The Dream Awakened

by Leann M Rettell

  Malcolm shivered as the fear in the dream seeped through his limbs, leaving him in a cold sweat.

  The waiter stepped up to the table, a young man with the vaguest hint of a mustache growing above his lip. “Any dessert for you all this evening?”

  “No. Thank you,” Debbie said.

  “Very well. Would you like me to box the rest of your meal for you?”

  “That would be lovely.” Debbie placed her fork on the table and handed her plate to the waiter. Malcolm did the same. Once he’d moved away, Debbie asked, “While it was certainly a creepy dream, she would’ve broken up with him over it?”

  Malcolm considered, not realizing how he could sense the emotions and motivations behind such decisions. “They’d almost gotten caught while out on a date. She wanted to call it off, at least until she finished school, but he convinced her to stay together. She would’ve taken that as a sign.”

  “Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “What’s that?”

  “The report said if you hadn’t stolen her dream, she would’ve married another man who abused her and would end up beating her to death. You said they beat her before she died. She couldn’t avoid that terrible fate.” Debbie’s face turned contemplative. “I don’t get how Aelia is picking which targets she kills and which she leaves alone. Shouldn’t there be a reason or a connection? Like she’s trying to undo what you already did, but without an underlying bigger picture?”

  Malcolm sucked in a breath. “That gives me an idea. With Dharma Knight, Aelia alluded to wanting to terminate targets so the future would be avoided. She did it to make sure the future is changed for the better. That explains Wu Sun and Tobias Miller, but the rest have been different. The rest are trying to undermine the dream thieves, but that doesn’t make sense. What if the rest aren’t Aelia? We should look into the man Tara would’ve ended up marrying as well as the Schneider Corporation.”

  Debbie lifted her hands, not understanding. “You’ll have to refresh my memory.”

  “Tara and Jim were supposed to stay together so they could buy controlling stakes in the Mayer Company, which later takes over the Schneider Corporation. They were going to lose billions.”

  The waiter reappeared with their food wrapped up and in a bag. Malcolm handed over a credit card. “Perhaps I’m barking up the wrong tree, but we have to check.”

  Malcolm’s phone rang. The screen read private caller. He picked it up, puzzled. “Hello?”

  A deep male voice said, “Malcolm Anderson?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you don’t want anything to happen to that sweet thing across the table from you, my boss recommends you back off the Tara Booth case.”

  “Who is this?” Malcolm leaned forward, twisting in the chair to scan the other customers in the restaurant.

  “Consider this your first warning.”

  The line went dead.

  12

  Debbie screamed as she entered their hotel room several days later. Malcolm dashed forward, seeing the source of the sudden panic. A severed bloody finger had been placed on one of the pillows. Debbie reeled back, burying her face in his chest. His arms encircled hers on instinct as he rubbed her back.

  “Oh god. Oh god. Oh god,” she murmured into his shoulder, her words muffled.

  His own pulse raced, but not in fear like Debbie’s. No, his beat like a drum of an ancient war song, mimicking the rage coursing through him at the audacity and violation. Three days ago some prick had called him, warning them off the case. He had little doubt this was a second warning.

  Debbie wanted to back off, at least some until they figured out this new turn of events, but Malcolm refused. “We’re here to investigate her murder, to see who is responsible for murdering our targets. I won’t stop. It’s only a scare tactic.”

  If a little thirty-second phone call had been enough to make Debbie want to retreat, he knew she’d want to be on the first plane back to North Carolina after this. Debbie stepped back from him, keeping her gaze cast down, avoiding catching a glimpse of the finger. “It’s real. Isn’t it?”

  “I’d guess so.”

  “Why would they do something like this?”

  Unease settled deep in Malcolm. “They don’t want anyone investigating any further into Tara’s death.” Debbie touched the side of his face, dragging his attention away from the churning thoughts trying to take hold.

  “Do we have to be here to investigate this?”

  He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “These murders are happening all over the world. I have a feeling we’d get similar messages no matter where we were, but if you want to leave, I won’t stop you. I could call in one of the others to escort you to one of our safe houses.”

  His words broke through the fear. “Safe houses?”

  “Yes. We have many all over the world. Popping up where people are sleeping isn’t always safe. We could be running from all manner of people. We like to have places to hole up in if needed, to replenish and recuperate. No one will touch you in one of those.”

  Debbie shuddered. “No, I don’t want to leave you. I just don’t know if I can stay here anymore.”

  He guided her to him, kissing her on the forehead. He let his finger trace the soft line of her jaw, tilting her head to meet his. “Do you feel safe enough to go down to the lobby alone and check us out?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I’ll stay here, take care of that,” he lifted his chin toward the bed, “and pack our stuff. I won’t be more than ten minutes. Fifteen at the most.”

  “Alright.” She gulped, the hallway lights casting a sickly yellow pallor to her skin.

  “Good. Wait for me in the lobby. Okay, love?”

  She nodded, squeezing his hand once, and left the room. He followed her, making sure she reached the elevator safely. Her haunted look stayed with him as the door closed. He hurried back to the room and called Halek via the FaceTime button. While he waited for him to answer, he shoved their clothes into the suitcase, not bothering to fold or organize. No answer. He swore and hit the redial button. He finished packing, cursing all the while as he tried for the fourth time to get Halek.

  The phone connected. An irritated face glared back at him. “What the hell Gab? I was in a movie.”

  Fury laced through him at the words. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought something like this…” he switched the camera’s focus and stomped over to point it at the severed digit on the pillow, “was a little more important.”

  “Jesus! Is that what I think it is?”

  Malcolm flipped the camera back. “If you think it’s a bloody severed finger, then yes, it is!”

  Halek, complexion peaked, swept the blond locks away from his forehead. “Whose is it?”

  “Question of the hour. A few days ago I got a call. The guy warned me to back off the Tara Booth case. Now this. They’re connected.”

  Malcolm could already see Halek’s mind working. “Send me the number. I’ll see if I can find anything, but this far out,” Halek clicked his tongue. “I doubt I’ll get much.”

  “You won’t. It was a private number. What should I do about the finger?”

  “I’ve got ideas, but you should run it through the Librarian.”

  Obadiah’s title rang like a bell, still not the power it’d once held, but nevertheless, Malcolm sensed a thrum of vibration at the word. “I will. You’ll tell me as soon as you find out anything?”

  “Yes. Since the number was blocked I’m going to take a peek inside your phone and the cell towers. If you see anything glitchy that’ll be me.” The line disconnected. Malcolm cursed himself for not calling Halek when it happened. He dialed Obadiah. A sleepy voice answered. “Hmm.”

  “Librarian.”

  “I’m here. What’s going on?” All traces of sleep vanished at the title. Malcolm relayed the events of the last few days.

  Obadiah listened without interruption. As Malcolm’s words trailed off, Obadiah sighed, long and heavy. “Who has Aelia gotten in
volved with?”

  Malcolm kept his mouth shut, not trusting himself to speak of his former Librarian turned psycho.

  “It’s worse than we thought. I’ve been combing through the files. So far as I can tell, Aelia started double encrypting the files two months before your missed dream.”

  The sensation of plunging into arctic waters headfirst crashed through Malcolm. They’d all assumed Aelia ordered the elimination of Caelieus’s targets because they’d been connected to Dharma Knight. He’d hoped, deep down, they’d find a reason for everything, hoped her actions were to help humanity, in a sick and twisted way, but with good intentions. Now, the last dregs of hope vanished in the winds. What else was she hiding?

  “Two months prior?”

  “Yes. I still can’t find any rhyme or reason for it.”

  “Any murders before Miller and Sun?”

  “No. They were the first. In the beginning, the targets were killed, if not painlessly. At least whoever did it made it quick, but then Merang and Booth were different. With each subsequent target, they’re missing longer and being tortured before they’re murdered.”

  A bright flash of Tara’s memories jumped into his mind, making the hotel room vanish for an instant. A cold, dreadful thought came to him. “Is Aelia trying to reverse the dreams? Trying to end the world?”

  Obadiah’s reply took a long time to come. “It looks that way. Perhaps being the Librarian for so long drove her mad and she wants out?”

  Malcolm squeezed his eyes shut, fighting away the betrayal. “What should I do about Tara Booth? The finger?”

  “I’m going to send Makir to you. You need someone more attuned to law enforcement. She might be able to pull some strings to get more information. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. You’ll need to get the finger to Nimue so she can run an analysis. See if she can figure out who it belonged to.”

  “How can she do that?” Malcolm’s cell rang. Debbie’s name appeared on the screen. He ignored it, instead brought up his text messages. He typed quickly. “Be right down. All okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Try not to touch it, and get it on ice,” Obadiah’s voice sounded from far away.

  Malcolm grabbed the lined ice bucket and headed down the hall to fill it up. “This is fucking insane!”

  Obadiah laughed. “Yeah. It’s a crazy world we live in. Call me when you’re out of the room.”

  Reopening the door to their room, Malcolm took the filled bag of ice and a piece of tissue. He tossed the tissue over the bloody appendage, picked it up, shivering at the cold hardness of the thing. He shoved it into the ice bag and tied the bag closed with a knot. Not knowing what else to do, he dropped the finger in the trash can, using the empty bag to double seal it again, before pushing it into his suitcase. He seriously didn’t want the thing near his toothbrush, but he’d be damned if he’d put it in his pocket.

  He grabbed the last of their things and slammed the door behind him.

  13

  Hours later, Malcolm dragged himself and their bags into a new room in a different hotel. Debbie huddled in an overlarge chair, hugging herself, staring out through the thick baby blue curtains. Nothing could shake her nagging anxiety since spotting the severed finger on the bed.

  Malcolm couldn’t blame her, but his reaction wasn’t fear; instead, rage and disgust ruled. He was disgusted and enraged for the violation of their room, the torture of whomever the finger belonged to, and the audacity of having to haul the appendage around in his suitcase. He’d kept that last bit of knowledge from Debbie, and he’d been glad she hadn’t asked what he’d done with it.

  He tossed the bags on the ground by the dresser and flopped onto the queen-sized bed, leaving the other vacant. The soft down blanket cooled his overheated skin from carrying the bags. He wanted nothing more than to crawl under the comforter, snuggle next to Debbie, and sleep for several uninterrupted hours and not have to think about anything. At that moment, his stomach growled. Debbie smiled, and he snatched a pillow, covering his face. The bed shifted as Debbie crawled next to him and repositioned his pillow under his head. She curled close to him, resting her head in the crook of his arm, stretching her limbs to cuddle close. She molded to his body as if she’d been made for him. He wrapped his arms around her as his stomach growled again. “This thing has a mind of its own!”

  Debbie placed her hand over top his, and he moved to intertwine his fingers with hers. “Yes, it does.”

  “You want to go out? Get room service?”

  “Pizza?”

  Guilt wormed through him. How he could think of eating after finding a severed finger made him question his values, but despite what his head thought, his mouth watered at the thought of warm, cheesy pizza, with zesty pepperoni and soft, chewy crust. “Mmmm, pepperoni?”

  “And a supreme.” She inched away from him, straightening her turquoise skirt down, which had bunched over the black silky panties. She let it fall over her long, porcelain legs.

  His body responded, growing hard at the sight as she bent over to remove one shoe then the other. She straightened, lips curling at the sight of his arousal bulging underneath his jeans. “It appears as if your stomach is not the only thing with a mind of its own.”

  The stress of the day caught up with him, and he needed to direct his pent-up energy, needed to focus it and turn it into a connection to the woman he loved.

  He sat up swiftly, pulling her toward him, and allowed himself to grasp her tiny waist and run his fingertips down over the soft silk to cup her backside. With each squeeze and fondle, he grew harder. His breath caught as he let his teeth graze along her breast through the fabric. She moaned as he glided her panties down her legs and lifted her shirt, moving the bra out of the way to get full access to her heavy breasts. He ran his tongue along the hardened nipple and blew, watching the skin wrinkle in response.

  His body surged with need. He wanted all of her right now. He needed to forget everything and bury himself inside her. He scooped her up, tossing her on the bed. Her startled cry barely registered as he parted her legs and bent his head to feast on her. The scent of her drove him mad as his tongue caressed down her opening and around her clit. He watched her body shudder before him. He bent down to lick and suck at the ball of nerves at her apex. She moaned and wiggled underneath him. “Oh, Malcolm. Yes. This is what I needed. I want you inside me.”

  He obliged, sliding in two fingers deep into her hot center. He moved in and out in time with the lapping of his tongue. Her hips rocked in rhythm with him. “No. I want you. Please. You.” Despite her words, she continued to rock, arching her back to give him better access. He loved hearing her beg.

  With his free hand, he undid the button and zipper on his jeans, pulling them down, moving from one side to the other. The cool hotel air shocked him as he sprang free of the constraints of the tight denim. Relentless, he continued the maddening suckling of her body until her inner muscles began to tighten and quiver. He jerked upward, grabbed her by the hips, and positioned her on the bed. Before she could get her bearings, he buried himself deep within her, thrusting over and over, until she shattered, screaming his name.

  He stopped to look at her: hair tousled, sweat clinging to the side of her head, face flushed, with hard nipples pointing. She pouted. “I want more.”

  A wicked, possessive smile overcame him as he rolled her over, slamming inside her again. This time he allowed both of them to savor the feeling of being together before he began to move. He could feel the climax building in him, heightened by the sight of her taut nipples and her moans each time he filled her, and the wetness trickled over him. With a final thrust, he tumbled over the edge when a husky female voice spoke behind him. “Well, isn’t this a surprise?”

  14

  Debbie screamed and floundered away, grabbing the comforter and flinging it over herself. Malcolm, mid-orgasm, could do nothing but attempt to shield himself from Makir’s view as his hands grew sticky.


  The dark-skinned, dominating woman rolled her almond-shaped eyes, dropping a black duffel onto the ground, and stalked into the bathroom. She flipped on the switch. Malcolm caught sight of the white shower curtain against the shimmering white tiles. Makir returned, tossing Malcolm a white towel. He caught it with a free hand, cleaning himself off.

  “Hmm, you have a dick now?” Makir raised one eyebrow. Her no-nonsense attitude and almost-amused tone made it seem as if she didn’t care, but the glacial stare set Malcolm’s teeth on edge. The black leather jacket, tight dark blue jeans, and black boots with multiple silver straps only boosted the air of danger.

  “Yes. About that.”

  Makir held up a hand and turned her attention to Debbie. “Sorry to startle you, love. You must be Debbie.”

  Debbie nodded, glancing between Malcolm and Makir. Debbie righted her bra and shirt under the blankets. Her panties were unseen.

  Makir winked. “Nothing to fear from me, gorgeous.”

  Malcolm jutted his chin toward Makir. “Debbie, this is Makir. Makir, meet Debbie.”

  Makir strutted to the bed, moving like a lithe cat, and slid on the bed, never taking her eyes off Debbie. “How do you do? I go by Detective Madison Asher these days. Isn’t that right, Gabriel?”