by Su Williams
Nick nodded. “Essentially, yes, that’s about it. Sabre informed me when I went out to see what the problem was.”
“Did you call the police to let them know where to find this Rico?”
“No. I figured Jesse should do it. Maybe that will help him redeem himself. In your eyes and his.”
“I don’t blame Jess. He’s always been very sweet to me, like a brother looking after his kid sister.”
Nick chuckled. “Most brothers don’t think about their kid sisters the way Jesse thinks about you.”
I groaned and snuggled up to Nick’s shoulder, still shaken and on edge. I didn’t want to think about poor Jesse anymore tonight. It hurt my head and my heart. This sucked on so many levels. He was my friend. A very close friend, but to me that was all. I hadn’t known he was carrying a torch for me until recently. I just thought he was charming and flirted with all the girls at work, but nothing ever went beyond that. It must have been difficult for him to see me with Nick, to see that after the assault and everything he had done for me, I ended up in the arms of another man. Then, to discover his own brother attacked and brutalized me—I could only imagine what he was going through—humiliation, rage, guilt. I wondered if he would ever talk to me again, if I could ever talk to him again.
“Oh my god!” My voice pitched high and hysterical and I launched out of Nick’s arms. “He said it, too. Jesse said he would kill the guy who attacked me. What if he kills his own brother?”
“Em, he won’t,” Nick tried to reassure me. “Generally, when we give a specific command, that command is followed to the letter. I told Jesse to call the police on his brother.” He glanced at the clock. “By now, he’s made that call, his brother has been arrested and Jesse is downtown being questioned.”
“You sure?” I needed assurance. The last thing I wanted was for Jesse to go to jail for the murder of his brother, even if it was justifiable homicide. What haunted me even worse was the idea that his much-bigger brother might hurt Jesse.
“Yes, Em. I’m sure. Jesse will do only what I told him to do.”
I settled back against the security and warmth of Nick’s chest, the hardness of his muscles both a comfort and a concern to me.
Nick hummed, soft and sweet. He pressed my head against his chest, whispered reassurances. I squeezed my eyes closed and relaxed into him. Sleep found me surprisingly fast, and I drifted into REM, where even my dreams were perilous.
Sabre advanced on Rico, his hand crushed Rico’s throat. Rico gasped and spluttered, his face glowed crimson. Serves him right, the son of a bitch, I thought as I looked on. Sabre was a seasoned warrior against foe far superior to mere humans. He pinned Rico to the wall with little effort. Sabre snarled, looking positively lethal. It looked as though he would snap the man’s neck with his bare hands. Nick’s concern over the same thing radiated from him, a fear that Sabre might push it too far and actually kill him. Nick placed his hand on Sabre’s shoulder. It was true. Sabre did want to kill him. Nick dug his fingers in. ‘Enough!’ but Sabre shrugged him off. Nick grasped him again.
Nick’s head cocked slightly, like listening to a small noise. I felt his heart gallop and his stomach turn to stone. Sabre was re-weaving the memory of the assault in Rico’s mind. He manipulated what really happened, warped it into an assault on Rico instead of me, injected all the pain and terror into him, and enhanced the rage and brutality of his faceless attacker. If I hadn’t known before what really took place while my mind was on shut down, now I knew; I saw every mind-numbing memory in stark cruel detail.
Nick pulled Sabre away. “Enough!”
Sabre shoved Nick’s hand away violently. “An eye for an eye,” he growled.
The rapist slid down the wall to sit on the floor, his mouth agape, his eyes staring blindly, terrified of the images and sensations that bombarded his mind. Horror filled his features, small whimpers escaped his throat. He cringed as if from blows.
“Stop it, James!” Nick ordered Sabre.
“Stop it yourself!” Sabre shoved Nick aside.
“Sabre…” Nick advanced on him.
“Relax, it’s temporary. It’ll go away in an hour or two. Better than I can say for your little toy.” Nick flinched. Sabre leaned into Rico’s face, “Get use to it, there’ll be plenty of that for you where you’re going.” He snarled at Rico one last time, rolled his eyes at Nick and kicked Rico’s outstretched leg before walking out. The door drifted open in his wake, an encouragement for Nick to follow suit.
Nick gazed down at the tormented soul on the floor as he writhed and whined in pain and fear. He debated whether to stop Sabre’s memory weave himself. My face appeared in his thoughts, cut and swollen; my body, beaten and bruised, trembling and convulsing in fear and grief. Images compiled from the memories of Jesse, himself and me. A war raged within him. Stopping it would be the compassionate thing to do, but Nick could find none for this man. Was it ‘right’ to leave any human subjected to that sort of violence for any amount of time? Shaking his head, he turned away. With no compassion, no remorse, he drew the door closed behind him as he went, and left Rico to wallow in the torture of the weave.
I awoke, drowning in panic. Nick pulled me closer. “Hush, honey. Everything’s okay.” He stretched out on the bed, pressed the length of his body against mine. Like armor, he wrapped himself around me, body and soul. I clung to him, afraid to let go, afraid to sleep or even close my eyes. Afraid I might see his face again, or what Nick and Sabre inflicted on his mind. Not that that should matter. Served him right for what he’d done to me, and seeing the face of my nightmare brought back images and sensations in living color and surround-sound. I remembered his fists as they battered my face and rammed into my body. The terror and pain flooded my mind. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t hold my body together, my trembling enough to shatter me. Nick held me close, quietly humming and rocking me, apparently oblivious to the transfer of these images to me.
“He will never hurt you again, Emari.” Nick whispered to me. “I’ve made sure of that.”
Rico DeLaRosa could never hurt me again. Why was it so hard to believe? “One sound, and I will become your worst nightmare and no angel will save you.” The memory of his words slammed my chest like a battering ram. I felt Nick’s body stiffen.
“Emari? Where did that come from?”
“Rico,” I croaked out. “That’s what he said to me—to keep me quiet—when Ivy came into the stockroom.”
“I’ve never heard that in your memories before,” he puzzled.
“I didn’t remember until just now.” It did seem odd that Rico would use that particular wording, ‘worst nightmare’ and ‘no angel’. Nick lay in silence for a long moment and I waited for his body to relax beside me. It never did.
“Nick? Who was that woman? The one in Jess’s memory?” Nick’s breath caught in his lungs.
“I don’t think…Jesse should tell you that. It’s his hidden memory. He has worked very hard to bury it. It’s not my place…”
“Then tell me, did he do that to her?” I needed to know that my Jesse was not capable, had never been capable, of such violence.
“No. It wasn’t him. His soul bears the scars as though he himself took the beating. You’re right about him. His is a gentle and kind heart.” I felt Nick shift beside me. “Here, I brought you something,” and he placed a small, cool object in my hand.
My fingers traced the outline of the familiar shape pressed into my palm. I knew without seeing, would have known if I were blind. It was my bracelet.
We love you! I heard Mom and Dad’s whispered words carried in the soft rustle of the chain. I reveled in the sound of their voices ringing as honest and clear as if they were in the room, so tangible and close I could touch them. Their presence, like spirits from the other side, filled my senses; the earthy smell of nature and sweet sun-kissed raspberries that reminded me of Daddy and his half-acre garden; and fresh hot biscuits with homemade chocolate sauce and the scent of a clean house th
at awakened memories of my mom. Nick pressed the bracelet into my palm and curled my fingers around it, encompassing my fist in his hand. My fragile composure disintegrated and a sob lodged in my throat. My chest heaved to expel it. Surely, my body couldn’t take anymore. It would collapse along with my broken heart. All the pressure, all the stress—surely the sinews that held me together, the very marrow in my bones had grown brittle and fragile. Surely the next buffeting gust would sweep me away. And yet, there was my ever-present Nick. Seizing me, heart, body and soul, binding me together.
Chapter 17 Kokomo
I willed myself to get a grip, measured my breaths, long and deep, and coerced my muscles to relax. Stillness settled over the house. My vision adjusted to the darkness of the room and I could make out the silhouettes of the furniture from the reflection of moonlight on the mirror. Confusion and exhaustion boiled inside me like a cauldron. What had I just seen? Nick couldn’t have intended for me to see the physical and psychological damage he and Sabre inflicted on Rico, nor the mutated images of the assault. But, if Nick didn’t transfer the images, how did I get them? That was not simply my imagination. It was too real. Too vivid.
I watched the minutes tick into an hour in the glow of the time projected onto the ceiling from my alarm clock. My body and breath finally calmed. I needed to escape to some place warm and bright and far away from this cold Mead night and the turmoil of my life.
I lifted my face to the sky, closed my eyes to absorb the warmth of a Cali sunset as its rays caressed my skin. I remembered the ocean-cooled sand on Mission Beach in San Diego. I loved San Diego. It always felt like home stepping off a plane there.
A shadow drifted over my mind and I sensed I wasn’t alone in my own head anymore. Nick was there, surprised to find that I was awake.
“Hi,” I smiled.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were still awake.” He turned away.
“It’s okay.” I reached out to him. “I don’t mind. This is pretty amazing.”
“It can be,” he turned back to me, a sly smile on his lips.
“What were you going to do?”
“I don’t know; maybe soften the blow about Jesse’s brother.” He kicked a pebble on the sand.
“Nick. Sometimes, life is what it is. I’ve dealt with a lot. I think I can handle this.”
“I know you can,” he shrugged and squeezed my hands. “It just seems like you’ve ‘dealt’ with more than your share, lately.”
“I’m okay. Thanks to you.”
Nick slid his arm around my waist and we gazed out over the dark rolling waves. Quiet serenity enveloped us; brackish air bathed our bodies, strings of ochre seaweed tickled our toes as the waves swelled over the sand. His presence wound through me, a life-giving current. His soul, as reassuring and as close as my own spirit, pressed closer, nearer to me than with anyone in my entire life. I couldn’t imagine being closer, more intimate with another human being than this—except perhaps one other way. A rush of panic and adrenalin chased the idea away. I hoped he missed that thought. It wasn’t likely. But, he gave no indication at all; he was such a gentleman.
We left a trail of lazy footprints down the beach. Nick assimilated every sensation, every nuance of my memory for future use. We marveled together at the cool, compressed beach underfoot, solid, unyielding. Yet, the waves held the power to claw into the sand beneath my feet and drag it back into the surf. He relished the briny scent of the ocean, the salty, sandy smell of the beach. We paused to watch the glowing reds, yellows, oranges, and purples of the setting sun as it glittered across the peaks of the ocean. A tiny shadow lurched through the water near my feet. I jumped and screamed, then erupted in laughter.
I opened my eyes, still laughing.
“Clam,” explained Nick.
“I thought it was something like that.” I stretched like Eddyson waking from a nap, top half first, then my legs, and gave a wide yawn. “That was fun.”
“You’re a natural. There’s something about you that makes it easier to create a weave than most people.”
“Most people?” A twinge of jealousy sparked inside me. Stupid. I hadn’t really thought about him sharing memories with others, but I guess that was logical—if there was anything logical in this strange new world of Dream Weavers.
He gave no indication of having overheard my thoughts on intimacy. I could only hope he missed it.
“It takes a little more effort to get into the heads of most people,” he explained. “Sabre and I have agreed to research and expand our abilities.”
“Oh! That’s why Sabre calls me your ‘new toy’.”
“Ha, yeah. And like I’ve said, Sabre’s an ass.”
“True, but it was pretty cool what he did last night with the whole Santa thing. Everyone loved that.” I smiled at the memory of my friend’s faces lighting up when Sabre Claus arrived, and the room filling with bubbles as everyone played with their gifts.
“Yes, I suppose he has his moments. Maybe that’s why I keep him around.”
I laid still and quiet on Nick’s warm chest, drifted languidly in and out of sleep. Nick tried to relax, but his muscles never completely softened beside me. An underlying tension twisted and hardened his chest and arms. His guard remained up, as though waiting for me to lose it again.
“Em?” he finally asked.
“Hmmm?” I moaned softly.
“Are you gonna be okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
He sighed, unconvinced.
“I’m fine. Really. You told me he’s not out there anymore. I don’t have to be afraid anymore of a phantom waiting in the dark to come get me.” His muscles tensed so slightly I wondered if I imagined it. I propped myself on my elbow to look into his eyes. I scanned his face, the furrow in his brow, the stern, stony set of his jaw. Reaching up, I pressed out the wrinkle between his eyes with my thumb, and caressed the steely hardness of his jaw. His face was cool under the warmth of my hand, and hard as granite.
“Nick. I’m fine. Honest.” His eyes closed and he nodded minutely. “You can always get in my head if you don’t believe me.” His chest rumbled with mirth, and finally, one by one, his muscles acquiesced to my will.
Outside, the rising sun bathed Mount Spokane in a wash of dull misty light. Nacreous trails of chimney smoke plaited with the morning haze. My bedroom glowed the dull winter blue of the wing of a dove. We lay in the warmth of each other’s arms, neither in want of anything from the other that we didn’t already possess.
That is, until my stomach rumbled ungraciously. Breakfast sounded heavenly. Nick and I went to the kitchen and fried up some bacon and French toast. We talked about favorite books, songs and bands.
“You’ve read about ‘Silver Tongues.’” It was a statement not a question but I still raised an eyebrow at him.
Of course, he knew. It was a memory from one of my favorite books.
“In theory, they exist. If the reader has an extremely vivid imagination, and clear memories of what they read, a Weaver that is talented enough would be able to manipulate those images,” Nick explained, “Make the setting and characters come to life in the mind of the recipient.”
I thought about that in silence for a few moments, contemplated some of my favorite books and characters as I nibbled on a piece of bacon. What a thrill to be Hermione and whirl through time and space by aid of a Time Turner. How amazing it would be to read creatures from the pages of a book, and be transported to the world of the Wayless Wood and Motley Folk and fire-eaters. Or transforming into a wolf with winter’s chill. What an exciting and frightening world this was that Nick presented to me.
“So, there are only a few hundred of you?” I finally asked, breaking out of my reverie.
“Yes, we are few and far between. Of course, there are some that are Weavers and don’t understand their power. The world calls them psychic or labels them with evident ESP. They have no idea what they are, until another Caphar stumbles over them or,” he paused, contem
plating, “a Wraith finds them first.” He plowed on, avoiding eye contact. “Some never fully develop. They exhibit some of the burgeoning abilities, yet they live a normal human lifetime, never becoming fully Caphar. We have no idea why this happens, despite Sabre’s two hundred some odd years of research.”
“So, where did it start? Who was the first Dream Weaver?” I set out two plates and served the bacon and French toast. Nick cut a corner from his toast and I put a hand on his, laughing. “I forgot. You don’t have to eat on my account.”
Nick smirked. “Again with the vampire novels. It’s all good,” and he shoved the French toast in his mouth.
“How is it? Not like dirt, I hope,” I retorted with a smug grin.
“Nope. Best I’ve had in years. Sabre and I don’t partake of human food very often,” he explained.
“But you do eat? I mean like, not human food or blood, but you need some kind of sustenance, don’t you?”
Nick put his fork down on his plate. A fleeting look of chagrin darkened his eyes. “We are sustained on human psychic energy.” He glanced up to see the confusion on my face and continued. “We get energy from the human mind. The brain produces electrical impulses or brain waves that vary with the level of consciousness of the individual. During sleep, the brain produces high amplitude waves called Delta waves. These Delta waves are our source of sustenance. That’s why we must have some limited contact with humans. We need their energy on a regular basis to survive.”
“So, you are a vampire, of sorts,” I taunted.
Nick grimaced.
“How often?”
“Depends. Once every week or two.”
“How do you get this energy?”
“It’s just a matter of visiting a person’s sleep and absorbing some of the Delta waves they emit. Most people, like 99.999 percent of people, never know we’ve been there. And then there’s you.” He quirked his eyebrows and flashed me a boyish grin.
“Well, I guess that doesn’t sound so bad. You just have to find someone sleeping. How long does it take?”
