Dreamers (The Dreamers Series)

by Brooklin Skye

  “You aren’t even going to listen to reason, are you? You are going to regret this if you get involved. Messing with her could be a life or death situation. Believe me on that, I am not speculating. You’re not only putting yourself at risk here, there are other people to consider.”

  “I know, that’s why I simply cannot involve you or anyone else. I’m not offering any more information, that’s all I can give you. I am keeping you out of this,” I reply.

  “I’m already in it, Syd, up to my damned neck,” she sighs.

  “How so?” I quiz as the cab pulls up the gravel drive.

  “We will finish later. I’m having the cab driver drop you at home, and then I have to go to work, but I want to finish this conversation when I get home. Don’t do anything until I get home, got it?” she demands, clearly firm in her request.

  “Stop worrying and let’s go, bossy butt.” I carefully avoid agreeing to anything.

  After two long hours of silence in the car, I am thrilled to see the Atlanta skyline in the near distance. I loved my trip to the mountains, but home is where the heart is—where my heart is. Heather leaves an overly healthy tip with the overpriced cab fare, receiving a huge smile of thanks from the driver.

  She takes the time to walk me to the door, warning me once again to stay out of trouble. I agree to be good and nothing more. She heads to work, giving me just enough time to squeeze into a hot shower and do a small amount of research before I head to bed and have some much needed quality time with Nick. This will be the first time in over a month that I can actually touch him. Meditation is great for in between communication, but not so much by way of touching. I can pick up feelings easily, but they’re more like tingly static shocks than actual feelings. When I sleep, everything is lifelike. That’s what I am waiting for. I can’t wait to pull him into me, to breathe him in, to touch his skin.

  After the shower the first thing I do is crack open my laptop, for the first time in ages, and begin searching for the purchase records for the apartment building, which ends up being a lot easier than I expected. The only bummer is I have to pay for the report, and I haven’t had any work lately with all that’s happened. Luckily, I have just enough to pay for it without having to dip into my savings, which is solely reserved for bills. Money well spent if it helps Nick, though. I wait anxiously for the report to be sent to my email; it’s only been about thirty seconds, and I’m already shaking in anticipation. I find it funny how Heather is afraid for my safety in dealing with this woman. My safety isn’t in question; Peyton is the one who should be worried. I am not the only person who wants justice for Nick, Cayden and his mother, god rest her soul, deserve to have closure as well. In a few short minutes I will finally have something good to report to Nick. As much as he says he doesn’t want to crossover, he can’t be okay with staying like this forever, especially after he finds out about Little Monster.

  I pat my belly and speak to our child.

  It’s time to tell Daddy about you, Little Monster. I just know he will be as excited as I am. I love you so much already, and I know he will too.

  I want to tell Nick in a special way, I haven’t quite figured out how yet.

  I ease myself into quick meditation, calling his name the second I break through.

  “Nick.”

  “I’m assuming you’re home? You feel closer.” He sounds excited.

  “Yeah, I came home early because Heather got called into work. I will be heading to sleep in about an hour or so, but there is something I have to take care of first. I’ve found Peyton. Everything I need to know about her is being delivered to my email as we speak.”

  “Syd, I told you to drop that for now. I don’t want to know anything yet, I might disappear. Things have been getting pretty strange lately.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know, I’m hearing things. I told you I can hear someone talking when you’re around. I’m starting to think I’m losing my mind.”

  “Well, Heather said you claimed to have some sort of supernatural abilities when you were alive. Is it possible they carried over?” I ask.

  “If I tell you, you’ll be frightened of me.”

  “Baby, nothing about you would ever push me away. I love you. You can tell me anything.”

  He nods reluctantly, and speaks slowly.

  “I’ve always heard things, from as far back as I can remember. I got used to that over the years. When I died, it was almost a relief, my head was finally silent—until now.”

  “What do you mean, Nick? Are the voices coming back?”

  “Yes, kind of, but it’s not the same. It was always obvious when I was alive; I could tell the people speaking to me were not normal, they always sounded so distant. The voices I’ve been hearing lately are much clearer and definitely much closer, almost like they’re right next to me.”

  “Consider that you are no longer among the living, maybe it’s actually heightened your senses. Honey, you have a gift. Don’t push it away, it will only torment you.” I offer as much support as I can.

  “It’s not just that. Something else is bothering me. I didn’t want to freak you out the other night when we spoke, but it’s as if the voice is coming from inside you. I’m scared I’ve pulled you into this fucked up world of mine, and something or someone is trying to take you away from me, from the inside out. Have you felt anything negative around you, have you heard anything unusual?”

  I’m no brain surgeon, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize the voice he hears IS coming from within me. This is not the way I wanted to tell him, but I can’t leave him in this fear. His eyes are wild with anxiety, and it’s evident that his mind is slipping from him faster than I can grasp it. The only way to stop this is by telling the truth, and setting his mind at ease.

  “Nick, there aren’t any ghosts lingering around me besides you. What you’re hearing is coming from me,” I speak in a soft and comforting tone.

  “I know, but it’s not you.” His panic heightens.

  “It’s part of me—part of you too,” I whisper.

  “You’re confusing me. What do you mean?” he pleads helplessly.

  “I’m pregnant, Nick. You hear our child. It’s communicating with you.”

  A glimmer of disbelief flickers in his expression, then turns to sheer understanding as tears pool to the surface already sparkly aqua eyes.

  “That’s what I heard? My baby? You’re…”

  “Yes, Nick.” I wait for a reaction.

  “My child—our child.” He excitedly bubbles from the inside out.

  “I know this is hard to swallow, but once it sinks in I’m sure you’ll be—” I shush as he abruptly cuts me off.

  “Shh! I’m trying to listen for the baby.” He goes silent concentrating harder than I’ve ever seen.

  “Well, it’s still a very small Little Monster. I don’t think it will speak on command,” I inform him.

  “Don’t call my baby a monster,” he snaps.

  “Oh, you sound like Mia! It’s a term of endearment. And it’s OUR baby, Mr. Manning.” I giggle.

  “You keep calling me Mr. Manning, and I’m going to show you who the Daddy is.” He winks his gorgeous aqua eye at me.

  “On that note, I’m going to try to fall asleep so you can make good on that threat. I just have to check my email, and I will be there as soon as I can doze off. I love you, Nick.”

  “I love you too, baby, so much. You too, Little Monster, Daddy loves you.” He blushes for the first time ever, and I’m convinced that it’s absolutely without a doubt the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.

  ***

  I’m on cloud nine as I enter my password to check my email. It’s here. I really should wait to check it since Nick is waiting for me to fall asleep, but I can’t help but take a quick peek. If nothing else, I want to know her full name so I can pick up my search first thing in the morning.

  The genuine smile that lingers from my meditation with Nick is snatched f
rom my face the instant I read the name. Lana was right, I do know her—them.

  Owner: Amanda Peyton Grayson

  Co-owner: Heather Melaine Grayson

  My head spins as every inconsistency rolls into a hard boil to the surface of my brain. Of course Heather didn’t want me to dig this information up, she’s tied to it. Peyton is her mother. I can’t believe I didn’t put it together. I knew her mother is a psychiatrist; she prescribed Heather medication to keep Nick from her head, and she was among the first people to arrive here when Lana killed herself. The police couldn’t have notified her that quickly—owner of the building or not. She was on the phone with Lana when everything went south. It all makes sense now.

  I grab my keys from the hook in the kitchen. I will not be pushed over this time. I’m going to Heather’s work, and I will expose her if I have to. I want to know where Nick’s body is—now.

  ***

  12

  The Right to Remain Silent

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s no Heather Grayson at this business, never has been. I’ve been here fifteen years. You must be confused; she doesn’t work here,” the man speaks, irritated.

  My blood is ready to boil as a heavyset man in his late fifties informs me for the hundredth time that Heather is not an employee of Music Pro. His dress shirt stretches along his round stomach, pulling a gap in the straining buttons. If he breathes any heavier, it will burst at the seams, a sight my nausea couldn’t handle.

  “I’m sorry to have bothered you, sir. Have a nice day.”

  I walk away with my head down, feeling foolish for falling into every lie she has ever told me. I can’t even relate the disappointment I feel right now. I walk towards the darkening parking lot, kicking rocks with my converse, wondering where I went wrong. What did I ever do to Heather to make her feel like she had to lie about every part of her life? Was I a bad friend? Did I make her feel inadequate as a companion? This situation goes way back—before Nick. She was lying to me from the start.

  Sadness and anger mix into a raging cocktail that stings my throat as it sears its way down. My head throbs and a bout of nausea creeps into my stomach. I swallow several times before popping a pre-peeled piece of ginger between my cheek and gum, suffering through the burn for a few seconds. The contracting muscles that threaten to eject the acidic stomach fluid begin to loosen and relax. In this moment I am eternally grateful to my sister for her tips on how to ward this off. I don’t know how to manage this kind of hormone upset; it weakens me every time it hits. Even to pull my ringing phone from my pocket feels like a chore. My stomach flips once again as I read the caller ID.

  It’s her…

  “Hello?” I steady my voice, still entirely conflicted on how to approach her.

  “Hey, Squid. What’cha up to?” she chirps cheerfully.

  Despair flips a switch to anger just at the sound of her unassuming voice. The fact that she continues to act as if everything’s fine digs deeply under my skin. While I would love nothing more than to lay into her right now, I can’t. I’ve made that mistake before. I need to be smart and really consider my next move. She obviously has information on Nick’s death, and I can’t chance his body being destroyed or moved because I shoot my mouth off and they panic. I need to take a breath, act normal, and also begin untangling her web of lies. It’s high time she realizes I’m not the fool she takes me for. I quickly decide to let her know I’m here—at her phony job. I’m going to spook her into talking—and stretch the truth a little to accomplish that.

  “Heather, I’m actually here at Music Pro. I—uh… came to surprise you with dinner.”

  She quiets for a moment then begins rambling quickly. Her voice is startled and uneasy. I can feel her sweating from here.

  “I um…already grabbed a sandwich. Go on home and I will bring dessert later. Just don’t go inside; we are super slammed. It might get me in trouble to have visitors right now.”

  “Aww, well I already brought you a gyro. I got extra cucumber sauce and everything. Surely you can make a little room in your tummy. I’ll tell you what, why don’t I just go in and leave your food with the receptionist? I’ll let her know it’s for you.”

  “No, Syd. The receptionist is actually off tonight. I have a great idea: I’ll go talk to my boss and we can meet at the apartment and eat there. I might be able to spare an hour. I would rather get out of here for a while anyway,” she offers.

  She is trying so hard to get out of this. She’s squirming—hard.

  “Okay, I’ll just wait for you to come out, and we can ride together since you don’t have your truck.”

  “Sydney, I will meet you at home. Let me finish up what I’m doing. What’s with you, tonight? You’re being pushy.” Anxiety pricks her voice.

  “I’m just ready for some company, is all. If you really want, I can just meet you at home,” I relent.

  “Okay, see you in a while. Bye, darlin’.”

  By the time I walk through the door she’s already made it home. I had a bit of a delay from having to stop by Athena’s Grille and pick up the dinner I had supposedly brought her at work. Sweat drips from her messy hair and a ring of saturation sits under the arms of her gray t-shirt. Her cheeks flush cherry-red as she sits at the table. I’m overly warm as well from the energy pulsing through my veins. Call it determination, fear, anticipation—it’s somehow lit a fire inside me. I pull my sweatshirt off and stand before her with nothing more than a thin camisole for cover. I don’t intend to use myself again to divert her attention, but somehow it snaps her focus in and she struggles to keep from staring. She squirms in her seat nervously and begins toying with a loose string on the table cloth. At this point it’s hard to tell if she’s nervous because she suspects I know about her job, or that she doesn’t trust herself alone with me while I’m lightly clothed. Either way, I can use her anxiety to my benefit and maybe she will crack from sheer guilt. It’s eating at her. I can see it. She’s on the brink of talking. I just have to keep up the conversation and hope that she’s ready to purge her conscience, especially since I have an idea. I’m thinking… it’s time to meet the family.

  “How was work, Heather?” I ask.

  “Uh, fine, I guess. The boss man went ahead and let me go for the rest of the night.” She avoids eye contact.

  “Really? I thought y’all were slammed?” I purse my lips instinctively. “Whatever, I have way better plans anyway.”

  “And what plans would those be?” She perks up a little.

  “I was thinking, in all these years I’ve never formally met your Mom. I want to invite her over for some dessert. I picked up some tiramisu when I got dinner. Let’s call her over.”

  “She’s probably busy, Syd. Maybe another time,” she answers uncomfortably.

  I don’t know what I’m thinking, more than likely I’m not thinking at all, but before I can talk myself out of it I snatch her phone off the table and begin dialing. She protests, trying to rip it from my hands, but it’s too late. Peyton answers on the first ring.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” a mesmerizingly smooth voice speaks.

  “Hi, Mrs. Grayson, this is Sydney Preston. Heather and I wanted to invite you over for some tiramisu and coffee.”

  “Heather is okay with this?” she asks, surprised.

  “Yes, ma’am. We would be delighted to have you over,” I reply.

  “Well, Sydney, that’s a very nice offer. When?” she asks.

  “Now would be great, actually. With everything that’s happened lately, I would love some good company. Plus, I never thanked you for handling all the legal stuff with Lana. I saw you talking with the police when I was found. I’m very grateful.”

  “No thanks necessary, Sydney, but if your thanks comes in the form of tiramisu, then I delightfully accept. I can be there in five minutes. I’m at my Atlanta office.”

  “Great, see you in five then.” I hand Heather her phone back with a devious smirk.

  “Syd, what was all that about? You a
re acting so freaking weird today, for real. I don’t want to spend the night with my mom. I wanted to hang out with you,” she asks cautiously.

  “We have every day to hang out. I wanted to meet your mom and thank her for dealing with the police and all the paperwork involved with Lana. She didn’t have to do that. She didn’t even know me. I just wanted to make a gesture to show her that I’m grateful.” The lies burn my tongue like toxic waste.

  “Whatever, I guess,” she sighs as she stuffs the last of her gyro down in one bite.

  ***

  “Come on in, Mrs. Grayson.” I take her coat.

  She is around five foot ten—very tall and slender. I wasn’t really expecting platinum blonde hair since the last time I saw her it was more of a light brown, but clearly it’s not a natural color. I don’t remember much about the day I saw her when Lana committed suicide, and I only remember a side view. Today I realize she is absolutely beautiful and holds her fifty years impeccably well. Part of me wishes she were hideous and unattractive; it would make me feel better knowing at some point she had her paws all over my Nick. As much as he implied he wasn’t interested, I have to wonder how true that is. She’s stunning.

  “Thank you, Sydney. You are very welcoming.” A shrinky tone coats her words like thick mud.

  “Let’s sit by the fire. I’ve taken the liberty of setting the coffee table for us all,” I reply sweetly.

  I lead her to the living room, forgetting momentarily that she knows this place like the back of her hand—she owns it.

  We settle in and fall into the typical getting-to-know-you questions and small talk. I don’t have very long to lead this conversation so I really need to get on it before she decides to leave. I have no idea how to dig through her mind; she would know it the moment I began. This is what she does for a living: she gets into people’s heads. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s already figured out that I’m on to her. The way she watches me makes me squirm. It’s clear she is analyzing my every move—my every word. As much as I want to—I can’t manipulate this woman.