Shattered Dreams (Banshee Book 3)

by Sara Clancy

  He motioned for Benton to lie back down on the examining table. The sheets were comfortable and soft, but the mattress itself was like a strip of cardboard. Staring at the ceiling, Benton tried to relax as Kyle began to attach electrodes to different points around Benton’s temples.

  “So that will tell you what he’s dreaming?” Nicole asked.

  “Not exactly,” Kyle said as he began to turn on the machines. “When we sleep, we cycle through four stages of sleep. The first two are light stages while the second two are known as the REM stages. That just stands for ‘rapid eye movement’ and it is at that time that certain parts of our brain light up, our amygdala gets pumping, and the more rational parts of our brain go dormant. That’s why dreams are pictures and emotions instead of a series of logical events. Generally, nightmares and dreams happen during REM. These will help me measure Benton’s brain activity during these stages and how long he stays in each one.”

  “But how will you know if something’s wrong?” she asked.

  “You mean like a tumor?” he asked. “These can’t measure for a tumor. That’s a completely different machine.”

  “I don’t have a tumor,” Benton said sharply. “I had a brain scan six months ago. My brain is healthy.”

  Nicole rubbed his shoulder in a way that was both reassuring and condescending. He knew he should feel one or the other, but it just made him smile and he bit back a chuckle.

  “The most likely problem is that Benton isn’t transitioning from one sleep stage to the next like he should.”

  “And it won’t hurt him, right?”

  Benton lifted his hand, the iron bracelet slipping along his forearm, and he blindly reached back until he could find her. Her hand wrapped around his, a blazing fire to the chill that still encased him.

  “It’s just a monitoring system,” Benton assured. “I’ll be fine.” Her only response was to squeeze his hand before she continued her conversation with the doctor.

  “Why do you think he gets nightmares, anyway?” she asked. “I mean, more than anyone else?” It didn’t matter how much casualness she tried to force into her words, it still sounded completely forced and fake, at least to Benton’s ears. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, but he wasn’t quite sure what Nicole was fishing for. It wasn’t as if Kyle was going to turn around and declare his belief that Benton was a creature from an Irish folklore.

  “The same reason most people get nightmares,” Kyle replied. “His subconscious is working through some things. Although, there have been some studies that suggest some people are naturally more emotional, and more prone to nightmares. Is he the sensitive type?”

  “He can be very empathetic,” Nicole answered.

  “I can still hear you,” Benton said, only to be shushed quickly by Nicole.

  “Okay, Ben, you’re just about set.”

  From somewhere behind him, Benton heard Kyle pull a metal tray closer. It was a common, scraping clatter. That didn’t stop the sound from instantly flooding his mind with dark memories. It wasn’t that rare for serial killers to like to think of themselves just as skilled as surgeons were. His dreams had made him a witness, a participant, to their games of ‘doctor.’ He hated that noise and instantly balled his hands on the sheet under him.

  “Some people have been having trouble with the storm,” Kyle said, now standing to Benton’s right. “So we’ve brought in a sound machine to help you relax.”

  The lights flicked off, casting the room into murky gray shadows that shifted with every flash of lightning. Benton kept his eyes on the ceiling, kept his focus on breathing slowly, as Kyle plugged up the final device. Ever since this had begun, Benton had been fighting to keep his questions sealed in the darkest corners of his mind. Now, with the possibility of answers lurking closer, it was getting harder to keep them contained. His fingers tightened around the sheet until his knuckles ached, as if he could keep ahold of his stray thoughts if he just held on tight enough.

  A sharp click made him jolt, and almost instantly, a music box began to play. The tune was simple, rising and falling down along the scales, almost like a nursery rhyme put to a waltz. Colors splashed across the ceiling. They were pale, given the competing light, but he was still able to just make out the silhouettes of different animals as they drifted around the room.

  “Is this a kid’s night light?” Benton asked.

  “Ours broke and we don’t have the budget to replace it until the next fiscal year,” Kyle admitted.

  The curtains rasped as he pulled them down and drove the room into darkness. The silhouettes grew stronger. Blue horses in full gallop. Pink seahorses. A green bird with its wings spread out in flight.

  “Besides,” Kyle continued. “Soothing techniques are relatively the same for all ages. What works on us as a child works just as well on us as adults; we just tweak it a little.”

  Benton longed to tell him that he had definitely outgrown the need for a lullaby and pretty pictures. But his eyelids were already feeling heavy and his bones began to melt into the bed. Someone touched his hand. Benton was surprised when he moved his gaze from a golden lion to discover that it was Kyle, not Nicole. The doctor fixed a heart monitor over one of his fingers, the cuff fitting snugly, before his brow furrowed and he slowly turned Benton’s hand.

  “That’s a nasty burn,” Kyle whispered. As if he didn’t want the others to overhear. “How did you get that?”

  Even in his drifting state, the lie was easy. “I’d never been to a bonfire before and I seriously underestimated how hot a smoldering log can be.”

  The glow of the nightlight painted Kyle in constantly shifting shades of color, making it nearly impossible to read him.

  “You need to be more careful.”

  Benton forced a weak smile as Kyle drifted away. He didn’t see the doctor again, but someone draped a thick blanket over him and he was grateful for that. Already, the soft tune and relative calm was working to lull his weary mind. His eyelids drifted down, remaining just open enough that he could watch the parade of shapes. The tune filled his mind, and he drifted on a haze.

  The door clicked shut. He expected to hear only the music after that. Instead, footsteps came closer to his bed. Snapping his eyes open, he jolted back to reality, only to find Nicole standing at the side of his bed.

  “Scoot over,” she commanded.

  The bed was narrow and forced them both onto their sides if they were going to fit. She carefully placed herself around the cords that were littered across the expanse and settled down in front of him.

  “Wow,” she whispered as she squirmed for a better position. “You’d think that a sleep center would have more comfortable beds.”

  “There’s a child’s toy behind you.”

  “That, I like.”

  The tune continued to play on a loop, covering their whispers from any prying ears.

  “I’m supposed to be sleeping, you know,” he said.

  “I know. But we’re running out of time and you still haven’t.”

  His brow furrowed. “I just lied down now.”

  “That was two hours ago.”

  Benton blinked at her, watching the glow of the ghostly animals create a multicolored halo around her. “Two hours? It barely felt like a minute.”

  “Well, it was two hours and I’ve already fielded like five calls from your parents. There are only so many times they’ll believe me when I say we’re on the other side of the store. You need to sleep.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “We only have an hour left before we have to go,” Nicole insisted.

  “If I could, don’t you think I would?” Benton said.

  She paused for a moment. “Maybe not. I mean, if it were me, I wouldn’t be too keen to start dreaming about killing people again.”

  “Well, I’m not exactly looking forward to it,” Benton muttered. Since they were separated by only a few inches at most, it was hard to avoid her gaze. “Do you think I’ll dream about them all at once? Al
l the people that died because I didn’t dream in time to warn them?”

  “That’s not your fault, Benton,” she whispered.

  “Do you think they’ll see it that way? Maybe that’s why Allison and Oliver hate me. I didn’t help them.”

  “That’s silly,” she dismissed gently.

  “Is it? Collin seemed pretty chill and he was the only one that I wouldn’t have dreamt about.”

  Her hand slid into his. He felt the warmth of her body, both pleasant and excruciating, against his bitterly, cold fingers. “You help who you can and mourn with the rest. That’s called the human condition.”

  “I don’t think that’s the exact definition,” Benton mumbled.

  “Hush,” Nicole said with a slight smile.

  Benton didn’t return it. “Nic, have you ever thought that maybe I’m the reason these things happen?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Last night, I stumbled across a site talking about a tulpa. It’s when people can create something from nothing by sheer focus and mystical energy. They were talking about how, when a group of people have the same fear, and they focus all their energy into that fear, they can literally bring to life whatever they were worried about.”

  “You should not be allowed on the internet without my supervision,” Nicole joked.

  “I’m serious.”

  “You think that all of these murders never existed until you dreamed about them?”

  “No. But I’m not so sure that any of these monsters did. You said it yourself, this was a quiet place. I haven’t been here a year and things have gone to hell.”

  “You didn’t dream about the Dullahan until after he attacked us and killed…” her voice trailed off. Closing her eyes, she licked her lips and forced herself to continue. “Until after it killed Kimberly. You didn’t create it.”

  “What if I had drawn them in? What if my dreams are like blood in water to them? Maybe that’s what the symbol is really for.”

  “We’ve been over this. Professor Lester says that the symbol was used by an ancient cult to keep the death of paranormal creatures from luring others in,” Nicole explained again.

  “Why would a symbol, from a cult that was a dead religion before Rome was even a thing, be in my barn?” Benton asked. “Maybe Oliver was like me. Maybe his presence drew things into the town and that’s why they killed him.”

  “Or maybe the cult isn’t dead,” Nicole countered. “Maybe it’s just obscure. And sure, Oliver had to be something. That’s why they put the symbol there, but that doesn’t mean that he, or you, were affecting anything. All it means was that they thought his death might lure in other paranormal creatures.”

  “When someone dies of natural causes, they don’t end up buried in a barn. And what about the fire? The one that only burns me. It could be to keep me out.”

  “You’re forgetting that it didn’t affect the Dullahan,” she said.

  “So? Maybe I was the bigger threat. When a dam is breaking, you seal the crack, you don’t put down a bucket.”

  “If you’re the crack in that scenario, what exactly is the dam, then?” she asked.

  “You’re not listening to me.”

  “No, I’m not. Do you know why? Because no one should listen to the wild, fear-induced speculations of someone who hasn’t slept in two weeks. You’re not the cause of any of this.”

  His voice was weak as he challenged her. “Are you really so sure?”

  “I am. And I’m always right. So close your eyes.”

  Benton’s body instantly began to obey when he caught sight of a figure lingering within the corner. He jolted and would have sat if it weren’t for the tightening of Nicole’s grip.

  “I’m right here,” she whispered. “Just tell me what you see.”

  The consuming darkness congealed and formed into a mass of shadow and smoke. The edges of the figure trailed off and bled into the air while the stark, white disk of its face emerged. There was no definition to its features, but that didn’t stop Benton from feeling the now familiar presence of Death’s gaze.

  “It’s here,” Benton’s voice sounding low and solemn. He knew he didn’t need to specify. There was only one It that appeared with such regularity in his life that it no longer needed any real explanation. Even as Benton locked his gaze onto Nicole’s, the specter of Death lingered in the edges of his vision.

  “You know, manners don’t cost you anything,” Nicole chastised.

  “What do you want me to do? Say ‘hi’ and offer him a drink?”

  Nicole shrugged one shoulder. “It’s a start.”

  “It’s Death!” Benton retorted.

  “And you’re a banshee,” she said. “You two have a bond. And you would be dead right now, if It hadn’t helped me out. At the very least, you can you tell it I say ‘hello!’”

  Benton rolled his eyes, any motion making his head spin. She squeezed his hand again, the grip acting as an anchor that he clung to as the rest of his mind reeled and rocked. When the earth settled again, Death had drifted closer. Benton's heartbeat quickened until his blood rushed through his ears. Nicole’s thumb rubbed over his marred palm, tracing an endless pattern of figure eights.

  “It’s coming closer,” he said.

  Nicole told him again to close his eyes and, with a broken sigh, he obeyed. Even while his insides raged and boiled, he couldn’t keep the lead weight of his eyelids up. Still, he could feel Death lurking closer. It made it impossible to keep his breath from turning into short, sharp pants.

  “You’re safe,” Nicole whispered. “It’s just here to help.”

  Benton scoffed, but the sound didn’t come out of his throat. His attempt to tell her that there was no possible way that she could know what was being thwarted by his body’s exhausted rebellion. Her voice mingled with the music, almost becoming the words to a tune without lyrics. Each soothing whisper eased the ache inside of him. Every promise sounded to him like a siren’s call, drawing him deeper into himself. Death touched him. It wasn’t like the touch of a hand. It was like tar pouring over his skin, rising up from under him, encasing him, cradling him. Leaving him floating.

  Nicole’s words began to echo, as if her voice had extended downwards to reach him, as he began to sink into the shell of his skin. Tar poured down his throat, but he could still breathe. Temperature lost all meaning, as the thick sludge filled him, holding him gently as he plummeted down into unfathomable depths. Nicole’s words drifted away, spreading into oblivion. The music played some sweet notes and then, they too, were lost.

  ***

  He dreamed. A dream of an endless black void. A wasteland of sheer nothingness. He didn’t have a stranger’s hand, nor skin, nor eyes. His mind was his own and it too seemed to evaporate into the eternal. So he drifted, unable to move or speak. Unable to be certain that he even had a body of his own anymore.

  From somewhere that was both far beyond and right above him, a light began to shine and the darkness receded. It bubbled and dripped. It bled away to reveal a place he had never been. A place of land and sky and yet was still nothing. Nowhere. Wind began to blow, rushing across and through his shapeless form, howling in his ears like an enraged beast. It would have been impossible to withstand the onslaught if his body was intact.

  The hurricane gales grew and shattered, becoming shards of glass against his mind, sweeping the land that was something and nothing, dragging a looming wall of white smoke behind it. The clouds rose up like a tidal wave and rushed towards him, its surface swelling, and crawling as if a swarm of deformed creatures was contained within the cloud. Then he heard the laughter.

  A thousand voices were conversing over each other. Each distinct. Each part of the whole. They all dripped with an unhinged, unbridled malice. The air howled. It cackled and shrieked. It giggled with frenzied bloodlust that, for all the horrors his mind had absorbed, he couldn’t begin to fathom.

  The wall of madness was now only a few yards before him. It consumed
his vision. Writhing as it hunted him down. Fear kept his disbelieving eyes open as the smoke stretched into gigantic faces. Their eyes burned as points of crimson red within their gaping sockets. The bones bulged and twisted under their milky, transparent skin. Their mouths were their dominating feature. As each one opened its jaws to join in on their depraved laughter of the chorus, he could see rows of needlelike teeth filling the space.

  The storm hit and each one of the horde spiraled down upon him to consume his soul.

  Chapter 6

  Nicole felt it the second he finally drifted off to sleep. His body went limp on the thin mattress and his hand became a dead weight within her own. Still, she waited a few extra moments, just to make sure that her movements wouldn’t wake him. When his breathing became even and deep, she slowly slipped her hand from his own and crept off of the bed. It was hard not to get tangled up in the wires, especially with a shifting colored light being the only ray to see by. But eventually she was free and able to tiptoe back out of the room.

  A two-way mirror allowed for anyone in the control room to monitor the sleeper without disrupting them. It was a tiny room, barely able to fit Kyle along with the equipment, so the door had to remain open to accommodate the addition of Dorothy. As Nicole gently closed the examination room door behind her, she only needed to glance down the hall to meet her mother’s smile.

  “Good job,” Dorothy said, leaning back against the doorframe of the control room.

  “I think exhaustion did most of the work,” Nicole replied. “He just needed to calm down for second.”

  She jogged the remaining steps that separated them, anxious to see what was happening on the wall of monitors. There wasn’t enough space in the room for a chair, so Kyle was forced to hunch and rest his hands on the tabletop. His attention was fixed on one monitor. Little lines fluttered across the screen, mapping out things Nicole wasn’t able to decipher.