katie.”

  Paul raised his hands in surrender. “All right. I’ll call a lawyer first thing in the morning.”

  The leather seats burned my legs when I climbed into the back of the vehicle. To know who my father was, the Weaver would’ve needed to root around in my head, right? And have dug pretty deep while he was at it because I rarely thought of him these days.

  “The best lawyer,” my mother clarified in a stern voice.

  No matter what else my mother thought of me, at least she believed I wasn’t capable of this. I wrapped my arms around my waist and tried not to fidget. What would happen if the lawyer said I had to take the lie detector test? I absolutely couldn’t do it but refusing would look terrible. I’m sure the court could find a way to force me anyway.

  First thing’s first, though. I had to dust off my father’s telephone number. He was a sorry excuse for a dad, but I didn’t want him dead. I needed to hear his voice. To know without a doubt that the Nightmare Lord was only waging mental warfare. That was all. That’s all.

  My mother went straight to the computer to read through Katie’s social media for clues again, while Paul pried a boxed pizza from the freezer. I watched them from the living room as if they weren’t real. As if this were a reality show, and I was a mere observer. But I wasn’t. I did this; I ruined my family. Five years ago, and again now.

  I gnawed on the inside of my cheek to stop the tears from forming and reached into my back pocket for my phone. Only it wasn’t there. Because I gave it to Ben. I hung my head and groaned. “Have you told Dad about Katie?” I asked, weary.

  “I sent him a text this morning,” my mother said, exhausted with an edge of annoyance. “He didn’t reply.”

  He was busy. That’s why he didn’t reply. He was always busy. He probably saw my mother’s name pop up and ignored the message. “Can...” I wasn’t sure how to phrase the next question. For however little I cared about my father, my mother cared less. Or maybe she cared more. She couldn’t hate him and not care about him at the same time. “Can I call him?”

  My mother paused mid-scroll and spun in the office chair beside the stairs. “Why?”

  I looked to Paul for help, but he was studiously reading the pizza box. “He deserves to know about Katie.”

  “If he wanted to know, he would’ve gotten back to me.” She spun back to the computer. “But you don’t need my permission to call your father.”

  “Can I use your phone?” I asked quietly. “I don’t have his number.”

  Her head bobbed, and I scooped it up off the computer desk before she could change her mind. I dialed, my heart thumping in my ears. The phone rang. Once. Twice. Four times. Then a woman answered with a warbled hello.

  “Hi.” I paused. “Is this Michael Gallagher’s phone?”

  “Yes.” The woman sniffled. “Who’s this?”

  “Nora. His daughter,” I added in case he never mentioned me to this woman. It wouldn’t surprise me. There was a long pause. “Hello?”

  “I’m here.”

  I stalked away from my mother. “Can I talk to him?”

  “No. He’s... Maybe I should speak with your mother. Is she there?”

  I closed my eyes. The Weaver wasn’t lying; he did something. I clutched the lump beneath my shirt that was the Sandman’s bag. “Where is he?”

  “Your father had a heart attack last night. He—” Hiccup. “He didn’t make it.”

  “Oh.” The phone almost slipped from my hand. “Okay.”

  She sniffled into the receiver again. “The doctors said he went to sleep and didn’t wake up so there wasn’t any pain.”

  “I see.”

  “Are you—all right?” she asked.

  I eased onto a stool at the kitchen island. “I’m fine.”

  “Is there—”

  I hung up and slid the phone across the counter. Dead. He was dead, and more people would be soon. I could protect my mother and Paul, but my father lived so far away when the Weaver got him. What could I have done? I tightened my grip on the Sandman’s sand. It wasn’t possible for me to save everyone, but that didn’t stop the guilt from clawing at me with its thorny fingers.

  “What’s wrong?” Paul asked.

  I opened my mouth, unable to find the words. The bag of sand weighed heavily against my breastbone. It should hurt more—losing a parent. But I felt nothing. Almost as if someone had jabbed a needle full of Novocain straight into my brain. As if I was made of stone. Maybe I was now. Maybe I had to be, in order for all the deaths not to utterly destroy me.

  A quiet, hesitant knock broke the silence.

  “I’ll get it,” I said, slipping off the stool. I half expected it to be Detective Bell standing on the other side of the front door with a warrant, but Ben stood there instead.

  One side of his mouth lifted in a grin, but it didn’t extend to the rest of his face. His skin was waxen, his expression pinched. “Hi,” he said softly.

  “What are you doing here?” My voice was raw.

  Ben held out my phone. “You can’t call for my expert advice without this.”

  Expert advice indeed. The screen was warm with his body heat, and I hurried to set it on the end table. There was no one left for me to call anyway.

  “And you are?” Paul asked from directly behind me.

  Ben looked over my shoulder, his violet eyes dull. “Ben, sir.”

  Paul glanced between us before stepping back. “Come in.”

  “I really shouldn’t,” Ben said, chewing his bottom lip.

  His eyes met mine in a silent apology, and my chest ached. The thought of going up to my room, of being alone, crushed me. The weight of millions of lives threatened to snap my bones, the strain of my sister’s fate choking me.

  “Stay.” The word was half statement, half question, and one hundred percent desperate. But I didn’t care—I was.

  He blinked once, slowly, heavily. “Okay.”

  “Paul, have you ever heard Katie mention Zach before?” my mother called.

  “We’ll be in my room.” I took Ben’s hand and lead him toward the stairs before they could object.

  He followed silently, his fingers loose around mine. My brain might have felt as if it were in some suspended state, but my body certainly didn’t. It was the first time I would have a boy in my room. A boy I kissed, no less. Even though I had no intention of going down that awkward path again, it didn’t stop my nerves from remembering. From tingling.

  I couldn’t think about
that now. I needed to not be alone. To be with someone who didn’t think I was psychotic. Who wouldn’t ask questions. Ben knew the Weaver, so he must have some idea of what I was up against. That’s what I needed. Understanding. And his answers to a hundred questions, but not now. Not tonight. I waited five years for the Sandman’s answers and Ben’s only a matter of days.

  “Are you okay, Nora?” he asked when I kicked my bedroom door closed.

  “No,” I admitted through gasps. “No, I’m not.”

  He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and gathered me close. I tucked my face into his shoulder and, for the first time since the night I sketched my friends, hot tears scalded my cheeks. They came as a flash flood, washing away my entire life. I cursed them, hated them. Hated myself for letting them fall. I couldn’t give in to the sorrow yet; I had to be the stone. Now wasn’t the time to lose myself in a vortex. Now was the time to fill the hole inside with something else: revenge. When that was complete, when the Weaver paid for everything he had done, the hole would be there, waiting, but so would Katie.

  I balled my hands into fists against the threat of defeat. If all those years of pretending to be normal taught me anything, it was how to pull myself together when it felt like I would fall apart. I stepped away from Ben and turned my back to him to wipe my face. “My father had a heart attack today.”

  Ben eased down on the edge of the mattress with a small creak. “I’m sorry.”

  “At least they can’t blame me for that one,” I grumbled.

  “They shouldn’t blame you for any of it,” he said. “You didn’t do anything.”

  “You know it as well as I do.” I bit the inside of my cheek. The Sandman first. I owed him a chance to explain as much as he owed me the explanation. I kicked off my sandals and sat down beside him. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.”

  He patted my pillow. “You look exhausted. Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

  It was more than exhaustion. Each cell in my body ached as if they wanted to cry as badly as I did. I sat down beside him, still in jean shorts and a loose T-shirt. I had no plans to change tonight; pajamas weren’t my choice attire for greeting any enemies that might show up. I eyed the sandals I took off. They would have been helpful, but I couldn’t put them back on now.