Breaking Normal (Dream Weaver #3)

by Su Williams

  “I want to see him,” I said. There was a collective gasp in the room and all the color drained from Molly’s face.

  “I…I don’t think…” she stammered.

  “No,” repeated Nick.

  I shoved his hand off my shoulder. Who did he think he was anyway? And I wasn’t done being mad at him yet. “That’s not up to you. I just—I need to know in my heart that it’s him. I don’t need to be in the same room. You’ve got those rooms with two-way glass, right?”

  “Are you saying your original ID of him is wrong?” Molly’s creeping eyebrows crunched together in worry.

  “No. No, it’s not that. I just—I can’t explain it. I just need to see his face.” I couldn’t explain, not quite even to myself. But I had to see his eyes. I had to see if the macabre shadows of Sabre’s torturous memory weave still danced in his pupils. And, I could reach through the glass and extricate the memories of the girls he’d raped. Maybe get them much-needed help.

  Molly stammered. “Uh, I’ll see if we can facilitate it for you, Em.” Her cop persona was slipping at the edges and her friend persona was peeking out. I stood to my feet, with the assistance of Nick’s arm, a little wobbly at first and went to stand before her. Her warm fingers seared my cold hands.

  “It’ll be okay,” I told her with an encouraging smile that twisted into a more mischievous grin. These aren’t the droids you’re looking for. It was coping mechanism, finding something humorous even in the bleakest situations. But I needed her to believe it would definitely be okay. I needed her to champion my cause to her chief. “If you’ll do this for me, tell your chief I’ll do a one-on-one interview with Sunny Sykes from K5, and put out a plea for the other girls. Sunny’s the only reporter I’d feel comfortable with.”

  No! A growl rumbled in Nick’s throat.

  Back off, Jackson. I warned him.

  I walked Molly to the door, still holding her hand. I squeezed her fingers. “I’m really okay, Molly. You don’t have to worry so much,” I whispered.

  She squeezed back. “I’ve been worried about you,” she confessed. “I stopped by a few weeks ago. Your car was here and the lights were on, but no one answered my knock. Something just felt—off.” Molly must have stopped by while I was dead—while I was becoming Caphar. I pressed a soothing balm into her mind.

  “But see? I’m okay. A little banged up from driving like an idiot. But I’m fine.” Molly seemed appeased.

  “I’ll talk to the chief about your proposal and get back to you.” She was back to being official, but her resolve was vacillating. As if by their own volition, her fingers grazed my cheek. You’re so beautiful. More than just her thoughts rang clear and resonant. The words revealed something so much more about this young woman I’d grown so fond of. My breath caught in my throat and I stepped back from her. Disquiet filled her eyes, as though she knew I heard her thoughts, as though I’d discovered a secret about her. I pressed the feeling of calm into her thoughts. I liked this woman. She was kind and compassionate, warm and easygoing. Was it possible that she could be a good match for my girl, my Ivy? Maybe—just maybe—they’d be good together. I laughed inwardly. Ivy was the one who usually played Yenta. Maybe now it was my turn to set her up with someone.

  I watched Officer Molly stroll across the yard and stop to pet Eddyson, when another familiar car rolled into the driveway. At first, surprise washed through me, but in all the turmoil of the last few days, I’d forgotten Ivy and I had plans for a sleepover. Her little Mazda skidded to a stop and she bolted out the door toward me.

  “Em! What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “Nothing,” I lied and caught Molly’s eye. “I’ll tell you in a minute.” I waved Molly back over. “Ivy, you remember Molly from the Spokane Police Department.”

  Ivy’s eyes narrowed at me and I squeezed her arm. A loaded squeeze—serenity and an inkling that my new guardian unofficial was just her type. Her face softened and she glanced demurely through her lashes at the cop. I debated adding a spark of passion as she reached out her hand toward Molly, but it wouldn’t be right. I’d chastised Nick about invading people’s memories. Now I understood the temptation. No, if this potential was going anywhere, I wanted it to be organic, not something corrupted by me. They both got shy and quiet, so I finally bid Molly goodbye and walked back to the cottage with Ivy.

  “What the hell is going on?!” Ivy rounded on me the moment the front door was closed. Then, she spied the others in the house. She growled in frustration.

  “It’s okay.” God I was tired of saying that. Nothing was okay. Maybe it would never be okay. “I just had a little accident in my new car. I’m fine. Car’s totaled. But I’m okay.”

  “What new car?” she countered.

  “Um. A 2005 cherry red T-bird. I bought it on a whim yesterday. And crashed it last night.”

  Her hands fluttered around me as though checking for damage. “But you’re not hurt?”

  “No,” I shot the others a look over her shoulder. “I’m a little sore. It was stupid. I was going too fast.”

  “How fast? Why were you speeding?”

  I sighed. Oh geez. Here we go. “I was being stupid…” I felt Nick’s humorless chortle. “Just venting a little frustration. I shouldn’t have been going so fast.” I blatantly sidestepped the precise mph. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re here.” I leaned closer and whispered, “It’ll give me a good excuse to boot out this lot.” A wicked grin twisted her mouth. “Do you mind if we just stay in? Watch a movie or something? I’ll even watch ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ if you want.” To Ivy, it wasn’t just a Christmas movie. I never really understood her infatuation with it, but something about it warmed her insides and brought out her happy. And I was all for anything that made my girl smile.

  Sabre, Adrian and Emma grudgingly filed out the front door. Nick insisted on making us popcorn before he left, and promised to bring pizza and bubblegum ice cream later. Ivy sighed after him as he left the house.

  “I hope someday I find a great girl like him. I mean, a girl that’s as great as he is to you.”

  I scowled a little, but Ivy had no idea Nick and I were on the outs. And I didn’t want to discourage her. “Well, Officer Elliot sure seems nice.”

  She tugged a copper spike of my hair. “Yeah,” she sighed. “But she’s probably like you—she probably likes boys.” She sneered the word. “Such a waste,” she sighed again.

  “Well, I happen to know she was diggin’ on you. She might be just your type.”

  “Oh. Don’t tease, Em. You have Nick now. I get kinda lonesome sometimes.”

  “I’m not teasing. I just found out today. I could hook you up—if you want.”

  Valleys formed in her brow. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, come on. You just said how lonely you get.”

  “I don’t know,” she repeated and snuggled up to my side and laced her fingers in mine. “We’ll see.”

  We huddled together on the couch. Yes, watching Jimmy Stewart in her favorite movie of all time. But my mind wandered out into the dusk that was falling around my little house, and the uninsured $15,000 crumpled T-bird. The totaled car was the least of worries. Thomas was still out there, and with him, loath as it was, was the truth of what happened to my parents.

  Chapter 8 Fighter

  Despite feeling a little like a creeper, I delved into Ivy’s mind as she slept on the couch beside me, and absorbed the much needed delta waves my body was craving. It truly did make me feel like a vampire. But I discovered that it really was easy to collect the energy I needed without peeping into her memories and dreams. Though, I had to admit all those bright, flashing, colorful impulses were very inviting.

  Ivy grudgingly left the next morning, only because she had a mid-day shift at Cash’s. After waving goodbye, I loaded Eddy up in the car and headed for Sabre’s place. I pined over the glossy red convertible. It hadn’t been in my plan to wreck it the first day…or even the second. Now that I thought about it, the purchase h
ad been a form of retail therapy. My costliest ever. I was sure Mom and Dad would not approve.

  Eddy and I tumbled out of the CX9 in front of the garage. His nose hit the ground and stuck there as he snuffled out heady scents left by squirrels and quail. His exuberant tracking bubbled a giggle from inside me.

  Eddyson! Stay close!

  The beagle pup’s head whipped around and he tilted his head to the side in question. “You heard me. Stay close,” I told him. His head cocked the other direction, then he continued with his exploration, casting a glance over his shoulder every few steps to locate me.

  Sabre strolled out of the garage with the same questioning gaze, his face wan and weary. “Well, hey there beautiful. Here to kick some ass and take some names?”

  “Ha. Yeah, don’t really give a shit about the names. But ass-kicking? I’m all on that.”

  Sabre chuckled. “There’s a heavy bag in the shop. Beat it all to hell if you want. Better that than an expensive car.”

  I snarled at him. Yeah. Whatever.

  “Eddy, come come.” The pup ignored me. Beagles were famous for being headstrong. Eddyson! Come! That seemed to break his trance, and he lollopped over to my side and waggled his rear half. He shadowed me into the garage and resumed his exploration into every cob-webbed nook and dust-filled cranny.

  Taking off my jacket, I settled into a combat stance and proceeded to kick the crap out of Sabre’s punching bag.

  “You should get some time in on the speed bag, too,” Sabre suggested.

  “Hmph,” I grunted between blows.

  After a long silence, pierced only by the hammering of my fists to the leather bag, Sabre finally asked, “You gonna stay mad forever?”

  I hugged the swaying bag against me. “If I want to.”

  This time, Sabre hmph’ed. “And yet—here you are.”

  I scowled and resumed my assault on the heavy bag with a vengeance. “Yeah. Here I am.”

  Sabre continued to tinker and putter around the garage. I caught him out of the corner of my eye squatting next to Eddy and scratching his belly. The ghost of a sad smile twitched on my lips. He gave me a weak smile when he caught me watching him. I’d have to ask Nick what was going on with him.

  It always circles back around to Nick. I was frustrated with the lengths this man was intertwined in my life, and still grouchy about his duplicity. A groan grumbled its way over my vocal cords. It was true Nick had lied by omission. But I was beginning to understand why it had been so hard for him to fess up as time went by. The closer our relationship got, the more he had to lose once the truth came out. And I had to take into consideration his oath to my father. He was from an age when a man’s word was his bond. It was true that Nickolas Benedetti the Dream Weaver loved me. And some deep, aching part of me still loved him. But the truth had come from a liar, not Nick’s own lips. And that truth was serrated and barbed—destructive in the most painful ways. I wanted to ask Sabre why Thomas had to be the one to tell me that my dad and Nick had been friends. But I already knew the answer: fear. Nick was afraid of losing me. In the end, he almost lost me forever anyway. That much, as yet, was undecided.

  The crunch of gravel drew my attention to the shop door. Nick stood with his hands shoved in his hip pockets, shoulders slumped and eyes avoiding mine. I froze and let the heavy bag bounce against my shoulder.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey back,” I said, deadpan and stoic.

  Sabre snarled from behind his workbench where he was tinkering with some new Sabre-contraption. “Give her a lesson on the speed bag. She needs to work on reflex and dexterity.” As usual, Sabre didn’t ask anything. He made his expectations clear with no room for argument.

  Nick shuffled over and waved me to the suspended punching bag. “You can print the bag, or I can give you the workout. Whichever you prefer. We should tape your hands and wrists too.” He picked up the tape from the counter and stood before me. “I’ll do it this time. Then you’ll know how and can do it yourself. If that’s okay.” I nodded. He took my hands and wrapped them in criss-crossing layers of tape. As his fingers grazed my skin and worked deftly on the tapes, the realization of just how much he did for me boiled to the surface of my thoughts. He’d become my savior and protector, my confidante and friend. I wondered if he also realized the roles he’d taken in my life, and maybe, if he was trying to teach me to be more independent. But why? Was he going somewhere? Pain clashed inside me at the thought. I growled at myself under my breath. Get a grip, Sweets! I had to admit, the soft touch of his fingertips sent my pulse into orbit. Still. But I didn’t want it to. Stupid, stupid heart! “There. That should protect your hands.” His fingers lingered a moment on my skin, as though he couldn’t let go.

  I recoiled as a desire to pummel his face darkened my vision. Instead, I stepped up to the speed bag and rendered the training from its surface. It was frustrating at first. The bag was fast and a little unpredictable. I couldn’t get into a rhythm. And Nick’s aimless wandering around the shop was distracting me.

  Could you hold still please? I can’t focus on the bag.

  He didn’t respond, just ambled over to Eddy sprawled out on an old chair and plopped himself beside the pup. Eddy gazed up at Nick, eyes at half-mast, then dropped his head back to the cushion with a deep sigh.

  As I finally fell into a rhythm and beat on the bag, memories of the fight with William and Thomas in and around this garage bombarded my mind. Those psychical phantoms that lingered, even now, in the very air. So much blood was spilled on the sandy ground outside. Nick’s. Sabre’s. Thomas and William’s. And a fair bit of mine. My shoulders ached from battering the bag and the weight of the memories. I dropped my arms to my side.

  “I’ll hold the heavy bag for you. If you want a stationary target for a while.”

  I glanced up at Nick, always so willing and helpful. I turned and met him at the punching bag that was bandaged with duct tape.

  “If you phase to mend a little bit, you won’t be so sore,” he advised.

  “Thanks.” I phased from the garage and back again. “Would you call out a punch routine for me to follow?” I asked, and as an aside I said, “Please?” I placed my hands at neutral position and waited.

  “Lead with the right. Jab. Hook. Jab. Hook. Uppercut. Roundhouse.” The kick command surprised me, but I managed to get my feet under me and positioned for the kick. There was a little more power than I intended in the move and Nick staggered back with an ‘ooph.’

  “Nice,” Sabre approved from his workbench. “Now pretend it’s Nick and kick his ass. No names. Just ass.” Nick and I looked at each other and back to Sabre.

  Seriously?

  Sabre sniggered quietly and continued his work. I returned to the bag and followed Nick’s nonverbal commands with renewed vigor. The ache of his thoughts leaked into the commands. I fell into a jab-hook-jab-uppercut rhythm and beat my aggressions out on the bag.

  “Tell me—” jab “more about—” hook “how Dad—” jab “and Adrian—” uppercut “know about you.”

  Nick sighed. “Your dad and Adrian grew up together. But you probably knew that already. Yeah, so…once we were shipped home from Nam, we—Sabre and I—started hanging out with Zecharias and Adrian. Shooting pool, playing cards, that sort of thing. Sabre started noticing some of the pre-Caphar signs in both of them. We took a risk and confided in Adrian, as well. They each allowed us to test their blood, run brain scans—you know, Sabre’s damn experiments.” He shot a look of disdain at his mentor. “They were both within the age range to develop into full Caphar. So we waited. Of course we had no idea at the time that death was the catalyst.” I wondered if Sabre would have killed them back then, if he’d known what he knew now. “In the meantime, William and Thomas were waiting in the wings. Observing. I wonder sometimes if they know that death is the mechanism to immortality.”

  “I doubt it,” Sabre intoned from his bench, never looking up from his work. I’d almost forgotten the man was even
in the same room.

  “Why do you think that?” I asked and paused my assault on the bag.

  “On the suspension bridge, when William said you had to die, it didn’t sound to me like he knew. He wouldn’t have wanted you to die and become Caphar. He just wanted you die.”

  Well, that’s reassuring. “He just wanted to hurt you as much as he could,” I said. “Even indirectly.”

  “Yup.”

  Nick nodded at the bag and I resumed my battery. “Your dad met your mom a couple years later. They were married almost fifteen years before you came along. But you already knew that.”

  In frustration, I plowed my fist into the bag. Nick grunted from the force.

  “We continued to be friends with them. At first your mom didn’t know, but she started asking too many questions, so he finally told her.”

  “Does Celeste know, too?”

  “Yes,” he said apologetically.

  “Geez, everyone knew the truth but me. Go figure,” I ranted.

  “Because you were so young, and we didn’t know if the condition would pass on to you, we all agreed to wait until you were older, to see if you would manifest as Caphar. And William and Thomas were a continuous hit and run issue. We knew they had to know about the anomaly in your father’s blood. They had to know that you also had the potential of becoming Caphar. As you got older, your dad started to worry. He saw a darkness creeping up inside you.” I remembered the depression that eked into my life like a crawling fog. How, despite the love and support I garnered at home, my heart ached for something—else. I remembered the magnetism of the desire to cut myself. But it wasn’t until after my parent’s deaths that the pressure within me boiled over and I submitted to the pull. “He worried for you. He worried that if the Rephaim got a hold of you and you were truly Caphar, that they’d influence you to the dark side.”

  “The ‘dark side’? Seriously? Now who’s using movie analogies?” I scowled at him and he raised his hands in surrender.