Rock Star (Dream Weaver #2)

by Su Williams

  “Now, drive, Thomas.” Thomas squeezed between the seats to the cab of the van and started the engine. He spared an extra derision for me when he glanced over his shoulder to check traffic.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” Recognition still niggled at the outskirts of my memories.

  “Forgive my poor manners, Miss Sweet. I am William Grey,” he said with gallant not of his head, “a long time ‘friend’ of your boys, Sabre James and Nickolas Benedetti.”

  ‘My boys.’ I liked the sound of that. I scrabbled in my memories trying to remember any reference to a William. The image of his face skittered through my thoughts, but I couldn’t quite grasp it and hold on.

  “And?” Feigned courage and a little snark twisted the word.

  “And, since Thomas was so inept at destroying them the last time, I have come to finish the job myself.”

  “Yeah? So what do you need me for? Surely, a Wraith as powerful as you doesn’t need to resort to using young women as bait.”

  William kneeled in front of me and traced my jaw line with his finger. “Aw, but you see, there is more than just death that I want from you three. Where Thomas failed, I will succeed. I am aware of what covetous gifts you all have. Especially you.”

  Sabre had the theory that I was a burgeoning Dream Weaver, and that once I became a full-fledged Caphar, I would have the ability to see the future and not just the past. I had my doubts. There was nothing special or extraordinary about me. I was just me, and my life was a hot mess. But the guys, ‘my boys’, and even now William, believed they saw something more in me.

  The van fell into silence as each of us contemplated our own private thoughts. I could feel the loathing rolling off of Thomas in palpable waves. William just sat, silent and still, the hint of a smile tugging the corners of his mouth. Without the use of my hands, I couldn’t hold on. My body rocked and slammed around the inside of the cargo bay. By the time we reached our destination, somewhere near downtown Spokane, my arms and legs were battered and bruised, and three lumps bulged on my head. I was sure Thomas took the corners so sharply for the sole purpose of damaging me, and William snarled at his reflection in the mirror. My body ached and my head throbbed; and fear gushed ice-cold through my veins. A single quiet sob lurched in my chest. Geez! I was so tired of being scared.

  Thomas pulled to a stop, then shifted the van into reverse. I toppled over once more, as he backed down a ramp into a dark tunnel. An old Wonder Bread sign flashed by, just before the van was enveloped in darkness. Thomas mercilessly dragged me from the van and hauled me into the deserted bakery. The place still smelled of yeast from decades of fresh bread baked in its now-cold ovens. A thick layer of dust covered every flat surface. The room was gloomy and still, save one small area illuminated by an LED lantern that shed a penumbra of light around two camping chairs in the center.

  “It ain’t much,” said Thomas, shoving me into a chair, “but it’s home.” I sank into the hammock-like chair. My feet dangled inches above the floor like a toddler sitting in Daddy’s seat.

  I had no doubts what Thomas would do to me if William wasn’t there. His overflowing memories weren’t difficult to read. I wondered if he was the one who planted the idea of rape in Rico DeLaRosa’s mind; used him as a pawn in his diabolical end game. Thomas just felt like the source of it all. But more than that, he wanted me to die—and he wanted me to die suffering the most excruciating pain he could conjure. I wondered what I’d ever done to him to make him hate me so much. Was I just collateral damage in his war against Nick and Sabre? Guilt by association? But who were the bad guys here anyway? Maybe Thomas and William felt justified in their hunt of the boys, just as Nick and Sabre felt justified in their hunt of Thomas and William. But my boys didn’t terrorize people’s dreams and suck out their sanity. My boys didn’t strip other Caphar of their gifts for their own personal gain.

  William kneeled in front of me. His long, cold fingers wrapped around my thighs and dug into the tender bruises from my ride in the van. I winced and he chuckled, but released his pressure on my legs.

  “Miss Sweet…”

  Images pounded so forcefully into my mind, I gasped for breath and choked out a whimper.

  A ten year old William ran among corn rows playing chase with his beautiful, blonde little sister. The siblings ran and tagged each other until they both collapsed on the sandy banks beside a tumbling creek, gasping for breath. The girl’s flaxen hair fanned out across the sand; her gleaming blue eyes stared into the sky.

  “Look at that one, there, Willie. It looks like a elephant,” the sister proclaimed.

  “You’ve never seen an elephant. How would you know?” the young William protested.

  “Have too,” she argued.

  “Have not.”

  “Have too.”

  “Fine. Where did you see this elephant?”

  The girl was quiet and thoughtful. “On a handbill in the city when I went with papa.”

  “Doesn’t count. That’s only a picture of an elephant.”

  “Does too count. ‘cause a cloud elephant isn’t a real elephant either.”

  William had to concede defeat. But rather than letting her jubilate in her win, he scurried to the edge of the creek, gathered a handful of icy cold water and splashed her with it.

  “William Alexander Grey!” she screamed, sitting up in shock. “You got my pinafore wet. Mama’s gonna tan your hide.” But William’s cunning little sister jumped to her feet and shoved William into the creek. William stood dripping as she giggled and ran away.

  “Sarah Rose! I’m going to make you pay for that!” But William was laughing. The love for his beautiful little sister, who was also his only and dearest friend, calmed his brotherly rage.

  “Sarah Rose,” I breathed. “She was your sister?”

  William’s fingers wrapped around my throat. I thrashed and scratched at his arms with my bound hands. “Do not ever speak her name,” he hissed between his teeth. “Your ‘friend’ Sabre killed her. And I’m going to make him pay.” That seemed to be his universal slogan. My airway was crushed in his grasp and blood throbbed in my head. I flailed and clawed for my life as darkness pulsed on edges of my vision. Asphyxia loomed like the reaper, but William thrust me away against the chair before the darkness could consume me. I clutched at my throat and gasped for air.

  “Sabre didn’t do that,” I croaked out, the words minced my throat as they wheezed through.

  “I know he did. Thomas was a witness to the killing.”

  “Then Thomas is lying,” I told him.

  Thomas stepped into the aura of light as the words spilled from my mouth. He stepped up to me and backhanded me across the face. Sparks flared in my eyes.

  “No,” he said, “Thomas is not lying. Sabre took the life of Sarah Rose. Now, he can forfeit his own.”

  “But I’ve seen…” I started but Thomas raised his hand to slap me again. I stuffed the argument back into my mouth. Sabre hadn’t killed Sarah Rose. I’d seen the memories of him finding her dead, as they leached out of him during his ‘rock star’ weave. The agony that twisted and stripped his soul bare, was s0 vivid and profound. I knew how broken his heart was, not only at her loss, but the loss of the friendship he had with William; the man he considered his brother and kindred spirit all those years ago. Of course, Sabre might have manipulated those memories for his own benefit, done something to them so anyone who happened to see them only saw what he wanted them to see. And I couldn’t claim that Sabre was not a killer. He’d killed plenty of Rephaim over the years. But he didn’t make a habit of killing the innocent. Only the guilty. Only the evil, that savaged Caphar and human-kind alike.

  Something like doubt skittered across William’s face, but vanished behind his usual frown. For a moment, just one tiny, fleeting moment, I thought, maybe he wondered about the truth; that he missed his old friend, too. Perhaps, the inkling that he’d sided himself with the wrong Caphar, turned Wraith in vengeance, trickled through his mind.
But, he turned and walked away. “Keep a close eye on her,” he said. Then, over his shoulder, “and don’t touch her again! She’s mine!” His shadow melted into the darkness.

  Chapter 14 What Does the Fox Say

  Thomas prowled the circle of light, eager to inflict pain, restrained only by his master’s command. I didn’t need Caphar abilities to catch the agitation rolling off of him in unadulterated waves. Every few minutes, he stopped and opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it closed and held his peace, like some burning confession singed his tongue but he didn’t dare release it. His fists clenched and unclenched, bridling the desire to wrap them around my throat. No doubt as he’d done to the beautiful Sarah Rose. The incessant back and forth was hypnotizing, and my eyelids grew heavy. Maybe that’s what he wants. Maybe he wants to terrorize my dreams. I jerked myself awake and tried not to watch him pace. Maybe it’s not such a good idea to fall asleep. Maybe he’s projecting this stupor. The quiet shush of his movement twined through me like a lullaby. I finally succumbed to its tune and slumped down in the chair for a little nap.

  I lifted my face to the caress of the summer sun, absorbed the warmth that pierced through my skin to saturate my soul. I stood in the lush green garden with my parents; a content little family. The heat drew the fragrance of raspberries from the bushes, mixed with the scent of rich, freshly-watered soil. The early evening light glinted off drops of moisture that beaded on the leaves like clear, cool diamonds. My parent’s arms encircled me, surrounded me with their warmth and love. “We’re here, sharing your dreams…” My father’s voice warped into a sinister gloat. “And turning them into nightmares…” The voice, no longer my father’s, chortled sadistically…The golden, tranquil day eclipsed and morphed…Daylight masquerades as dusk, the clouds heavy-laden with snow. An arctic blast extends its arm, balling its fist to bludgeon the car from the road. Brake lights flash a glaring red. The tires whir and whine on the frozen asphalt, seeking elusive purchase. The wind flings the car across three frosted lanes. Panic twists my father’s face as the car fishtails out of control. His frantic hands, hands that can do anything, build anything, grapple uselessly at the wheel. My mother’s face is fear-white, her mouth a perfect ‘o’ that disappears beneath her small, stark hand. A wall of white emerges out of the flurry before the windshield, but not of snow. Cement. Massive and merciless. The shiny new sedan plows into the bridge abutment, lifting Mom’s side of the car into flight. Giant sparkling snowflakes of shattering glass fly into the air as the car rolls over and over…The blaze scorches my eyes, bringing my tears to a boil. Searing heat and the horror of looking into the faces of my mother and father as the flames devour them forces my eyes away. My body finally crumbles onto the cold freeway, in exhausted agony. I crush my ears with my hands to block out the maelstrom. Their haunting screams reverberate in my ears, echoes of the torment resounding throughout my body.

  I lurched awake and toppled from my chair. Bile churned in my stomach and my throat knotted against it. Thomas’ quiet laughter pulverized any sense of composure and I lay sobbing on the cold tile floor. His bony fingers grasped my shirt and slammed me back into the chair. But he didn’t let go. He lowered his face to mine, his corrupted breath swathed my face, and I cringed. Like an ER doc uses paddles to restart a patient’s heart, Thomas crushed his knuckles into my chest. Electric fire sparked through me, all the way to my fingertips and toes. I refused to give him the satisfaction of his torment, and pinched my lips around a scream. His mouth parted, as if to speak, but he snapped it closed and sneered at me instead.

  “William said to keep your hands off me,” I reminded him through gritted teeth.

  His lip curled up in contempt, but he remained silent and returned to his relentless pacing. I hung my head in my hands and pressed the angry tears back where they belonged—not here where he could see them. Their corrosive salt eroded a layer of confusion away from my mind. All those nightmares after the accident. All those night terrors after the rape. Thomas did that. Night after night, he’d bombarded my brain with the images of my parent’s death. I wasn’t there. I didn’t see the crash. But the phantasms were so real—because he made them that way—or maybe, because he was there. Frost crystallized in my veins.

  “I hate you,” I seethed at him, but his only response was more vile laughter. Asshole.

  How long had this Rephaim been stalking me? How long did he lay in wait outside my home and lob bombs of despair into my soul? I scowled at him. But Nick was there too. He’d been watching over me like a guardian angel. So Nick wasn’t just saving me from myself, from nightmares—he was saving me from the Rephaim. Blood pounded in my brain. Confusion severed cohesive thought. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes again, to squelch the tears and turmoil that threatened a prison riot.

  I curled myself into a ball, wrapped my arms around my legs and laid my forehead on my knees. The quiet scuff of Thomas’ steps lulled me, once again. Dread seized my heart but even that was pacified by the monotonous rhythm. My eyes drifted closed. And—nothing overtook me.

  * * *

  No dreams. No nightmares. No visits from marauding Wraith. When I awoke, it was impossible to tell how long I’d been asleep. No light leaked into the old bakery from the outside world. It might’ve been five minutes. Or it might’ve been five hours. I still felt exhausted, so no gauge there. The room around me felt eerily static; not even a breath stirred the air. Was I alone? I rocked myself forward, struggling to get out of the deep-set chair. No protest from the Wraith. I walked the edge of the circle of light, peered into the darkness, and saw only faint glimmers of light off surfaces in the distance. And still no one objected. Maybe I could get free. Maybe I could get back to Nick and Sabre and warn them of Thomas and William’s plan. If only I could get my hands free. If only I could find a way out.

  Groping my way through the darkness, I felt for something that might sever the plastic ties on my wrists. My eyes adjusted to the dark with each step deeper into it, and black silhouettes developed within the darkness. My fingers grazed cool metal tables, a dented old sink, a stack of heavy plastic milk crates that toppled to the floor with a clamor. I sucked in my breath. Held it. Waited. Waited for enraged voices that never came. Why? Why would they go to the trouble of kidnapping me, again, and then just leave me to my own devices. What if they were screwing with me and this was all just another elaborate dream? I rattled my thoughts together with a shake of my head and continued my survey of the land. After a few moments, I found what I thought was an old bread slicer with sharp metal edges to cut the ties at my wrists. As I sawed at the plastic, I nicked my wrist. The pain shot warm and familiar up my arm and to my brain. But that wasn’t me anymore. I had made a choice. I had chosen to live. So I couldn’t allow myself to relish the pain of self-inflicted wounds any longer—like a recovering alcoholic pining for a drink, but couldn’t let a single drop pass his lips. Finally, the plastic tie snapped free. I rubbed my wrists and shook my hands to get the circulation going again. Now. If I could just find a way out.

  I remembered the old Wonder Bakery sign that flashed by the van’s windows before Thomas drove us down to the gates of hell. There used to be a bakery near the Flour Mill and adjacent to the Courthouse. I was pretty sure that’s where I was. I just needed to find a way out. But where were Thomas and William? And was this an elaborate ruse? Just a means to lure the guys out for slaughter? This was all just a little too easy. I had to chance it though. I needed to get to a phone, call Nick…I patted my pockets. No! Way! Thomas actually left me with my cell phone? Is he really an idiot…or is this just one huge set up?

  Out of fear of being overheard, I decided to text rather than call. I kept the keypad on my cell on silent—a promise I’d made to Mom and Dad after another school shooting. They didn’t want the beep of my keypad to give me away if I was hiding from a lunatic with a duffle bag full of guns and ammo. I hunkered down in a corner and blocked the light of the cell phone with my body.

  Nick. SOS.
Down at Wonder Bakery, near Flour Mill. I think. Trying to find a way out. Help! My thumb hovered over ‘Send.’ My mind reeled with possibilities: stupidity? Or trap? Finally—‘send’.

  What had I just done? Had I just sent Nick an invitation to his annihilation? All I knew for sure was that I needed to get out of that place. I needed to get as far away from these two vengeful, lunatic Wraith as I possibly could.

  A door banged open somewhere in the building. The sound reverberated around the empty room and echoed in my chest.

  “Where is she? Why weren’t you watching her?” William’s voice roared like a chain saw.

  “I only left for a moment. And she was asleep,” Thomas defended himself but he didn’t sound all that repentant.

  “Idiot!” Ha! That’s what I thought, too. Something smashed against a wall and a rumbling snarl trickled into my dark little corner.

  “Come out, come out. Wherever you are,” William said in singsong.

  Yeah. That’s a hellaNo!

  Come out, come out. Wherever you are.

  I clawed my skull, trying gouge his voice out of my head. I needed to get away. Now! My hands roamed the walls, groped for a window or door, any point of escape. Please, God. Let me get away. My fingers stubbed against a light switch box but it was too risky to turn it on. William knew I was close; I could feel his darkness probing for me. I knew he could hear the memories that churned in my mind. And probably hear my racing heartbeat, as well. I scrabbled my way along the wall and finally found a heavy metal door with a pressure bar. No alarms or locks barred the door, so I pushed it open just enough to slither out into the night. Chilly March air slapped my face and stung the abrasion left by Thomas’ knuckles, as I eased the door closed behind me with a quiet thud and launched myself away from the bakery. My shoes slapped the pavement.