The living room is cozy, and probably ranking as my second favorite room of the apartment. I turn the gas fireplace on, instantly defrosting my stiff limbs, as I lay on the rug in front of the flame. An addictive aroma of chocolate and spearmint fill the room, creating a delicious combo of Heather and cocoa. The fire crackles creating a warm lullaby. My eyes become blurry, again affected by the lack of sleep. Before I know it, I am once again coaxed into an alluring slumber.
***
Heather plops on the rug right next to me, holding two mugs of steaming goodness. “Warming up, babe?” she asks genuinely.
“I am. This is so nice. You have no idea how happy I am just sitting here with you.”
“I guess that makes us both lucky then.” She smirks.
A million thoughts crowd my mind into sheer claustrophobia.
“Heather, I feel kinda—different.”
“How so?” She carefully sips her steaming chocolate treat.
“I had a daydream about you earlier.”
“So what? I’ve been having daydreams about you since middle school.”
“It’s weird for me though. I’ve never really thought of you like that—until now.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m just irresistible.” She smirks. “Nah, weird stuff happens when you move in together. Stop overthinking it so much.”
“I know it’s crazy, but since I moved in there is some strange force in the air here; it’s pushing me towards you. I don’t understand it, but I like the way it feels.”
“Why don’t we just give it a try then, and see if you feel anything?” Her eyes darken, as she begins changing again, like in my daydream earlier.
“Give what a try?”
An arrogant smile curses her lips, as she whispers her demands in my ear. “Kiss me—hard.” She bites my earlobe, so hard I wonder if she drew blood. “Do it.” She grabs my shirt forcefully, pulling our faces a mere breath apart.
This is the Heather that is drawing me in—she’s so different. She’s confident, dominant and controlling—rough. I like this side of her. Wherever it’s coming from, I don’t want it to go away.
I lick my bottom lip, lunging forward without thinking, taking her into me. I kiss her. Her body quivers under my spell as I suck her bottom lip. She nibbles my tongue, setting off a throb in places I didn’t even know existed.
“Lay down.” She pushes me on my back flat against the rug.
The fire sparks, flames lick the logs like a snake attacking its prey. She slinks my robe down my shoulders, pulls a knife from her back pocket and opens it. She holds the tip against my collar bone—pulling slowly, torturously tracing my sensitive skin. I close my eyes as the intensity overcomes me. When I open them, it’s not Heather. It’s him—the man from my dream. He pushes the knife harder against my skin, and blood pools in a perfectly straight line, right along my collar.
***
“Wake up, sleepy head. I come bearing hot chocolate.” Heather lightly shakes me awake.
“How long have I been out?” I ask, still breathless.
Her face turns, suddenly scowling. “Syd, you’re bleeding.”
I reach toward my neck, knowing exactly where I would find the source. “I must have scratched myself while I was dreaming.”
“Must’ve been some dream. You might wanna cut those claws,” she says.
I observe my blood stained fingers, utterly confused. “Heather, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Did Lana ever mention having weird dreams?”
She stands, irritated. “I told you we weren’t gonna make a habit of bringing her up. Why do you want to know?”
“I’ve been having weird dreams, that’s all.”
She sighs heavily before responding. “She said that’s how he first came to her—Dominick—in her dreams. She started getting to a point where she couldn’t sleep anymore. She took so much fucking Ambien that it eventually stopped working. That’s when she became desperate, trying to find him in other ways. You don’t really believe in all this crap do you?”
“No, of course not. I was just curious,” I speak the words, although after the last three attempts at sleep I’m beginning to wonder.
Heather scoots closer and begins blotting my shoulder with her sleeve, her face unreadable.
“Sydney, Lana really messed me up. I didn’t love her, but I didn’t want her to hurt herself either. She actually thought she loved this guy—so much that she wanted to die to be with him. It was a deranged obsession. I don’t want you thinking about this too much. It’s just too close to home.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I was just curious about it. I won’t ask you about her anymore.”
“Good. Now, I have a way more exciting question for you—and possibly a chance for redemption for my earlier screw up.”
“Sure,” I respond curiously.
“How would you feel if we converted the office into a dark room, so you can do your own developing at home?”
“You would do that?” I ask in shock.
“I would give you anything if you’d let me—so say yes.”
Now this is the Heather I know. Kind and generous, always so giving and wonderful. This is the side of her I love, so different than the Heather I lust in my dreams. It’s odd. I see duel sides of her fighting for my attention. I don’t know which side I like more at this point.
“I would love that!” I squeal, pulling her into a tight bear hug.
“I’m glad to hear you say that, because I’ve already done it.” She jumps up excitedly.
I gasp, slapping her back playfully. “No you didn’t!”
“Come on, I want you to see it.” She tugs me into what used to be office.
Everything is perfect. It’s a textbook dark room, fully stocked with every supply I could possibly need to process my own photos.
“When did you do this?”
“Last weekend. I thought it would be a nice surprise. Do you like it?” She bubbles with excitement.
“I love it!” Tears fill my eyes, daring to spill over.
She pulls me into a warm embrace. “This way you can spend more time here with me and less time in the dark room at school. It was a purely selfish gesture.”
“Well, I love your selfishness then,” I squeal.
“You’re welcome, Kid. Now stop gushing and get those pictures developed from the cemetery. I want the ones I took of you done first. You were bangin’.”
“Done and done.”
“Do your thing. I’m gonna head to bed and watch some boob tube. I’ll see you in the morning,” she says, pardoning herself goodnight.
“Thank you so much. This is the best gift ever—aside from the Pear Berry.” I smile.
“Smells good on ya’.” She blushes.
“Goodnight, Heather.”
“Goodnight, Kid.”
***
The first few photos didn’t come out very well. It was the correct solution, only it’s not the same as I use at school, so it’s taking some getting used to. I process and hang the last few, and then take a break to the kitchen for an iced tea.
Fatigue begins to set in the longer I remain still. Between the dreams and the sleepwalking disrupting my sleep, my body is simply done. I dig through the medicine cabinet in search of some sleep aid. Lana’s Ambien is still on the shelf, as is some regular over-the-counter sleeping pills. I opt for the Ambien, checking the date before popping one in my mouth. If it kills me I have to get some sleep tonight, so I want the stronger pill. I really want to visit Mia and the boys tomorrow, and if I don’t get some rest I won’t be fit to drive. This will ensure that no matter how wicked my dreams become, I won’t be able to startle awake.
It’s been around twenty minutes since I hung my pictures, and I’m anxious to bring them out and take a look. I walk back into my dark room and begin poking around with my photographs. Just as I thought, the one of Heather is stunning. She looks so natural. It’s amazing. I pick through a few of
the others, unimpressed. The ones Heather took of me are up next on the line. I’ll admit, I am curious of why Heather was looking at me the way she was. She took four shots of me, all lying on the ground. They really are good pictures. There is a hippy-ish quality to the way my body blends into nature.
In the back ground there is something catching my eye. I assume it’s some type of blur. Heather isn’t used to operating a commercial camera, so I could just be slightly out of focus. I take it into the hallway where the lighting is better to better analyze the blur. The picture drops from my trembling fingers, hitting the floor as the image come into focus. This is impossible; there is no way this could be real. I run back to the dark room, jerking the other three pictures from the hang line. It’s then that I see it—clearly.
“Oh my god.”
***
4
Red Wine and Ambien
When dreams become a reality there is no obvious escape path. I’m not safe from him, no matter which physical state I assume—he’s here. I peer deeply into the photo, melting the obvious image into my eyes. Any question of coincidence disappears swiftly. The cold gray headstone lunges from the photo, nestled directly behind my beautiful tree. A headstone in a cemetery is not big surprise, obviously. Yet, this one is unique and clearly states his name—Dominick Manning, the same name which has haunted me since I learned of Lana’s fate.
She was telling the truth, he’s real.
I have to tell Heather, she needs to know. She has to face the fact that something dark is lurking in her home. I can’t overlook the irony of being in that specific cemetery, shooting photos at that particular spot. This is fate—intervention. A sign. I won’t ignore it.
“Heather!” I bellow down the narrow hallway.
Several long seconds pass before jingles hit my ears and she stumbles towards me half awake.
“What’s up, Kid?”
“Look.” I throw the photo into her hand, waiting anxiously for her reaction.
For a moment I think she catches the image as her eyes stay glued to the thick paper. Her smile tells me she has completely overlooked the most important part of what I needed her to see—Dominick’s headstone.
“They really turned out awesome, Syd. I know what you meant now about being natural. You look so—alive. I love the way the leaves blend into your hair, like different shades of fire. It’s gorgeous.”
“That’s sweet, Heather, but look behind me. What do you see?”
“I see you, your ugly tree, some mud—you.” She laughs.
“Look at the headstone, Heather.”
Again, her eyes focus in on the photo, analyzing it more closely this time.
“I don’t know, it’s kind of out of focus. Not to mention, I left my glasses on my bed. You seem to have forgotten that I’m half blind,” she jokes.
This is the point where I’m forced to consider my choices. Telling the truth could land me in the nut house with Lana, and keeping quiet is just as confining—mentally, that is. I don’t like secrets and I certainly don’t want to lie to her. If I simply drop it, I won’t have to answer any follow up questions Heather might have for me regarding my interest in Dominick.
“Nevermind, it’s not important right now anyway,” I quickly reply as she analyzes me with curious eyes.
“You alright, Syd? You seem edgy.”
Preservation impulses shoot back and forth through my brain, beginning in the portion that determines reason and logical thought then crashing like a tidal wave into the other side which holds no boundaries, allowing me to fully absorb the situation. Logic and reason win the battle of whether I’m going to tell Heather or keep my big trap shut. She’s so closed off in her beliefs of the supernatural. Not to mention, thoroughly convinced that Lana is a maniac. Without proof how am I supposed to convince her that I’ve been in contact with a ghost and his headstone is right here in the picture to prove it? I’ve seen him, smelled him, felt him—I’m not crazy. Heather might not agree, though. For now I need to keep my mouth closed.
“I’m alright. I just haven’t been sleeping well, and it’s beginning to catch up with me. I really should go to bed.”
“I hear ya’. I’m about to hit the sack myself.”
“Okay, goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Sweet dreams, Kid.” She turns, heading back to her room.
I make a quick stop to the kitchen, topping off my Ambien with a tall glass of red wine. I can’t take the chance of waking up until I find answers. This man has taunted me in my sleep, and now he’s inadvertently screwing with my head during waking hours. There is something so alluring about him that I can’t pinpoint, and it’s driving me mad. The way my body floats directly toward him whenever he’s around is troubling.
I literally jog to my room trying to outrun the effect of the Ambien and wine. In all the chaos I nearly forgot having taken it. The reminder comes in the form of blurred vision and a sluggish pace down what feels like an endless hallway. I don’t have much time. I fling the closet door open, dragging Lana’s box from the back corner. I rip through the cardboard, exposing the contents. I see an Ouija board, a few books, and a journal. While the other items must have held significant value to Lana, the only item of worth to me currently is the journal. It could be exactly what I need to unscramble this unusual situation.
The first few pages are nothing more than a ton of jabber about moving and work. I flip to the back, hoping for a more recent account of events. On the last page I find a short inscription.
July 13th, 2011
Dominick,
I don’t know how I’m supposed to find you anymore, I can’t sleep and when I do you aren’t there. I NEED you to come back.
I know you asked me to stay away from you, but I finally found something. I caught her today, red handed. You were right all along, she does know something, but you’re not going to believe what it is.
I don’t know how I’m going to pull this off, but we are finally going to be together.
I swear to you, that bitch is going to pay for what she’s done.
I’m slipping her a pill tonight, and then I’m coming to get you.
If all goes bad and I never return, know that I love you, and everything you NEED to know is right here in this building. I know if I disappear someone will read this someday and maybe they can help you if I can’t.
I don’t understand what I’m reading. There is absolutely no way Heather has anything to do with Dominick’s death. I begin frantically flipping backwards through the journal, but it’s too late—the Ambien hits me, giving me only enough time to crawl from the floor to the bed. There is no escaping it this time. I’m drifting quickly into his world with no defense. Reality darkens.
***
I drift towards the window, catching his scent before ever making it to the opening. I stop several feet short of the sill.
“Dominick,” I whisper into the night.
“You know my name already? I’m impressed. Come a little closer, sweetheart.”
It’s not easy—resisting his plea. He has magnetism about him, making it nearly impossible to disobey his commands. Be that as it may, I determinedly remain strong.
“No, you come closer. I’m not coming anywhere near that window. I don’t trust you after last time.”
Without pause he appears behind me.
Admittedly, I feel slightly more empowered by finding the resistance to avoid the window. Yet, I still can’t find the strength to face him. His pull is strong—too strong. I continue facing away as I speak, getting straight to the point of where I need this conversation to go.
“I came looking for you for a reason. What do you want from me?”
“So direct, I like that,” he says with an amused tone.
“I’m not really interested in what you like. You tricked me into a dangerous situation last time we met. I’d like to know why?”
“Turn around,” he orders.
From behind I can feel his presenc
e. There is no hostility, but his arrogance is extremely off-putting. This bit of control he believes he holds over me isn’t settling well as I realize he could easily use it against me if I let him.
“No. I don’t want you toying with my head. I don’t want to face you.” I stand firm.
“You don’t have to face me in order for me to toy with your head. I just wanted to see your beautiful face, and ask a favor of you. I could use your help.”
Did he seriously just call me beautiful? He thinks he knows how to work me. Wrong.
“Let me get this straight, you want me to help you, and completely forget the fact that you almost made me fall out of an open window the other night? That’ll never happen. I’m not helping you.”
“I wouldn’t have let you fall. I was just playin’.” He tickles my sides from behind.
I grab his hands, startled by the electricity they thrust through my skin. His strong fingers are like magnets, clinging firmly to my hips. I force myself to fully push them away, but not without a determined effort. Either he doesn’t want to let go, or I don’t want him to. Either way, for now I’m free of his grip, aside from the tingling sensation his touch left behind.
“Go play with somebody else. Even if I wanted to help you— which I don’t—I can’t.”
“I can be very persuasive,” he confidently remarks.
“For every ounce of persuasion, I have double in stubbornness. No amount of persuasion would ever make me want to help you. You’re obviously not a good person or you would have crossed over. I know how these things work. I watch the Sci-Fi channel.”
Although his genuine laugh tells me I inflicted no insult, I instantly regret my harsh words. I have no idea what landed him here. Likewise, I have no right to accuse him of being a bad person. The truth is, it’s bothering the hell out of me that I do like him and I can’t stop myself from wanting to turn around—just to drink in his gorgeous features once again. I don’t know if it’s him playing mind tricks or what. Outwardly there are certainly no appealing factors to his personality. He’s cocky and arrogant—self-absorbed for sure. Everything I despise in a person, woman or man alike, is all over him.
Dreamers (The Dreamers Series) Page 4