Dreamers (The Dreamers Series)

by Brooklin Skye

  “Mrs. Grayson, I was so impressed to find out you were a psychiatrist. It must be a really hard profession.”

  “Oh, it certainly can be, Sydney.” Her smooth voice rolls over my ears like melting chocolate.

  “I can’t even imagine getting into someone’s head, getting into their inner core. How do you not get attached to these people? It must be hard to nurse someone back to health just to turn around and let them go.”

  Her head tilts slightly to the left. I’m not exactly certain what she heard from my words, but it was something.

  “I suppose it depends on who you’re working with. I always have an agenda. Sometimes it’s simple and people can be treated and sent on their way. Others require more special attention, and attachments do form. Sometimes when there is no help for a certain patient, I have trouble giving up on them, especially because their worst enemy is invisible. I’m protective, like a lioness. I take my job very seriously.”

  “Well, Mrs. Grayson. I can respect that. I’ve had some experience myself in dabbling in the mind of another person, my boyfriend actually. He has bipolar and is in a very bad place. I won’t be giving up on him either—ever.”

  “Here, here, Sydney. To never giving up on the lost.” She raises her coffee in cheers. “Now we can cut through the formalities. You can call me Peyton.” A smirk lines her painted lips.

  “Mother!” Heather shouts with wide eyes.

  They have a moment of a Wild West stare down before focusing back on me. Heather is mortified and Peyton smiles as if she’s having the best time in the world. She is no more threatened by me than a lion of a kitten.

  “Oh, Heather, relax child! She already knows, haven’t you been listening? Give it up, honey. You’re busted.”

  I can almost hear Heather’s heart pounding from across the room. Her honey-colored eyes stare down the floor. I cash in on my opportunity.

  “Peyton’s right, Heather. I already know. I searched the records as instructed by Lana in her note. I know you both own the building. I went to confront you at work tonight, but it seems you don’t work there either—never have. Is there anything you’ve ever told me that’s actually true, or was everything a lie?”

  “I’m sorry, Sydney. I really am.” Her eyes stay planted to the floor.

  “Sorry or not, Heather, one of you better start talking. What did y’all do to Nick?”

  “Sydney, you don’t know anything about this. You need to stay out of it,” Heather replies.

  “Heather, she needs to know. Tell her now, before she does something stupid,” Peyton orders.

  “No, Mother, we are not going to involve her any further in this! I want you out of my fucking house! I will deal with Sydney myself. Leave—now!” Heather shouts angrily.

  “Heather, I warned you about this. When we realized Dominick was still lingering around in this apartment, I told you not to move anyone else in. You ignored me. You let your stupid obsession for Sydney, someone who doesn’t even love you, put you in this position. She should never have come here. This is your fault, dear, not mine.”

  “I wanted her here. And I don’t care if you think I’m stupid or not. I fucking love her, and I hate you! I’m tired of having to live alone because of your fucking mess, Mother. Now, mind your own damn business and let me fix this. Because of you Sydney will probably never forgive me for this. Get out of my fucking house!” She shakes furiously, pointing Peyton from our house.

  Peyton looks indifferent. Not hurt—not happy. She has a very stern hold on her feelings as she responds flatly to Heather.

  “Tell her the truth, Heather. You know what you have to do. I’m leaving as you’ve requested, but if you don’t tell her, I will.” She lightly closes the door behind her, leaving Heather fuming and me speechless.

  As Peyton leaves Heather storms to the kitchen filling a glass to the rim with some left-over wine in the fridge. She gags as she attempts to chug it down. At this point I can’t have her zoning out on me.

  “You can’t chug wine, Heather. It’ll make you sick. Stop it. Sit down and talk to me,” I speak in a relaxed tone as to not further anger her.

  “Don’t try to ask me anything, Syd. I’m handling this myself. Mind your own business. The less you know the better.”

  “I’m not leaving it like this. You said you’re cleaning up your mother’s mess, Heather. What did she do to him? Please, you’re my friend; don’t do this to me. Don’t lie to me anymore!” I beg.

  “I fucking can’t tell you, Sydney!” Her speech slurs with anger.

  “Why did you lie about your job? Are you doing something illegal? You have tons of money and no job; it makes no sense. Who the hell are you?” I demand.

  “I said no questions. If you want to leave, then go. I’m not answering anything.”

  I grab my purse off the counter, pulling my phone from the front pocket. I’ve had enough of the lies.

  The only way this girl is ever going to talk is by force. I can see she’s covering for her mother in some way. “Why” is the question of the hour. I’m not putting up with this for one more minute.

  “I’m calling the cops, Heather. I’m turning both of your asses in. I won’t take part in covering either of you.”

  The line rings a single time before a dispatcher answers calmly. Heather snatches my phone from me, throwing it with brute force into the wall before I can even get a word out. It smashes easily into a hundred pieces, leaving me stranded with zero communication.

  “Sit the fuck down, Sydney.” Her glare tells me not to argue. She isn’t messing around.

  I plant myself into the plush couch cushion, eyes darting around the room for something to swing with in case she decides to try something. While she’s never seemed the violent type, I have no way of knowing what type of risk I’ve put myself in simply by figuring out her connection to Peyton and Nick. I don’t know much more than I did a few hours ago. I still have no idea what they did or even why. All I’ve managed to pinpoint is that Heather is covering for her mother’s misgivings with Nick. Why though? Is she being blackmailed by her mother, or possibly feels trapped by family loyalty? She won’t tell me anything so I’m left to assume there are sinister forces behind her silence.

  “Heather, tell me the truth,” I beg.

  She sighs loudly, inhaling deeply. Just as she finally relents and begins to speak, the doorbell rings, interrupting us.

  “Don’t answer it, Heather. Whoever it is can come back later. Talk to me, please.”

  The bell ringing becomes more insistent, followed by loud banging on the wooden door.

  “Atlanta PD, open the door!” a bolstering, manly voice demands.

  Heather rushes to the door, opening it swiftly before the large city cops can bust it down.

  “Come in, guys,” she says calmly.

  Why is she so calm now? Putting on a front like everything is okay here so they will leave unsuspectingly? Now would be my moment to do something. I have to say something before they leave.

  “I called you here, officers,” I speak loudly as they enter. “She took my phone from me and threw it across the room.” I point to the remains on the floor.

  “Officer Grayson, do you have anything you would like to add? Why did you destroy this lady’s phone?”

  Officer Grayson? They must be confused.

  “Her name is Heather Grayson; she’s my roommate. She’s not a police officer,” I comment.

  Heather closes her eyes and sighs quietly as it finally begins to sink in. Heather is a police officer. This couldn’t be any more confusing as I don’t know what the hell to think of this final revelation.

  The situation is uncomfortable as Heather is clearly the outcast among these large corn-fed policeman. The ring leader of the pack shoots Heather a smirk as he begins a verbal attack against her to his fellow colleagues.

  “You hear that, boys? She IS her roommate.” They all begin laughing as Heather’s face turns deep crimson. “Grayson, isn’t this the girl fr
om the picture on your desk? The one you told us was your girlfriend?”

  “You guys, it was just a misdial. We’re fine here; you can go now,” she whispers quietly.

  “I don’t know, it seems your ROOMMATE has a complaint to make? She hung up on the emergency operators,” the balding officer taunts a humiliated Heather.

  I stand astonished at what I’m witnessing. As upset as I am with Heather right now and as betrayed as I feel, I cannot let these men mock and torment her this way. How dare they be so cruel? If I listen to one more word, I will surely be escorted to a cell after knocking this man’s face off.

  “Hey, asshole, I AM her girlfriend, actually. I didn’t mean to call you guys out here; we were having a spat and I was acting childish. It won’t happen again. Now leave.” I walk to Heather’s side, creating an allegiance.

  “Well, make sure it doesn’t happen again. Next time we will charge a hundred dollar fine,” he warns.

  “Noted.” I close the door behind them.

  I turn to face her, crossing my arms over my chest. “Well, Officer Grayson, you have some explaining to do.”

  “I guess I do,” she simply replies.

  ***

  “When I got back from Julliard, I had trouble finding a job. Mother had me covered financially; she made plenty of money. We had a brilliant idea to buy this apartment complex when it was about to go into foreclosure. We started renting the apartments out for a pretty penny because Atlantic Station quickly became the place to live. I make enough money to retire as it stands right now. With tons of money and nothing to do, I decided to go back to school. I started taking forensic science, just as a hobby really. I really fell in love with it and decided to attend the academy and become an officer. I didn’t tell anyone just in case I didn’t make it through the training—it can be pretty brutal. It just would have been one more embarrassment to fail at that too, just like every other thing in my life. It’s a hard field for a woman to begin with. I made it though, somehow. With my forensic knowledge, I went straight into the homicide unit as a rookie detective.”

  “If you are an enforcer of the law, why would you even consider covering for your mother?” I ask the obvious question.

  “You don’t know the story behind the Manning case,” she says as she pulls at her shirt to remove a wrinkle.

  “Well, inform me then. This is your last chance to come clean. I’m done with the lies, Heather. Enough is enough.”

  “I’m still active in this case, Syd. I can’t tell you everything,” she admits.

  “I understand that, and I would have understood better to begin with if you had you just told me.”

  “I couldn’t tell anybody. This is an off-the-books kind of investigation. I had insight to it before it ever hit the PD. My mother breeched confidentiality and pulled me into this mess. I’ve continued an investigation against my department policy. We are both screwed if someone finds out.”

  While this puzzle seems to grow larger by the day, I am beginning to realize why her silence was necessary. Still, I can’t see hiding something like this—no matter the reason.

  “Is a career worth more than Dominick’s life? I realize he’s dead already and we can’t literally save him, but he’s trapped. You can’t cover for her anymore. You already said you have enough money to live off forever. Damn your career. Do the right thing. You’re good—so good. This isn’t you.”

  “My reasoning is genuine, Sydney. Please believe that. Unfortunately, my mother and I will be facing more than a loss of our careers.”

  “Why?”

  “She took it too far and I can’t bail her out. When she goes down, I fall with her—criminally.”

  “Tell me what she did to him. I’ll keep my mouth shut. We can quietly resolve this to where I can cushion you and save Dominick’s soul at the same time. I want to know everything. From the beginning, how did your mother get involved with Nick? And no lies.”

  She sighs, resolving to the fact that I won’t take no for an answer anymore.

  “Not a word, to anyone, okay? Especially Dominick,” she firmly states.

  “If it’s for his safety and his wellbeing, I won’t say a word until the time is right. You have my word,” I vow.

  “From the beginning… My mother was a criminal psychiatrist at the precinct. She worked with inmates scheduled for upcoming release. Her job was primarily to prepare people to exist in the outside world after being locked up for extended periods of time. That’s when she encountered Nathan Manning. Does the name sound familiar?”

  “Not other than the last name,” I admit.

  “He’s Dominick and Cayden’s father,” she whispers with an edge to her voice.

  “Nick’s dad is in jail? What for?” I’m shocked as I never even heard his dad mentioned prior to this.

  “WAS in jail, Sydney. He was convicted of a number of things, including the attempted murder of Mrs. Manning while she was pregnant with Cayden and Dominick. Nathan was, and still is, extremely unstable. He has mental problems, bipolar, and a severe form of dementia. He nearly killed Nick’s mom and the babies as well. He was sentenced to fifty years in prison with the possibility of parole after half time served: twenty-five years.”

  “Which would have put him up for release around two years ago, when Nick disappeared?” I place a puzzle piece on the timeline.

  “Precisely then.”

  “Why would they release someone who tried to kill his wife and unborn children? Why would someone—even someone crazy—do such a thing?” I ask appalled.

  “His case was rare around the time; the courts weren’t really sure what the punishment should be for a mentally unstable person. It was more of a matter of whether he knowingly committed the crime—which he did. It was pretty crazy shit actually. It seems he had a little of the same gift as your Dominick, but it was onset by post-traumatic stress, or so my mother thought. He had just returned from war and had witnessed some pretty radical shit. His mental health began deteriorating quickly. Nick and Cayden’s mother became pregnant shortly after his return. He swore he could hear the baby from the womb. Everyone thought he was crazy, and probably was. But knowing now what I do about Nick, he was probably telling the truth. There is some kind of gift in that family. Whatever the case, the voices drove him insane. He thought the child was unholy, an abomination—supernatural. He thought the child was sent by the devil. He tried to cut the baby out when Mrs. Manning was around eight months pregnant. A neighbor heard her screams and alerted the police. They got there in the nick of time. Mrs. Manning barely pulled through, and the babies were in NICU for weeks. The scalpel Nathan used actually went clear across Dominick’s scalp—hence the wild hair. I noticed it grows funny now,” she added.

  “Strange observation from only a few meetings with Nick,” I blurt out.

  “It’s my job to be observant. Anyway, would you like me to finish?”

  “Yes. I’ll stop interrupting.”

  “That’s what brings us to now. He went up for parole a couple of years ago. My mother was assigned Nathan Manning’s evaluation. She gave a suggestion that he not be released—ever. The court disagreed, listening to the opinion of the defense psychologist, and he was released.”

  “Did he know Nick and Cayden survived the attack?”

  “I’m getting to that. One of the conditions of his parole was to receive ongoing weekly mental treatment for the course of three years. My mother’s job was done, she had completed her evaluation and he was free from the prison system, but the law allows collaboration between mental and behavioral professionals. When she received a call from Jimmy Michaels, his current psychiatrist, she learned that he was responding well to treatment and was searching for information on the burial sites for his wife and his child so he could say goodbye and begin the healing process. He hired a private investigator and found out pretty easily that his wife had survived the attack. He also found Dominick. Dominick had been on record several times as a runaway and a few other min
or run-ins with the law so it made him very easy to trace. According to Jimmy Michaels, he is now aware of the fact that the babies were twins. He is on to Cayden too.” She watches me warily.

  “If he’s been reformed, then he isn’t a threat to either of them, right? Is Cayden aware of all this?”

  “Sydney, my mother is the best of the best; you saw yourself how quickly she had you figured out. She knew Nathan Manning to the core, and he will never let this go. Twenty-five years ago he set out to eliminate the child he thought was sent of the devil. He will not rest until the job is done.”

  “Did he get to Dominick?” I ask, chewing my nails to the quick.

  “Mother got to Nick first. She broke a lot of rules trying to protect him, and now she will be facing criminal charges if someone finds out what she did—and so will I. It didn’t work out the way we thought it would. Everything got fucked up and turned into a flaming disaster. She never meant to hurt him, Sydney. I swear she didn’t. Please trust me on that.” She buries her head in her hands.

  My eyes clog with tears, wondering what happened to my poor Dominick. I couldn’t bear to hear the details of the pain he must have gone through.

  “Was he in pain, Heather?” I wince as I wait for the answer.

  “No, honey. Please don’t cry.” She gently touches my hand, offering her support.

  “I really don’t want to know exactly what she did to him, but I need to know why, if it was an accident, she won’t come clean and release Dominick back to his family for a proper burial. His mother is dead and gone, but Cayden needs closure and he needs to know he has a psycho after him. Heather, he is with Mia. He’s been to her home with my nephews. You’re exposing them to danger by doing nothing.” I’m suddenly terrified.

  “I have people watching them, Syd. I have a couple of colleagues working this off the books as a personal favor to me. My mother also has some inside connections. She cashed in a favor or two with some ex-cons she got paroled.”