Hutch nodded.
“So, what do you guys do for fun…since we can’t eat or drink?” He ran a tongue around his closed mouth, another edgy twitch.
Hutch ignored the question and went with a hunch. “You ex-military?”
“Yeah. Flew an E-6 with the Navy.”
“Don’t know what that means,” Paxton grunted.
Hutch agreed. “Me, either.”
“It’s a big Boeing. A command plane that oversees the launch of nuclear ballistic missiles.”
“Holy shit,” Paxton spouted. “That’s some heavy job.”
Gunni shrugged.
Hutch was glad Paxton didn’t ask more, because the pilot continued, adding some interesting tidbits.
“Yeah. I’d still be at it, but a fluke accident involving damage to a vertical stabilizer sent a bulkhead door flying into my hip. Broke the damned thing and rehab failed to make me one hundred percent. I was given a disability discharge.”
“But you still fly,” Hutch stated.
“Airlines don’t mind if you’ve got a limp. And my experience with a Boeing made me a shoo-in.”
Hutch read between the lines. Yup. He had all he needed on the new guy.
Satisfied, he answered Gunni’s original question. “We sit around and talk for a while every morning, mostly about what I’ve seen in my dreams. Then we have a work-out session. A few miles of laps around the fire. Some calisthenics, sit-ups, squats. I’m a kickboxer, and I’ve been instructing Paxton, so if you’d like to get in on that, we’d welcome a third. Then we play games.” He pointed to their sand palette.
Gone were the notes about Darby, but yesterday’s game of dots was still visible in the sand.
“Shit. I haven’t played that since I was a kid.”
“Good,” Paxton said, getting up and stretching. “Maybe I’ll beat you.”
Paxton was too sensitive where his intelligence was concerned, and Hutch reminded him, “You beat me every game yesterday.”
“Probably because you let me.”
Hutch shook his head. “Not true, but believe it if you want.”
With the addition of Gunni, the day went fast, but Hutch couldn’t wait to get back to Darby.
Was he in Darby’s dream? Blackness surrounded him. Same as the landscape around the fire, but there was no perma-flame, no sand beneath his feet, and he was alone.
It wasn’t the blank slate he’d woken up to on his first morning, either, because he was fully aware of himself, his body, and even though he wandered, his direction seemed to have purpose.
“I don’t suppose a little help is possible?” he voiced into the emptiness.
A door appeared ahead.
He chuckled. “Thank you. I think.”
What would he find, walking through the door? Would it lead him to Darby? Home? Feeling no fear, he moved forward and pushed it open.
He rounded the bases, running easily as the crowd cheered, one spectator in particular catching his eye. Darby jumped up and down in the front row. He gave a jaunty salute and she waved back.
He was in her dream, no longer behind the barrier.
The mood and scene changed, turning somber.
He lay on a gurney, wheeled from nowhere. Darby hung over his head, weeping, and though he went to reassure her, he had no mouth, no face, and no arms to embrace her. His body slowly dissipated, his dust blowing away in the wind.
Bright sunshine warmed his head and he opened his eyes to find himself on a country lane, in a chalk picture reminiscent of the chimney-sweep tableau’s in Mary Poppins. Darby walked beside him dressed in a frilly white gown, and they were holding hands.
“You’re Hutch,” she said, her voice melodious.
“Yes,” he nodded happily. “And you are Darby.”
“Are you real?” she asked.
“To me, I am,” he reasoned. “To you, I believe I’m a dream.”
“Best dream, evahhh,” she giggled. “Where do you want to go?”
His heart thumped and he shrugged, smiling down at her. “You’re in charge.”
She hesitated.
“Can we go somewhere pleasant?” he suggested.
“We’re in pleasant, but it’s just about to rain.” She frowned.
“Then give us umbrellas,” he proposed.
She needed to realize the rain didn’t have to be negative, she could control her environment.
Her eyes grew wide and…poof, two giant, colorful umbrellas appeared above them, aloft on their own, covering them as the sky’s opened up to rain down a deluge of inky wetness.
“See?” he prodded. “Not everything turns bad if your mindset is optimistic.”
She threw back her head and laughed. A throaty, rich sound. He wanted to hear it again, but knew their time might be short, and he needed to get on with his analysis. He tamped down his personal agenda, and began with an easy question. “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would that be?”
She didn’t hesitate. “A baseball game.”
“We’ve already been there. I hit a home run.”
“You always were the best player on the team,” she told him. Her face dropped. “But…you’re not really him. I know that.”
She grew pensive as he studied the freckles across her nose now that he could see her up close, and she changed the subject. “Do we have to go to the other dream?”
He knew which one she meant, and nodded. “You always do. But will you bring me with you this time?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t think I can.”
“Thinking is all it is,” he suggested gently. “These dreams, your visions, you control them.”
“No. They control me.”
The wind picked up and tossed her into the air, dragging their hands apart.
“Hutch! Help me, please!”
“I will,” he yelled over the rising storm. “I’m not leaving. Think hard. Bring me with you.”
He was suddenly glued to her side. Plastered against her as they free-floated and escaped the tempest. “You did it.” He grinned and looked down, not seeing the dreaded street. “Where are we going?”
“To have sex, of course,” she giggled. “You are incredibly handsome, and have all the right parts. I made you, so I should know.” Darby turned her face into his chest and breathed him in.
He shook his head, although it took a lot to deny her. “We can’t have sex. I’m here to help you. It wouldn’t be right.”
Her body began to shimmer, her skin suddenly bare and turning to gold. “Do you think I make a pretty package? I have garbage inside.”
He blinked, ignoring the breasts that jutted into him. “Tell me about the garbage.”
“So much garbage,” she repeated. “Non-recyclables.”
Before he could press for more, she disappeared, then reappeared on the opposite side of a brick wall, her head peeking out over the top. “Don’t come in. They won’t let you.”
“Who won’t let me?” he asked, walking toward the partition.
“I… I don’t know.” She looked puzzled. “But they always win. That’s why you won’t come to the store with me.”
“But you’ve already defied them once,” he reminded her. “In the storm. You brought me, even though you were being swept away.”
They were on the street. She was in the vortex and he was not. He was back behind his barrier.
“You see?” she wailed as she was sucked away. “It’s inevitable. Axiomatic.”
He tried not to panic. What was it he needed to tell her? Right.
“Don’t pick up the bat, Darby.”
“What?” She cupped an ear with one hand while the other went to the door.
“Don’t pick up the bat!” he yelled.
The lights on the street blinked twice and he was once again in the store, above her, looking down. Darby picked up the coffee pot, went through her whole routine, but when she glanced up and saw him in the moment before the door admitted the men in black, sh
e nodded.
What did that mean? Would she take his advice?
Her assailant approached. He asked for money. Instead of scrambling for her bat, she backed up and indicated the register. The man grabbed her anyway, and smacked her across the face. She fell to the ground where he kicked her repeatedly until her body stilled.
Hutch seethed and beat on the bubble.
Now he knew. For the masked attacker, it wasn’t about the money at all. It was about power…over Darby. A piece of the puzzle that had eluded him, fell into place.
The nightmare ended, but next time he knew what to do.
The Underworld
Office of Special Projects
“My first enrollee has figured a lot of things out. He’s a smart one.” The goddess tapped at the computer in front of her.
“Not much longer, then?” Her mentor smiled.
She frowned. “In theory. But we’ve encountered some problems.”
The mentor’s brows drew together. “What problems?”
“Ones I need to address in person. It’s time I sit down with Hutchinson Bates.”
“We can allow that,” her mentor concurred, “as long as it takes place, here. Can you tell me more of what’s come up?”
She nodded. “He’s nearly finished working through his subject’s nightmare, but has inadvertently uncovered a potential threat to her life.” She looked up, clearly perturbed by the turn of events. “Now, he’s plotting to keep her safe… And she may be falling for him.”
“Well, we hadn’t counted on that. Looks like you have more work to do.”
The mentor turned and walked out, hiding a satisfied grin.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Waking up after another full night’s sleep, Darby stretched, evaluating her dreams with mixed reviews. Hutch had been in them. When he ran the bases, she knew why. Bittersweet. When he’d been on the gurney, she understood that, too. It had been a long time since she’d revisited those events from so long ago, and they still hurt.
She focused on the good stuff. Walking with Hutch. Touching him. Watching him smile. And when the surreal chalk scene had been threatened with a deluge, instead of it wiping everything out, he’d pointed out she could use umbrellas to keep them safe. Accomplishing that, she’d felt powerful. The rest of the stroll, and the reminiscences she recalled with joy.
She remembered talking about her nightmare before being taken into its grips. She wanted him to come with her, but didn’t know how to make it happen. He’d told her she was in control, and to think it. She thought of something else she wanted. Him.
She’d held him close, smiled, smelled him, and offered her body…
He’d said no. That’s when she understood he was far above her reach. He was unattainable. I have garbage inside, she’d told him. Maybe garbage had been too harsh, but certainly she had baggage. Mental baggage. A lot of it.
She erected a brick wall to keep him back, which he’d honored, but then he followed her to the vortex. Still, he hadn’t joined her when she’d been pulled toward the store. Had she been responsible? Was it like he said? Could she have brought him along with a simple change of heart?
No matter that she’d denied him entrance, he appeared above. Removed, like before.
When he’d told her not to pick up the bat, she’d heard, and followed his instructions. Without resistance, she’d backed up and offered the attacker the register. He’d beat her anyway, but her mind remained engaged. The change had been good. She was thinking differently, able to see options. And there was something tickling the back of her consciousness. Something the intruder had done after he beat her…
Nothing more came to her, and she slid out of bed, not wanting to be late to the shelter. Four hours. An easy day.
Just before noon, her phone rang. Arkie was the only one who called, so she assumed he needed to fill a shift. Looking down, the name Seth came up on the screen.
“Hey,” she answered. “You need me to cover for you?” She didn’t know his full schedule.
“No. I’m here at the store, and I’m good. But I remembered you work at the shelter, and I wondered how I can adopt? My gran needs a dog. Companionship and protection. You got any mutts like that?”
Darby could think of two. Both shepherd mixes, big, but friendly. “I’m almost through with my shift. How about I bring a candidate over to meet you?” The store was only five blocks from the shelter.
“I’m working. And no animals allowed. That’s what the sign says.”
Mentally, she shrugged. “It’ll be my transgression. Arkie won’t fire me.”
“Then, yeah,” he agreed.
“Good. I’ll see you in a few.”
She went to her supervisor and explained. The woman was all smiles. “Of course. Take Jersey. He’s been hard to place because he’s older.”
But extremely loveable, Darby thought, and his size could be intimidating to strangers. He might be a good fit.
“Come on, baby,” she told the dog as she clipped him onto a leash. “Be extra nice. This could be your lucky day.”
Jersey walked easily by her side, stopping to pee on a fire-hydrant, a mailbox, and a couple of light-posts. When he squatted next to a scraggly bush, she was glad she brought plastic bags. After scooping, Jersey gave up decorating the landscape and they finished their journey.
“Okay. Give us a smile.” She scruffed the big boy before entering the store. His long tongue lolled out. “Perfect.”
The first thing she noticed when she walked in, was Cy. Behind the counter. Grabbing cigarettes. Harassing Seth.
“What’s happening?” she asked cautiously. She didn’t want to get involved, but Cy was an arrogant prick.
“None of your business, bitch,” Cy sneered, stuffing several packs under his belt with the tops sticking out. “The new kid and me were just having a talk.” He punched Seth in the gut, not quite playfully.
Seth sucked in a breath.
Jersey growled.
“Hush,” she told him, tightening her grip on his leash, then turned to Seth. “Don’t escalate. Please.”
Cy smirked and turned his attention to her. “Arkie know you’re bringing a dog into the store?”
“Arkie know you help yourself to cigarettes when he’s not offering?” she countered.
Cy’s eyes got mean. “He would if somebody told him, but nobody’s going to, right?” He buzzed himself out and approached.
The hair on Jersey’s ruff stood up and he growled again.
“Tell your dog to shut it, or I’ll kick his ass.”
She tugged back on the leash. “Sit.”
Jersey did so, but reluctantly.
“You should leave, Cy. You’re making a scene,” she hissed
Three patrons hung back in the aisles, clearly anticipating trouble.
He leered, moving six inches from her face. “There aren’t always customers, cunt. Keep that in mind.” He tapped his temple and straightening, sauntered out the door.
“Nice guy,” Seth grunted. “You should have let me punch him.”
She snorted. “And get yourself fired? Arrested? He’s not worth it.” She tipped her head toward the customers approaching the register. “Take care of them, then I’ll introduce Jersey.”
The first customer stepped up while a woman with milk and chips asked, “Jersey?”
“Yeah. Do you see how his markings look like he’s wearing a t-shirt?”
“I do.” She smiled. “He’s so handsome.”
The man in front of her checked out while she patted the dog. “And so polite, too. Except in questionable company.”
“Amen to that,” the man behind her said. “I’d report him to the owner if I were you.”
“Uh, huh. Will do.” No need to tell them the asshole was Arkie’s nephew.
Minutes later the store was empty and Seth came from behind the counter. “Jersey, huh?” He squatted in front of the dog and patted him on the head. “Hey, fella.” His wrist got a big, happy lick
. “He sure is nice looking. And a good judge of character, too.”
Darby agreed. “Not that it’s tough to hate Cy.” She stood while Jersey and Seth got acquainted. “So, what do you think?”
“About Cy, or the dog?”
She wanted to forget about Cy. “The dog.”
“I like him. Would it be possible for him to meet my gran?”
She nodded. “When your shift’s over, head to the shelter. I’ll tell them you’re coming. You’ll have to leave ID and a deposit, but you can take him for an hour or two.”
“Perfect.” He smiled, but stayed on his haunches, scratching Jersey’s ears, crooning. “Who’s a pretty boy?”
Darby grinned. Looks like she’d done her good deed for the day.
Sunday afternoons she cleaned and did laundry. Not so tough. Her building had a washer and dryer in the basement. A huge improvement over other places she’d lived, where she’d had to walk to the laundromat. And her apartment was so small, it took no time to scrub the toilet and shower, dust the shelves and vacuum the floors.
Once the laundry was folded and put away, she settled in to read, but thoughts of Hutch—the perfect hero—derailed her.
And why wouldn’t he be perfect? She’d made him up.
She scowled. Puzzled. Yeah, he was tall and very good looking, but there were things about him she wouldn’t have given to her perfect man. Like the way he dressed. In full, crisp business attire. She was not a button-down kind of girl. She liked her men in jeans and work boots.
His hair was short. Thick, but short. Longer hair had always been her thing, along with a nice shadow on the chin. Hutch was closely shaven…which hadn’t stopped her from wanting to kiss him.
Her frown deepened. She hadn’t asked for a kiss. She’d come on to him for a quick fuck and he’d turned her down. Her ideal man wasn’t a slut, aaand…neither was Hutch. Maybe tonight she’d approach him for a simple kiss.
She couldn’t wait to see him again. She looked at the clock. Early shift tomorrow, so three hours until bed. Sighing, she went back to her book.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Hutch Nightmare Men Page 7
