Dimensions

by Krystyne Price

  Words flew back and forth, words she thought perhaps she should know but could not understand. She heard two distinctly different voices. The darkness of this place was soon dispensed by an eerie green glow. Vasan looked up and all around, then back at Jane. His eyes narrowed and his face morphed into a snarl. “I will return for you! Make no mistake!” With that he let go of her hand and she felt herself falling…falling…crying out in fear.

  She jumped and gasped, slamming back into the wall, as a man emerged from the hall, taking two steps into the bedroom. She stared at him. Vasan was nowhere in sight, only this stranger. He looked…familiar somehow, yet she was certain she didn’t know him. Graying black hair crowned a noble head. He was Asiatic with glittering green eyes. He looked kind but sad. So much clarity in the darkness of the room, she saw each and every detail as though he himself were somehow emanating light. She watched as he took two more steps, eyes never leaving hers.

  “What the hell just happened?” she gasped. “Who are you?”

  He looked away for a moment, to his side, as though looking at something specifically that she couldn’t see. Then he turned back to her. His voice was soft and held an accent she thought she should know. “My name,” he said softly, almost musically, “is Ibrahim.”

  “You live here in Darvon?”

  He shook his head. “Jane, we must speak.”

  “What? How do you know my name?”

  “I know much of you, my child. Perhaps we should sit together.”

  “Where are you from? How do I know you aren’t a serial killer or something?”

  “You know,” he said, lowering himself to the floor and sitting cross-legged. “Inside here,” he continued, placing a hand over his heart, “you know.”

  “Ibrahim,” she breathed. Yes, she knew she should know him. But how? And if she did know him, why didn’t she recognize him? He motioned with his hand and she joined him on the dusty old hardwood floor, also sitting cross-legged. “Please tell me who you are.”

  “You know of Vasan.”

  She swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “He is my cousin.”

  “Your…who are you? And who is he?” Her mind threatened to take a leave of absence as she tried to process his words.

  “I cannot stay long, but you must not give in to him.”

  “Why?” He just shook his head. In frustration, her fist pounded against the old wood floor. “Dammit, why?”

  “He is dangerous. He will stop at nothing to get what he wants. And right now, he wants you out of the way.”

  “Out of the way?” she repeated, feeling helplessly confused.

  “You are causing him to fail in his endeavors. You must continue with your work.”

  “My work?” Now I sound like a damn parrot.

  “Your words. The books you write. They are helping, more than you can know.”

  He rose to his feet. “Wait!” Jane cried, rising as well. “Wait, don’t leave!”

  “I cannot stay. It took all I had to bring you back from the vortex into which he meant to take you. I am sorry. Perhaps next time we can speak of more.” He stepped close enough that she felt his breath on her face. “Trust me, Jane. He is your enemy. He will try to do you harm.”

  Ibrahim turned and walked out into the hall. Jane ran after him a split-second later, but he was nowhere in sight. Suddenly footsteps came pounding up the stairs and Trevor appeared down on the landing. She looked at him, then back toward her room. Had she just seen and heard…? What did it mean? Vasan was her enemy? How? Why? Who was he? And Ibrahim’s words…they made a cold fear descend over her heart that both revolted her and stimulated her need to know, to understand. But things were moving too fast, images still swirling in her mind, things she’d seen but couldn’t grasp. Ibrahim had been kindly and gently pulling her, while Vasan’s vice-like grip had been hurting her.

  “Jane!”

  She looked back down the stairs at Trevor and once again fainted dead away.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Jane awoke to find herself in a bed. She looked to her side and felt déjà vu as she took in Trevor’s sleeping form next to her. She was under the covers and him, atop. A look at the window told her it was still night. A look at the night stand clock told her it was nearly four in the morning. She adjusted herself enough to where she was face-to-face with her savior…on more than one occasion now…and her mind turned to what had happened.

  Yet still she couldn’t sort it all out. The scenes had meant little to her and had begun to fade even now, only a short while later. Two strong images were burned into memory, however. Vasan in his red and gold robe, and Ibrahim, who had worn…she scrunched her face in thought…a flowing green robe. It had enhanced his eyes somehow. And he had been Illumination. The thought sounded silly even in her own head, but that had been her reaction, that he was a light of some sort. But if Light always fought Darkness, and Ibrahim had told her Vasan was her enemy, then that could only mean that to Ibrahim’s Light, his cousin Vasan was Dark.

  And she’d wanted him.

  Tears welled up in her eyes. Who the hell were these people? Vasan, yes, she remembered him from childhood, realized she’d drawn her book’s character from that far-too-real Boogeyman, but what of Ibrahim? She definitely hadn’t made him up; he had simply appeared and spoken to her. Continue her work. Her writing. Helping. It made no sense and in frustration and exhaustion she began to cry. She felt a hand touch her cheek, gently brushing the tears away, and slowly opened her eyes.

  Trevor’s face was filled with concern, his eyes looking upon her with sadness. From him she felt simplicity unlike she had known in recent weeks. She’d been a beast to him, a complete beast and felt terrible for it. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, his hand still against her cheek.

  He shook his head, not saying a word. Then his thumb brushed her lips and she felt a jolt go through her from head to toe. She must have jumped, or he must have somehow otherwise seen it, for the ghost of a smile graced his features. He leaned up and over her. Her body automatically rolled until she was on her back and before she knew what was happening, his mouth was crushed to hers.

  It brought briefly to mind the moment in the church basement with Vasan, but as Trevor’s arms encircled her protectively, thoughts of the Dark…of all Dark…fled. I am not usually such a slut, she thought even as her body rose to meet his and their eyes locked together in the soft glow thrown from a nearby street lamp. His mouth moved down to the lobe of her ear, down the taut tendon to the base of her neck, over to the soft spot right at the bottom of her throat. She moaned as his hands felt her through the fabric of her shirt, kneading one breast and then the other. Moisture pooled and her pelvis rocked off the bed, straining to reach him.

  She sat up slightly as he pulled the shirt off over her head. Her bra was removed and tossed to the floor. He lowered her gently back to the pillow, his mouth moving down to suckle one hard nipple, moving to its twin and then back again. She pressed into him, savoring the feel, the touch of one she knew was not bad. One who truly would not harm her. She’d known Trevor practically her whole life, though admittedly not as an adult. As his mouth moved lower along her belly, she decided she very much liked him as an adult.

  Lower and lower, her shorts being unbuttoned and removed, her underwear following. As his face moved between her legs she breathed a long, low, contented sigh. When his tongue lashed out she almost levitated off the bed. His hands pressed down on her pelvis to keep her in place. All she could see were the waves of his terra cotta hair moving back and forth. His sounds of pleasure were drowned out by hers. She reached back and grabbed two of the headboard columns, her body the undulating waves of an unseen ocean. She was so close.

  He moved away and she whimpered at the loss of contact. Then he was over her again, moving down to kiss her. Long, slow, languid. She tasted herself in his mouth and electricity shot right down to her toes as her arms tugged on the hem of his shirt. He grinned and pulled it off over his hea
d. Her hands found his chest, moving everywhere through silky soft hair, wanting to learn the contours of unfamiliar territory. He rolled to the side and shed his shorts and boxers, then rolled back on top of her. Their lips met as hands roamed, feeling everything they could touch as though blind and learning to read a new book more ancient than time itself.

  She felt him against her; felt him pressing at her opening and as he sank into her wetness, they moaned in unison. Her hands clutched at his hair, his hands surrounding her head protectively. He moved slowly at first, the sensations leaving them both lost, both in disbelief as eyes met eyes here in the wee hours of never. She felt complete. Whole. Safe. Most of all, she realized, looking into those eyes, she felt loved. Those eyes…so different, she’d never seen any like them. Or…she didn’t think she had…the eyes…like amber. No. Lighter. Topaz, she thought. Topaz mixed with clover honey. Beautiful. Unusual.

  And that’s when she knew she most definitely had seen the eyes before, but it hadn’t been on the face of her childhood friend.

  But she was on the edge, unable to gain control of her body, of her nerves as she moved against him. He pushed once, twice more and the look on his face told her he, too, was coming. She clung to him as the revelation rocketed through her right along with the most intense orgasm she’d ever felt. It couldn’t be…and yet even as he collapsed on top of her, even as she felt their chests heave as one, she knew she had seen those eyes; only not in a grown man, but in a little boy.

  She laid there, eyes wide, as his arms wrapped around her. “I love you,” he whispered into her ear. “I have always loved you.”

  She pushed him away enough that she could see his face. “Who are you?” she asked, searching his eyes.

  He frowned. “What?”

  “You’re not the Trevor I grew up with, are you?” His face changed, hardened a little, as he rolled off her and onto his back next to her. She rose up on one elbow, eyes never leaving his. “You’re not Trevor.” She reached out and touched his face, his cheekbone. His eyes closed as he nuzzled her hand. “I saw you as a little boy. But not here. Not in my childhood.”

  “It’s crazy talk,” he whispered, but she shook her head and climbed on top of him, straddling his stomach. She took his hands and lifted them, lining her palms with his, her fingers with his. His hands which were so much larger closed around hers, their fingers entwining. “Jane…”

  “Tell me who you really are. I have to know.” He looked up at her, shaking his head and looking away. “Dammit, I have a right to know! Do you have any idea what these last few days have been like for me?” Tears filled her eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks. He looked back at her and actually appeared to be in pain as he observed her grief.

  She got off him and scooted to sit on the edge of the bed, frantically wiping the tears away with the backs of her hands. “Do you know what it’s like to see people who aren’t there, see and hear things no one else can see and hear? To think you’re going insane? And then want something so dark, so completely unlike yourself that you’ll hurt anyone and do anything to get it?”

  “That was why you were so mad at me on the water tower.”

  “Yes,” she nodded as his arms came around her from behind. “I’m so confused; I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t understand any of this, and then tonight I saw…I saw things…I saw you.” She turned enough to be face-to-face with him. “Tell me who you are. You’re one of them. Aren’t you?”

  He leaned down and kissed her bare shoulder. “Maybe we’d better get dressed and go for a walk.”

  “A walk? No! I want you to tell me the truth!”

  He half-smiled but she thought it looked sad as he moved off the bed and grabbed his boxers. “You won’t believe the truth unless you see it.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Both wearing jackets in the chill of pre-dawn, Trevor and Jane made their way out the front door of the house. She froze halfway down the walk. Something wasn’t right. She looked to her right, looked to her left. Looked across the street. Lavenders and pinks as the sun tried to peek over the horizon lit the scene only slightly. The street lamps, that was it. She looked up at the one nearest them and noticed that not only was it unlit, but the globe was completely missing and it had no light bulb. She was certain she’d seen the light on earlier, when she and Trevor were making love.

  But it was when she turned back around to look at the Billings house that her jaw dropped in disbelief. It had changed. Instead of the bright white siding with freshly-painted green shutters surrounding all the windows it was now dilapidated, with almost every window broken and cobwebs dangling from the small overhanging porch roof. The door was barricaded with two-by-fours that looked as old as the house itself did now. She looked up at Trevor.

  “I don’t understand.” He gently steered her out onto the sidewalk and toward where she had once lived. “What’s going on? What happened to your house?” She looked around and saw that all the other homes, too, were now run-down, looking like they hadn’t been lived in for years and years. “To all the houses?”

  “Don’t you find it just a little bit strange that you haven’t seen anyone other than me here?” he asked quietly as they stopped in front of the parsonage.

  Brow furrowed, she turned to face him. “That’s not true,” she replied. “There was an entire café full of people. I ate there, I talked to the waitress! I saw the track meet behind the school! And your mother, I met your mother. I talked to her!”

  “The woman you met wasn’t my mother. Her name is Xyza. She’s been helping us.”

  “Xyza? Who’s us?”

  “And the people in the cafeteria and school were people Xyza brought to keep the illusion alive. They’re gone now. Nobody’s lived here for a long time, Jane.”

  “Illusion?” She looked around her again. Sure enough, the town looked deserted. It was little more than a ghost town and yet…it hadn’t been that way when she’d arrived. It hadn’t!

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what? Shit, are you going to tell me what’s going on here or not?”

  “The church,” he said, steering her across the street. “It holds your answers.”

  She followed him in silence, mind reeling, racing, not knowing what to pick up and grab hold of and what to toss away as simply ridiculous dreams. Or nightmares. The sheet glass of the double doors was now broken completely out and the foyer was filled with cobwebs. They entered and went down the steps to the basement. The wooden doors weren’t there. In the large room, the chairs and tables were gone, the kitchen not visible behind closed doors. It was very, very dark. She felt him take her hand. He led her to the area that had been the nursery. The large armoire that had once held children’s and caretakers’ coats stood against the wall. He let go of her hand and she could tell he was heaving it aside. The sounds of it scraping and of him grunting continued for a long while until at last all was silent.

  “Trevor?”

  “My name isn’t Trevor,” he said, suddenly beside her. Once again his hand closed around hers. “My name is Vincent.”

  Before she could say a word, something blazed to life in front of them, blinding her with its brilliance. She covered her eyes with one hand, trying to peek through her fingers, trying to let them become adjusted to whatever it was that was filling the entire basement with an unearthly light. At last it dimmed enough for her to be able to take her hand down, and she was astonished by what she saw.

  “It’s that funny door,” she breathed. “The one I saw earlier tonight, with the…the water.” For it was, indeed, what she had seen while holding Vasan’s hand. The liquid that seemed to hang in the doorway, a blue glow settling over them as it rippled. Jane moved forward curiously, one hand outstretched. “What is this?”

  “This is the doorway home.”

  “Home?” She looked up at him. “Vincent.”

  “Yes.”

  “Like in my book.”

  He nodded. “Like in your book.”
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  “You…you’re not the Trevor I grew up with.”

  “No. Very close in looks. He was the perfect person to use, to make you feel comfortable.”

  “To what end?”

  “You had to remember,” Trevor-turned-Vincent replied. “I was sent here to make sure you remembered.”

  “Remembered what?”

  “Your childhood. Everything you experienced. Everything you felt. You had it all buried so far away…this was the only way to get it out of you. To open you.”

  “Open me to what?” He seemed reluctant to answer as his eyes bored into hers. “Vincent?”

  “To this,” he replied. He took her hand and pulled her toward the strange glowing door. Her eyes squeezed shut and she squeaked in fright as they walked right into it. She felt like she was swimming through something very thick, but the sensation was gone in mere seconds. “Open your eyes.”

  She did. Opened them wide. Really, really wide. For she was standing in a room she had only ever imagined. A wide open room with windows everywhere, walls painted white, expensive artwork on display. She was shocked to see the very piece of Malay art she herself had recently purchased on the far wall. There was a large black grand piano beneath it in the corner. There were two sofas, four recliners and six tables of varying shapes and sizes. A grandfather clock chimed the hour as five and in the distance she heard a smaller one echo its deep bass tones.

  The floors were of polished bamboo, a distinction she clearly remembered making in the books in contrast to plain hardwood, with handmade rugs here and there. The art and statues were mostly Malaysian, she knew just by looking at them thanks to all the research she had done. Exquisite and rare pieces they were and quite old, by the look of them. Against the wall was a sleek black bar. Glasses hung above it, liquor lined the mirrored wall behind it and in front of it were six black leather stools. She let go of Vincent’s hand and moved into the sun room, a large enclosed porch that covered the entire southern end of the great, sprawling ranch house. She knew what she would find here. Beautiful wooden furniture lined with white cushions. A large table where she could almost picture four grown men sitting and eating, laughing and talking, joking with one another through mouthfuls of food.