Dreamers (The Dreamers Series)

by Brooklin Skye

  ***

  The pain from my dream was real this time, not some figment of mind manipulation. It lingers in the deepest pit of my soul. The silent screams in my dream have been taken off mute as they blare loudly throughout my room.

  “Nick, come back! Don’t leave me now! Come back…”

  I rock myself in a fetal position on the floor, trying to sway the wretched pain away. But I find no comfort, no reprieve—nothing. I beg for god to save me, to take me—anything but this.

  “God, help me, please,” I chant over and over, as my bedroom door finally creaks open.

  “Sydney.” I hear a familiar voice, but I can’t place it. My mind is too overwhelmed.

  My eyes tell me it’s Cayden. He scoops me from the floor and places me on the bed, stroking my hair softly.

  “Cayden, please make it go away,” I beg as my sobs finally create a loud, deafening sound. “My life is over. He’s gone.”

  Mia and Heather follow shortly behind him as my painful cries echo throughout the entire apartment. Mia climbs in the bed, cradling me from behind. Her tears soak the back of my shirt, telling me I am not alone. My agony is killing her.

  Cayden and Heather take a post at each side of the bed. My beautiful family has created a circle around me, in an attempt to protect me from the evil darkness threatening to pull me away from this world—leaving me drowning and gasping for air in that ferocious black sea again. They stand guard, forming a firm shield of love and protection. Nothing can get through this barrier—except what’s left inside of me, which they can’t shield me from. If emptiness can be the death of a person, I want it to be soon.

  ***

  15

  Beginnings End

  If I had to describe the last few hours of my life—and I use the word ‘life’ because it feels nothing like a moment in time—I would say that I feel stuck in an infinite black hole with an endless drop, sucking me further away from the surface where life actually exists. The pain persists, devouring any amount of emotion pulsing through my tender veins, eating me alive. His absence seems so final and absolute, with no light on the horizon. I was aware this day would come, just never knew how incredibly alone I would become in a matter of hours without him. People always say that when a loved one leaves this earth there is a period of shock that keeps you from feeling the full impact of the loss until you’ve adjusted enough to adequately handle it. This thought frightens me—terrifies me. If the worst is yet to come and tomorrow is going to feel worse than today, I pray my last breath will come before the sun rises again.

  I can hear through the walls of my room into the other areas of the apartment. Everything is muffled into what mimics a low buzz of activity. I can’t make out what people are saying or doing—I only know they’re there. Staying in this room isn’t an option. Mourning him will follow me anywhere and everywhere I go, but the air in here is too empty. From day one I have always felt him here—now there’s nothing. Blank silence hits my ear drums—hard, like a muted scream. I can’t handle the loneliness. I thank god Nick doesn’t have to suffer this way anymore. Honestly, I never had a grip on how incredibly lonely he must have been. He was so lost when I found him. This puts a new spin on what he had endured for so long. Two years of blank emptiness is enough to even drive the sane into hysterical madness.

  It’s nearly six o’clock a.m., and as much as I dread the physical motions of standing up and leaving this room, the chances of me falling asleep after hours of crying is imminent, and that is the last thing I want—especially here. I will never sleep in this room again. I force my aching muscles to cooperate with standing, and drag my feet like concrete blocks into the living room where Mia and Heather’s whispers come to an abrupt halt as I approach. They stare as if I will break if a sound is uttered. Awkwardness sweeps throughout the overly warm room. While I’m aware of how quickly they would see through me if I were to pretend to be alright, I don’t want to make them feel like I will shatter upon being spoken to, either. I clear my throat, as much as it burns, trying to keep my voice as even as possible. This is only the beginning to a long line of questions and answers in order. I took a moment before coming out to collect my thoughts and prepare myself for whatever news I’m about to hear. Nothing could make this any worse, so I’m ready to just go ahead full steam and get it over with. At this point there is only one thing of which I am certain—they found him. All the pieces might still be unplaced, but for him to just disappear the way he did—out of nowhere and without warning—they had to have stumbled on to him, somehow.

  “How are you holding up, honey?” Mia is the first to break the silence. “Can I make you some tea or something?”

  “I’m alive, and that’s about as good as it’s going to get right now. I will take some tea, but first do you think you guys can do something for me?” I ask.

  “Anything,” they both chime unanimously.

  “First, please knock it off with the whispering. I need to know what happened,” I respond numbly.

  Another pause stills the room as they look at each other cautiously. Either they think I am a total basket case or they’re hiding something else from me. I can’t handle any more omissions. I’m done with that part of my life—secrets and lies. Enough is enough and I won’t tolerate it anymore. How am I supposed to heal when I don’t know the truth? This isn’t going to work for me.

  “I will ask again: what happened? I am tired of living these lies. It’s over. I’m finished with being in the dark. If you care about me, you will not leave me to wonder like this. He was my life, he was my love—he was my husband. This isn’t fair that I’m the last to know.”

  “Your husband?” Mia’s eyes widen, quickly clouding with sadness. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

  “Please, just tell me,” I beg.

  Heather takes my hand, gently pulling me to the couch cushion we’ve shared a hundred times. I’ve found so much comfort within these walls; now I feel nothing but claustrophobic and smothered. Not by her—rather by this place itself.

  “Sydney, we are going to tell you everything, but let Cayden get back first. He should be here,” Mia offers.

  “She’s right, Syd. Wait until Cayden gets back. And we had no intention of hiding anything from you, sweetheart; we just don’t want to overwhelm you by everything. A lot has happened in the last few hours—a lot. You’re emotionally exhausted right now, and you’re carrying a baby who needs you to stay calm. A few more minutes won’t hurt. We’re a family and we will wait until everyone is here,” Heather speaks gently.

  Suddenly I’m worried about Cayden. Where is he and why isn’t he here to begin with? I hope they didn’t let him drive. He must be absolutely devastated by losing Dominick—again.

  “Where is he? Why would either of you let him go off alone right now? I really hope he isn’t driving,” I irritatedly question them.

  “Calm down. He’s here in the building, just indisposed at the moment. He should be up in a minute,” Heather says.

  We all jump as Mia’s phone chimes with a new text message, sending ringing throughout the eerily quiet space.

  “Guys, that’s Cayden. He needs me. Heather, take care of Sydney. I think you should be okay to begin the conversation about what’s going on. Save the rest for after we return, okay?”

  She practically runs for the door, slamming it behind her, leaving me wondering why she stressed that Heather can only tell me certain parts of the conversation. This confirms what I already suspected; they are still hiding something, and whatever it is must be important—or awful… I haven’t quite figured it out yet. I turn to face Heather. The way she looks at the floor and refuses to make full eye contact further irritates me.

  “Alright, Heather, the hall monitor is gone. You can’t even look me in the eye. What are you guys hiding from me? And where is Cayden?” I cross my arms firmly.

  “We aren’t hiding anything, just giving you what you need right now. As for Cayden, he’s downstairs.”

  “
Downstairs doing what? In the parking lot, making calls—what? Stop making me play guessing games with you.”

  “He is trying to deal with a situation. Give him a little space,” she speaks evenly, attempting to calm me with her voice.

  Asking her for specifics is like trying to find a single piece of sand on a beach. They think they’re protecting me, but all they’ve managed to accomplish is making me suspicious—which I don’t need either. It’s then that it dawns on me that she’s being evasive because it might be something that would be horrible for me to know—such as…

  “Oh, god! He has to identify the body, doesn’t he? That’s why you needed him here.” I burst into tears at the thought.

  “Babe, you have to calm down. I will tell you everything, but I can’t talk to you if you can’t handle the truth. You are entirely too sensitive right now—and trust me there is a LOT to tell.”

  She’s right. If I don’t shut up, she won’t say a word. She can be the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. I slow my breathing and wipe the tears from my eyes. My posture straightens automatically as I set myself into robot mode. I have to get it together.

  “If I stop crying will you continue? I swear I’ll stop.” I bite my inner lip to keep it from trembling.

  She cautiously analyzes me, resolving to the fact that her choices are limited and she doesn’t have any other course other than to explain. I continue with my plea before she can talk herself out of it.

  “I know you want to make sure I’m ready, but I’m as ready as I will ever be, Heather. I want to get this part over with. I need to know what happened to him. He was gone so fast; he didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye. I already knew you guys found him. It was obvious. Now I just need you to fill in the blanks. I will stay calm, okay?”

  She is unhappy with the position I’ve put her in. I can see her loyalty to me fighting with Mia’s instructions. Either way, at some point this is going to come out. I would rather hear it from her than to see it on the news or somewhere else. She is the only other non-family member that I love more than my own life—I need to hear it from her.

  “Say it, Heather.”

  “We did find him, Syd, but I don’t think we should talk about that right now. You’ve been through a lot tonight, and I don’t want to put any further stress on you until I know exactly what we’re working with.”

  “I couldn’t possibly be any more stressed than I already am. I want to know everything—right now.”

  “If things don’t turn out the way I hope, you will face even more pain. Are you certain that you can handle this right now? Think of the baby, Syd.”

  “I don’t think you get it. I don’t have anything left to lose. Nothing you say can make me feel any worse than I do right now. And the baby is fine.”

  “Fine. If you want the truth, then I will give it to you. We found Nick. I don’t know if I was too late, but—”

  A though spawns from the recesses of my mind, instantly making me panic, as I cut her off mid-sentence to address my concerns.

  “Your mother! How much time do we have until she’s back? We should get out of here.” I panic.

  Heather’s face has a blended expression of sadness and anger. Her typically beautiful brown eyes are tired and troubled. Deeply-creased lines present themselves across her forehead.

  “My mother won’t be back, Syd. She’s been detained,” she answers quietly.

  “You turned her in?” I gasp, thoroughly astonished.

  “I told you when the time was right I would notify the authorities, Syd. I promised. You’re safe now. She can’t hurt you, or anyone else for that matter. She was picked up in New Orleans a couple of hours ago. She should be transported back to Atlanta within a week. She made a full confession.”

  I swallow the vomit that rises in my stinging throat as I ready myself to hear to truth—finally.

  “Go on.”

  “This ran deeper than I could have ever imagined. My mother is a very disturbed woman.”

  I place my hand on hers for support. This has to be hard for her, as well. As insane as Peyton clearly was, she was her mother. She must be devastated.

  “I’m sorry, Heather. Carry on,” I whisper.

  “It’s a long story that goes back—way back, apparently,” she continues.

  “I have nothing but time. Start from the beginning,” I urge.

  “Alright, from the beginning. Years ago, before my mother worked for the county, she had a private practice—before I was ever born. One of her first patients was none other than Nathan Manning.” She stops, waiting for me to absorb the first bit.

  “She knew him before she ever treated him in the prison system?”

  “Yes, she did. He visited her because he had begun hearing voices—this part you already know. What you didn’t know—what none of us knew—was that she and Nathan Manning began having an affair during his treatment.”

  “Holy shit!”

  “Oh, I haven’t even fed you the best part yet. My mother became pregnant shortly after the affair began. When Nathan refused to leave his wife, my mother became obsessive. She watched them constantly, stalked his home, threatened to have him committed—yeah, things were not good.”

  “Why didn’t he turn her in—report her for stalking?”

  “Things were different then, Sydney. You have to remember, my mother was high class; she had money—a professional title, community pull. Nathan Manning was a loose cannon, borderline poor, and a nobody. Nobody would have believed him, not to mention he loved his wife, and he didn’t want his marriage to end. He wanted the situation to just go away so he kept his mouth closed. His silence nearly cost the life of his wife and the lives of their unborn children.”

  “But he tried to kill them,” I remind her.

  “Actually, no. My mother confessed everything tonight—including her assault against Mrs. Manning. According to court testimony he was never identified by Mrs. Manning as the assailant; it was just assumed since he was there with blood on his hands—literally.”

  “Again I ask, if he didn’t do it then why not speak up in court?”

  “Death penalty was on the table; he plead for a lesser sentence. If one of those babies had died, he would have gotten certain death. There was no shortage of people willing to testify that he was crazy. He heard voices and wasn’t shy about blabbing it to anyone who would listen. He thought his own baby was evil. He pled out to preserve his life. He didn’t stand a chance,” she continued.

  “So what happened when he went up for parole? Wasn’t your mother the appointed parole psychiatrist?”

  “She was. My mother had an advantage; she was in the system—she knew exactly how to work it. She didn’t want him out. He would have had absolutely nothing to lose by coming out with the truth then, since he had already served his time. He was going to be free as a bird—and she became nervous. What was to stop him from implicating her and finally telling the truth? When he was released, she contacted his current psychiatrist and found out he was looking for the wife and children. He saw redemption—she saw leverage.”

  “I’m starting to understand now. She sought out Dominick as leverage. Cayden was emotionally stable and way harder to get to. Dominick’s emotional problems made him the better choice as a pawn, more accessible to her.”

  “Yes, exactly. She approached Dominick’s mother and told her Nathan Manning was released and that she had a reason to believe that they were in danger. She convinced Mrs. Manning that Cayden wasn’t at as much of a risk because he was stable and also out of state in school at the time. She wanted to protect Nick. His mother was terrified and agreed blindly. She basically handed him over on a silver platter.”

  “What did she do then? Did Nathan ever show up?”

  “My mother got to him first. Showing him pictures of Nick in her office asleep during hypnosis, you get the idea.”

  “Your mother implicated that she was holding Dominick somewhere and she would hurt him if he talked? S
he used Nick to keep Nathan in check.”

  “Yes.”

  This is all so much to understand. All this time I have been fearful that Nick’s father was looking to hurt me, and now I find out he was just another victim in Peyton’s sick little game. She knew he loved his son and used that against him after he had already served over twenty years in prison for her crime. The real question is the one I’ve been dreading most—what became of Dominick.

  “What did she do once she had Nick in her grip?” I wince.

  “She mainly used hypnotherapy. She was trying to turn him away from his family. His mother became suspicious that something strange was going on. Dominick was acting different—distant and unstable. She began to doubt my mother’s motives. When Nick confronted her, she waited until his guard was down and attacked him from behind.”

  “What did she do?” I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

  “He was at the window, looking out, something he would regularly do—just sit and stare. She was inching her way closer to him; she had prepared an injection of some type of heavy sedative. He began turning back towards her, and she stabbed it into his neck. He struggled with her and in the process fell from the open window—the window in your room,” she speaks gently.

  The thought that it’s very possible he didn’t feel a thing is comforting, somehow. I have wondered for so long if he felt pain, or was tortured. In this horrible situation, this is one piece of news I’m somewhat thankful for. Even still, tears pool into my eyes. He never even saw it coming. He was trying to get help, and she took advantage of him for her own protection. What did she think she could do, kidnap him forever? Did she intend to brainwash him into staying with her forever?