ACCLAIM FOR AARON PATTERSON
AIREL
“It takes rare talent for a man to write a novel from a male POV and have it published to great critical and commercial acclaim. But it takes a miracle for that same male, or in this case males, to write a novel from the POV of a teenage girl and have it turn out as incredibly as did the new StoneHouse YA by Aaron Patterson and Chris White, Airel. From the first sentence, I felt compelled to dive into this young woman’s story and just as importantly, I felt like I personally knew her, which means I laughed, stressed and cried right along with her. A beautifully written and crafted fiction about teenage innocence, faith, loss and love. A must read for teens and adults alike.”
—Vincent Zandri, International Bestselling Author of The Remains, The Innocent, and Concrete Pearl.
I am happy to say that this novel is one of my favorites of its kind. I never thought I could read a novel like this and be so swept away! I am always willing to try new books, but I usually steer clear of this kind of novel. Not anymore! Not when I can be so engrossed into the character’s story, like I was with the beautiful Airel, that before I know, it’s over. I kept turning the pages , wanting to, no-NEEDING, to know what was going to happen next.
—Molly Edwards, Willow Spring,NC
SWEET DREAMS
“Sweet Dreams was a book I read in 2 days. I truly enjoyed the read. It kept me wanting to know more. I’m looking forward to Part 2 of the WJA Trilogy!”
—Sharon Adams, Novi, MI
“Suspense, thriller with a perfect ending, leaving me wanting more. An on the edge of your seat, all night read. I most certainly will be reading “Dream On.”
—Sheri Wilkinson, Sandwich, IL
“New authors come and go every day. Very few come on the scene with the ability to weave a tale that will make you sad to reach the end, longing for more. At a time when the world needs a real hero, Patterson delivers big with the WJA’s Mark Appleton—an unlikely hero for the 21 century.”
—The Joe Show
“Aaron Patterson spins a good tale and does it well.”
—W.P.
“SWEET DREAMS is packed with action, suspense, romance, betrayal, death, and mystery.”
—Drew Maples, author of “28 Yards from Safety”
DREAM ON
“Once again, Aaron Patterson has made a home run! ‘Dream On’ is a wonderful read from cover to cover! I am now anxiously awaiting his next book “In Your Dreams.” I originally purchased his first book by mistake, and was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed it... so now I’m hooked! Aaron has got to start writing faster!!! Although his books are definitely worth the wait! Bet’cha can’t read just one! This guy has real talent for writing and keeping the suspense growing... the worst part about the book is the last page... I hated it to stop!”
—Ruth P. Charlotte, NC
“After reading Patterson’s first novel, ‘Sweet Dreams,’ I was really looking forward to reading ‘Dream On.’ This book was amazing. I couldn’t put it down. If you’re looking for an exciting read, read this book.”
—Paul Carson, Boise, ID
“I read the first book by Aaron Patterson (Sweet Dreams) and was very anxious for this sequel. I was not disappointed. This book kept me guessing with every page turn. It’s very well written and I really enjoyed the technology employed, which makes it just a bit futuristic without being over done. This was a fantastic suspenseful thriller that kept me guessing throughout the entire book. Mr. Patterson has become my favorite fiction writer.”
—Donna H. Boise, ID
“This is the second book of Aaron’s I have read and I have to say he is a very talented writer!!! I read this book in under 12 hrs; it was so good I couldn’t put it down. He managed to surprise me with a twist that I did not expect! It is filled with suspense and keeps you guessing throughout. I will be suggesting this book to everyone I know…”
—Amanda Garner, Oklahoma
Also by Aaron Patterson
Sweet Dreams (Book 1)
Dream On (Book 2)
In your Dreams (Book 3)
Airel
Michael (coming soon)
19 (Digital Short)
The Craigslist Killer (Digital Short)
The eBook on eBooks (Digital Short)
This is the third book in the Mark Appleton series. If you have not read the first two books, please do so in order not to miss some key elements. Sweet Dreams is the first in the series and Dream On is the second. You can find them at www.stonehouseink.net, at your local bookstore, or as an eBook online.
- Aaron Patterson
IN YOUR DREAMS
-The Perception of Truth-
Book Three in the WJA Series
For you dear reader,
Thanks for believing
CHAPTER 1
2012 B.C., Havilah, Arabia
KREIOS RAN FULL TILT through the dense forest, his long robe fluttering behind him like a frightened bird. He could hear the creatures behind him cursing and spitting in fury as they searched for him in the darkness.
Kreios was a big man with strong arms, chest, and legs. He did not hesitate as he leaped over a dead log in his path. In spite of his size, he was fast and moved through the forest without a sound.
The warm night sky loomed overhead, and a fat, low-hanging moon looked on with indifference. Kreios clutched a book in his left arm and ducked under a branch, avoiding a head wound. The two things behind him crashed through the underbrush like unskilled hunters. Kreios ran without looking back. He knew that he must keep the book safe at all costs, even if it meant his life.
A howl erupted from his flank, and Kreios dove for cover under a huge willow tree root. He calmed his breathing, tucked the leather bound book tighter under his robe, pulled the hood up over his blond hair, and curled up in a ball.
He waited.
A snort and the footsteps of the two attackers came close to his hiding spot; nevertheless, he was not discovered. Two hours passed, and the beasts gave up their hunt and moved out, heading west, back to their camp. The Seer would be very angry with them and might even take their lives because of their failure. Kreios did not mind, he hoped they would die and leave him with one less of their kind to kill.
Working his hand free, he removed the book and looked at it with awe and wonder. Inside, words glimmered, and though he read it every night, he was surprised to find that in the morning the words would disappear. However, by just a thought, they would reappear and shimmer like diamonds.
The book had his name on the cover and contained the complete history of his kind and their fall. In the wrong hands, it would mean death and enslavement. Climbing to his feet, he crossed the small creek and ran north. He had escaped this time, but he had many more battles to fight before the book would be safe.
***
Present day, Manhattan, New York
Alone, lying in a hospital bed, a man breathed through a tube and thought of how he came to be here. He was smart; in fact, he was a genius by the world’s standards. Yet here he was, alone, with no visitors, and not even his mother had come by to see him.
He could still see the flash of the gun barrel as two shots rang out and feel the fire as the bullets hit him in the chest. He was a lucky guy, or so his doctor told him, but he didn’t feel lucky. He felt abandoned, betrayed, and his anger boiled over like a pot on a hot burner.
Mooch hated the feel of the feeding tube. The hoses and wires made him feel like he was in a sci-fi movie, like he had been abducted by aliens and was about to be experimented on. How could they leave him to die? If they really were his friends, they would have helped him, but see what he received in return?
> His thoughts brought Kirk Weston to the front. He could see his stupid face looking down at him. He was the reason Mooch was in this mess; he was the one who held control over him, and just look at what he did. Here I am, shot up, left for dead, and alone!
“You are not alone, not anymore. Invite me in, and you will have your revenge.”
“Who are you?” Mooch could feel something tickle the back of his mind. It was like an old friend, a chum whom you thought you would never see again, but when you needed someone to confide in, here he was.
“I am whatever you want me to be. I am fear, I am desire, I am need, and I am the power of the most high. Trust me, and you will not die!”
Mooch opened his mind and soul for the second time in his life and felt a warm, wonderful wave of beauty fill him. He felt stronger, and his chest didn’t hurt anymore. “Thank you—thank you for staying with me.”
Mooch talked aloud in an empty room on the third floor of a second-rate hospital in Manhattan. The ambulance had received the call, and when they got on scene, they found Mooch alone in his basement, bleeding from two gunshot wounds to the chest. They tried to revive him, but could not get a pulse. On the way to the hospital, he jerked and somehow regained a heartbeat.
Sometimes weird things happened. For some, it just wasn’t their time to die.
***
Do you want to die?
It may seem like a simple question with an even simpler answer. Of course I don’t want to die, who would? But then again, with the question comes an assumption that one may want to consider before jumping too quickly. I did want to die at times; in fact, I almost died when I was buried alive by a terrorist named the Red Dog.
I made it out, and if I told you how I did, you would call me crazy—looney, bonkers—and maybe you’d be right. I still didn’t know what happened, and how I killed the Red Dog was even weirder. Light, hot white light came from my hands and chest like a weapon.
Whatever it was, it made me think about my life and where it was going. Was I a danger to K and Sam? Could I blow up and kill them as well as others around me? This question haunted my dreams, and now, as I pondered the question of death, the once simple answer did not seem so simple after all.
K, my beautiful wife and best friend. Because of me she had been put through so much: a kidnapping and so many long nights alone when I should have been home instead of out killing someone. But what was a guy to do? I was a contract killer—well, not really. I was an assassin for the World Justice Agency. The WJA.
The WJA was a group of assassins that started with one man. Solomon. He had been killed, and if it wasn’t for me, he would still be alive. Solomon started the WJA when he was still the director of the FBI. He saw from the inside how this country and the so-called justice system was broken, how “we the people” didn’t have the guts to fix it, and how no one on the inside wanted it fixed.
The WJA was formed with the backing of a few countries as well as some very wealthy donors here in the States. Some of them didn’t know their funds were going to an underground vigilante operation, a fact that was not lost on Solomon. He created a newspaper publication called the Global Adviser, which was an environmental publication that circulated worldwide and claimed to be concerned about global warming, endangered bugs, and the like. I really didn’t care if the earth had a fever or not; most of us regular people knew that the earth went through cycles, and it was all a part of just living on a ball out in the middle of the universe.
Sam is my daughter, and I must say, she really could beat up your honor student. I got her to take some self-defense classes, and so far, my little angel is quite the little terror on the mat. I love her more than should be allowed. She’s my light, and without her, my life wouldn’t be worth living.
After the incident with the Red Dog, I ended up in the infirmary at the Merc building. K stayed in my room for the first few days, and then I was sent home to recover. My head wouldn’t quit hurting, and I thought the ringing in my ears was never going to go away.
I was sitting in my favorite recliner watching the news when I got the call.
“Mark,” It was Kirk Weston. He was the Detroit cop whom we at the WJA somehow got to see things our way. He was Mr. Grumpy (he came by the nickname, honestly), but he had a good heart.
“Kirk, what is it?” I could hear something in his voice. Something I didn’t like.
“Isis, she’s sick. Everyone is sick… not me but, I think… I mean… You need to get down here! I’m at the hospital. Please hurry!” My mind raced, and thoughts of what it could be made my stomach turn. I wanted to tell myself that it was nothing, that this was not in any way connected to the Red Dog, but no matter how much I lied to myself, there was no way of getting around the truth.
Taras Karjanski knew something; he was so confident right before he melted into nothing. It was as if he knew something, as if he knew he had already won.
“I’m on my way.”
***
Kirk held Isis in his arms, and he felt his heart cramp up. Isis had been standing next to him in the lobby of the Merc building talking to the receptionist when she had collapsed. “Isis!” Kirk caught her before her jet-black hair hit the marble floor, but when he looked into her eyes, he lost all hope that it was nothing serious.
Isis’s Egyptian skin tones took on a pale, much lighter hue and her eyes were fluttering up in their sockets as if she was having a mini-seizure.
“Isis! Talk to me! Isis!” Kirk shook her petite frame much like a man would shake a dying comrade, hoping that he could be pulled from an awful reality. Isis did not snap out of it, and as the rest of the people in the Merc building dropped like flies, Kirk realized what was going on. Taking Isis in his arms, he pushed through the glass front doors and raced from the building.
A tall man in a business suit and a bright red tie looked as Kirk ran past, and just as he did so, the man’s eyes rolled back in his head and he hit the floor with a sickening thud. Kirk did not stop and did not look back. All he knew was something in the Merc building was killing people—a virus? Was it some sort of plague, not contained to the Merc building but running wild through the streets of New York?
Looking around, he first looked up the street and stared at all the people walking and carrying on as if the world were not about to end. Isis lay limp in his arms, and Kirk could see that she was still breathing. Well, that was something, at least she was not dead. Turning uptown, Kirk ran toward the hospital. Dodging people and swearing as he knocked a woman down—Kirk ran.
“Out of my way! Move, you retarded clones, move!” Kirk pushed his way up the block and ran out into traffic. Horns honking and tires squealing made Kirk grimace, but he was glad the traffic was light. People were encouraged to stay indoors even after Taras Karjanski was reported dead because the President wanted to make sure the rest of the bombs had been located and all the schools in the country had undergone a complete search.
Kirk burst through the hospital doors and grabbed the first person he saw, a nurse or doctor, he didn’t know and cared even less. After he shoved Isis into the pudgy man’s arms, the hospital worker looked down at her lifeless body and yelled something over his shoulder. Kirk fell to the floor.
“Isis, please, no, you can’t die! I love you. I need you. Not like this. Please, God, not now…” Kirk could feel hot tears well up and spill down his cheeks. He sat on the cold floor with his head buried in his hands, and he prayed. For the first time in a long time, Kirk Weston prayed.
CHAPTER 2
MANHATTAN GENERAL WAS PURE chaos. People on stretchers lined the halls, some crying, some screaming, and some not moving at all. Doctors, nurses, and orderlies ran from one person to another, and just as I walked through the sliding doors on the west end of the hospital, a big van with “CDC” printed on the side pulled up and men in yellow hazmat suits burst from the sides and back.
“Seal off this building, I mean now—no one gets in or out!” The command was not missed by any o
f the people within earshot. Two guys in windbreakers bolted for the door but were stopped by the yellow-suited CDC employees.
“Let me go, man! Come on, I’m not sick, and I don’t wanna get sick, man…” One of the guys was short and fat. I didn’t think the man had ever jogged anywhere in his life, despite his windbreaker and jogging pants.
“Take it easy, we’re not sure what we’re dealing with, and we need to test everyone so it does not spread beyond this building and the contamination site.” I moved down the hall and lost site of the CDC people as I turned the corner. Kirk texted me Isis’s room number. Kirk had been the first to enter the hospital, and within five minutes, the place was swarming with sick people, most of them WJA agents.
I looked around and saw many faces I recognized and some I didn’t. I pushed the elevator button, and thoughts ran through my mind. Not the thoughts of a sane man, but one of a man who was dreaming.
I looked around for the signs that this was not a glimpse, just a dream and not the real deal. I had this gift—ability, or whatever you want to call it—I could dream of the future and see what was going to happen, but only if it had a direct impact on my life. I dreamed about Kirk once so we could find him, and that time I did control it, but I could not do that every time.
The dreams were so real that I could live a year, a month, or a week in my sleep, wake up, and have to forget the life I was living in my head. This could be a gift, but most of the time it was a curse. In a glimpse, I once lost my wife, K, and my daughter, Sam, in a bombing, and I went through a year of my life with them dead and gone. I had to move on. I met Maria and fell in love with her. K was dead, and everything that was happening was so real that I didn’t know the difference.
When I woke up, K was next to me, and nothing in my dream had happened yet. But reality didn’t stop the feelings I was developing for Maria. Even though I was deeply in love with K, I had this nagging feeling that I had left Maria somehow. I had spent so much time with her that my feelings were real, even though what I dreamed did not happen.
IN YOUR DREAMS (Mark Appleton #3) Page 1