I must be dreaming.
To test the theory, I dug my fingernails into my arm. Okay, not dreaming, but something wasn’t right. The blue drink from hell must produce hallucinations because the guy I’d dreamed about for years had his arms around me, and I was very much awake.
“Don’t worry about it.” He glanced down at his soiled jacket and winced. “I’ll live.”
I opened my mouth and willed a word out—any word—but couldn’t find my voice.
He lowered his arms and stepped back, watching me carefully as if he believed I might crumble to the floor. “You okay?”
“I’m okay,” I mumbled. Not okay. Not okay at all. I’ve finally succumbed to insanity.
His gaze fell to his jacket again. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna grab some paper towels.”
As soon as he disappeared into the men’s restroom, I bolted.
2. Pinch Me . . . I Must Be Dreaming
My dreams held me prisoner in fragmented horror. Sound bites of tortured pleas . . . a flash of waves trailing down the naked curve of a woman’s back . . . rope securing bloodied hands and feet, circling a slender throat . . . the click of a lighter, its flames licking exposed flesh.
I wasn’t sure which turned my stomach more—the torture, or the endless screaming, reminiscent of a lobster boiled alive. The noose tightened around her neck, silencing her permanently. I willed my eyes open, but the dream wouldn’t let go. Another scene unfolded.
Masked faces crowding around me, pushing and shoving. Not much different from masquerade night, yet different in so many ways. These faces displayed an array of paint; ghoulish masks and costumes to match . . . sexy personas . . . ugly rubber monster faces.
In the middle of the funhouse chaos stood the man I’d dreamed about countless times. He turned away, but not before I glimpsed despair in his eyes. He staggered down the uneven sidewalk, heavy boots crunching over a layer of leaves as a blanket of fog surrounded us. The haze obscured the glow of the few jack o’lanterns that dotted the street, and I realized which night played out in my dream.
Halloween . . . still a week away.
He disappeared from sight, and I hastened my steps until I found him halfway down an alley where a dark figure attacked him. Blood spurted from his head in gruesome vividness, spattering the canvas of my mind in crimson.
I jerked awake, heart pounding as sweat and tears dampened my face, and rolled over to face the clock. Six-fifteen. I went over the previous night, searched through the haze of alcohol-influenced memories, and retrieved that first shocking moment when I’d come face to face with him. Had he really been there? Part of me wondered if I’d imagined the whole thing.
The eerie silence of my bedroom unnerved me almost as much as the nightmares. I missed the familiar noises of home—sounds I hadn’t realized were in the background until they were gone. The weekend party animals, laughing and occasionally singing or arguing, but always present every Friday and Saturday night. The early morning commuters humming along the highway. Anything to chase away the dreams.
They’d taken a frightening turn during the last few weeks. I didn’t want to believe they held any significance, but my track record with the bizarre was hard to discount. Since going back to sleep was futile at this point, I kicked off the covers and pulled on a pair of sweats. As I pushed my feet into my slippers, raised voices filtered in through the window I’d cracked open. I rushed outside and found Six standing in her doorway, a red satin sheet grasped to her chest.
“Get out of here!” She flung a shoe at her latest conquest. He ducked but didn’t quite manage to escape the shoe’s mate. “I mean it, Kevin!” A dark T-shirt joined the shoes.
“What’s your problem?” Glaring at her, he pulled the shirt over his tousled head of brown hair. I recognized him from last night. He’d been with another guy, and I’d placed them both into the hunky gym category. “You think you can do better than this, babe?” Kevin stepped back and spread his arms.
“I’m not your babe.”
“What you are is not worth it.” He stomped toward Six and pulled a condom from his pocket. “For your next fuck,” he sneered, tossing it at her feet, “in case you find a willing moron.”
“You’re the moron!”
I rushed to Six’s side just as a black Toyota pickup jerked to a stop in the driveway. The other guy from the hunky gym duo hopped out and joined the drama. Judging by his damp, sandy blond hair and fitness garb, he’d come straight from the gym.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“I need a ride. The chick went psycho.”
Six growled. “I’ll show you psycho, you sick fuc—”
“Calm down.” I placed a hand on her arm and addressed Gym Guy. “You need to get your friend out of here.”
A set of stunning blue eyes twinkled at me. “Sure thing.” He flashed a wide grin as he pulled Kevin toward the truck. “See you around,” he called out before hopping into the driver’s seat. Kevin sent one last glare in our direction as they left the driveway.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
Six nodded. “How much of that did you see?”
I bit back a smile. “Enough. You sure know how to start a day.”
“Sorry about that.” She ran a shaky hand through her bedroom hair.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No, nothing like that. Kevin’s a jerk.” She paused, and an impish grin spread across her face. “But damn if that man can’t use his tongue.”
“Not a good mental picture, Six.”
She laughed. “Sorry. Come in—least I can do is make some coffee.” She bent to retrieve the condom and the morning paper and then tossed them on the couch as she headed for the bedroom.
The studio was tiny, though she’d gotten creative with the space. A tall row of bookshelves sectioned off where she slept from the sitting area. Splashes of red added color—from the filmy curtain on the window in the living room to the throw pillows on her futon. She reappeared a couple minutes later wearing a black dress that swished against her ankles.
“What happened to you last night?” She switched on the coffee pot.
“Do you want the long story or the short?” I picked up the newspaper and joined her at the small dinette.
“Start with the short,” she said. “My attention span stinks before I’ve had coffee.”
I fiddled with the paper’s thin edges and thought about the previous night. “I kinda . . . puked all over this guy.” Not just any guy.
“You didn’t!”
“I did. Then I hightailed it out of there as soon as he went into the men’s room.” I pushed the paper aside and buried my face in my hands. “I am such an idiot.”
“And a lightweight.”
I lifted my head, indignant, but the teasing glint in her jade eyes pacified me.
“So what did he look like? Have you seen him at the Pour House?” she asked, referring to the tavern where we both worked as bartenders.
“No, never seen him before.” Not in the flesh anyway. I glanced at the headline on the front page, and the words jumped out at me:
Woman’s body found hanging near Diamond Lake.
* * *
The atmosphere at the Pour House remained unchanged, despite news of the murder. Customers ordered their usuals, laughed over a game of pool, and got obnoxious after drinking a few too many. The media hadn’t released the name of the victim yet, but I couldn’t help but dwell on her identity. I wondered if she’d had long and wavy hair like the woman in my dream. Had she been raped? Burned? The sick feeling in my stomach wouldn’t abate; it intensified as the night wore on.
“Anyone home in there?”
Startled, I met Six’s speculative gaze. “Sorry. I’m zoning again, aren’t I?”
“Wanna talk about it?” She wiped the counter, cleaning an already gleaming surface.
“No, I’m fine . . . just tired.”
Six nodded toward the front entrance. “Maybe Mr. Blond-and-Interest
ed will perk you up.” She winked in typical fashion and dashed away as Kevin’s friend approached.
“I was hoping to find you here.”
I stifled a groan. “Hi.” His name escaped me, though his roving eye didn’t.
“I’m Brad.” He extended his hand. “You probably don’t remember me from last night.” His hand folded around mine, and an uncomfortable sensation settled over me.
“No, I remember,” I said, resisting the urge to squirm. “I’m surprised to see you here. I figured High Times was more your scene.” I moved a couple feet down the bar and picked up an abandoned glass. Ice cubes clinked together like wind chimes. Brad followed my every move.
“High Times is lacking in cute bartenders,” he teased. “I thought I’d drop in and say hello. You didn’t give me much of a chance last night, and after this morning, well . . . I didn’t want to leave under such bad circumstances. Kevin can be a real ass.”
I couldn’t help but wonder why someone so confident and good-looking would be interested in someone like me. Plain and boring . . . damaged. I suddenly felt out of place, much too jaded for my age and swimming in a sea of older, more experienced and interesting people.
Like Six, who reappeared and leaned over the bar. She raked her eyes over Brad’s body, and I had to smile. She never passed on an opportunity to ogle. Ever.
“Mac wouldn’t give you a chance, huh? Don’t feel bad—she didn’t give any of the others the time of day either.” Of course she’d been listening. When it came to the opposite sex, her ears operated on steroids. Or maybe it was my love life she couldn’t resist sticking her nose into. I almost snorted. What love life?
“Mac? Is that what you go by?” he asked. “It suits you.”
I shuddered. “No. No way. Six just has a death wish,” I warned, shooting her a glare.
“Ah, never mind her.” She waved off the threat. “Mac’s too sweet to dish out payback.”
Brad aimed a brilliant grin at me. “Sweet enough to say yes to dinner?”
“Of course she will,” she answered before I could open my mouth.
“Six!”
“She’s just shy.”
“I’m standing right here, guys. No need to talk over my head.” I squared my shoulders and met Brad’s blue eyes. “You seem like a decent guy, so I’m gonna give it to you straight. I don’t date.” No way would I put myself through that pain again. As it was, memories of Joe fed off my heart like a rabid animal. I needed time to heal, though I had to admit that serving time on the healing wagon sucked. Dating sucked even more.
“Won’t give a guy a chance, huh?” Brad arched a brow.
I shrugged. “I’m sorry.”
“Brutal,” Six said under her breath.
I planted my hands on my hips. “The place isn’t hopping yet, but I’m sure someone’s waiting for a refill,” I told her.
“Gee, a few weeks of working here and the bossy pants are already on.” She softened her words with a smile. “Okay, I’ll get lost.” She treated Brad to another one of her stunning grins. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said.
I shuffled my feet and tried not to squirm under his gaze. “Well, thanks for stopping by, but I should get back to work.”
“Yeah, sure. You don’t be a stranger now.” He gave me a hopeful smile, and I wondered if he’d heard a word I’d said. “I’ll see you later, Mac.”
Apparently not.
I lifted my hand in a noncommittal wave. After Brad left, the hours ticked by and the number of customers multiplied. It was a typical Saturday night for any bar, even in the dead of October. I was in the middle of making a lemon drop when someone pulled the door open. I raised my head, about to greet the newcomer, but dropped the glass instead.
Holy shit.
The veil between reality and dreamland disappeared, and I gawked at the man standing in the doorway. Wind blew his dark hair into those incredible eyes I couldn’t erase from my mind. I dug my fingernails into my skin for the second time in twenty-four hours. Nope, still not dreaming, only this time I was completely sober.
3. Goodbye Apathy
I had my first psychic dream when I was nine. Psychic implied power, and powerful wasn’t a word I’d use to describe myself. I couldn’t foretell the future or conjure visions at will, but I couldn’t think of a more fitting word to describe what I sometimes saw in my dreams. At nine the dream had been inconsequential, though it had been the first. Fourth grade had been half over when Joe walked into Mrs. Silverstein’s class. For every ounce of shyness I possessed, he excelled at standing out. And for some unfathomable reason, he chose to stand out next to me.
I hadn’t told anyone how I’d seen him coming. Joe and I were inseparable those first few weeks, and I finally broke down and fessed up about the dream; he’d laughed me off the playground. He hadn’t meant to be mean. Looking back, I considered his reaction a favor because he’d been right. Such claims were crazy. Even at nine, I hadn’t wanted to be termed a freak. Over the years, my dreams became more active and detailed, and for a while I grew apathetic toward them, convincing myself they weren’t a big deal.
Now I was far from apathetic. It was like experiencing that first dream all over again—only times ten. The door swung shut with a bang, jolting me out of my stupor, and someone chose that moment to break a rack on the pool table. A new song started on the jukebox, the melody as languid as the spilt liquid slowly inching toward the cupboards underneath the counter. I stood frozen in my drenched sneakers, forgetting about the order that needed filled, heck, forgetting to breathe.
Height-wise, I put him around six feet. Thick, dark hair brushed his ears—the kind of hair I ached to sink my fingers into. He’d replaced the brown leather jacket with a black one, and I couldn’t decide which color suited him better.
Suddenly, his gaze shot to mine. I panicked and ducked behind the counter, using the mess at my feet as an excuse. Alarm bells went off in my head. Shit, shit, shit! Would he recognize me from last night? Was I destined to be remembered as the girl who’d puked on him in a bar?
“What happened?” Six bent down and helped me pick up the glass. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I hissed. “It’s him.”
“Who?”
“The guy I puked on!”
Her eyes widened. “That’s the guy?”
“Yeah.” I stood and kept my back to the entrance as I dumped the glass into a trashcan. “I need to grab a broom and mop,” I said, already envisioning my escape through the swinging doors leading to the backroom. The thought of facing him terrified me, and I wasn’t altogether sure why. I should be eager to talk to him, to find out who he was—find out why he’d lived in my dreams for so long.
Six grabbed my arm. “I’ll do it. He’s coming this way. Go talk to him.” She gave me a mischievous grin.
“Six!”
“Remember the guy I wanted you to meet? The hot newbie?” She pushed me further away and blocked the path. “Well that’s him,” she explained upon my blank stare. “His name’s Aidan. Now go talk to him.”
“He’ll recognize me.”
“No he won't.” Her attention darted behind me, and I assumed he’d arrived at the bar. She lowered her voice. “You had your mask on, right?”
I swallowed a groan and nodded. Once she vanished into the back, I turned around and tried to convince myself he was just an ordinary customer. Nothing special about him.
Right.
“I’ll be right with you.” Coward. You can’t even look him in the eye. I told the voice in my head to shut up and went to mix another lemon drop, and his name became a mantra.
Aidan.
By the time I set the cocktail on the counter, barely registering the customer waiting impatiently in front of me, my hands were shaking. Aidan’s presence blasted me with the force of desert heat, and it took everything I had to feign casual when I approached him. “What can I get you?” Was that my voice sounding so normal?
He looked up and seemed to search my face for an agonizing second, and my mouth went dry. He recognizes you . . .
“I’ll have a Coke.”
“Sure.” I hurried away to fill his request. Six reappeared from the back and began cleaning up the sticky mess. Her eyes traveled between Aidan and me, as if to ask “did you talk to him?” I gave an imperceptible shake of my head and almost dropped another glass. When I returned to Aidan, I had a death grip on his soda.
“Thanks,” he said as I set his drink on the counter. A hint of a smile graced his mouth, enough of a tease to indicate how devastating a full-fledged grin would be.
“No problem.” I cleared my throat. “So . . . Six says you’re new in town.”
“Six?” His dark brows scrunched over eyes full of intensity.
“Yeah,” I said, pointing to my friend, “Six.” She kept her attention on the mop, though I knew she was listening to every word. “She said she recognized you from High Times.” Better to put the focus on her. She hadn’t spewed blue crap all over him.
“The redhead?” He briefly glanced at Six with something close to amusement. “Yeah, I remember her.” His gaze never wavered from mine as he sipped from his glass. I lost my breath. What was it about this guy that twisted my insides into a pretzel? Why couldn’t I be more like Six, who never had a problem talking to men?
“How long have you been in Watcher’s Point?” I asked.
“Not long.” His expression shuttered, telling me no more than his two-word reply.
“I moved here about a month ago,” I said. “It’s a nice town.” Lame-o. Why don’t you bring up the weather and add “Loser” to your social resume? Had I wasted so much time on Joe that I wasn’t experienced enough to simply talk to a guy?
“I’m kind of passing through,” he said after a beat, and I wondered if he was bored, or maybe uncomfortable with small talk. “What do I owe you?”
“Excuse me?”
His mouth twitched, as if holding back a grin. “For the drink?”
Epiphany (Legacy of Payne) Page 2
