Breaking Normal (Dream Weaver #3)

by Su Williams

  Nick scowled. “He was there.” Again, Nick was silent for a long while as we walked into Riverfront Park, passed the Looff Carousel and strolled over the river on the wide concrete bridge. I thought of his weave, after the first battle with Thomas in the cottage. To calm me, Nick wove a sun-soaked stroll through this park. “I stayed close, watching out for you from under the blue spruce. At first, Thomas wasn’t around. But once you started to heal a little, he came in and tore you apart again. I couldn’t stand by and watch him destroy you like he did your mom and dad. So that’s when I started visiting you.”

  I realized then, through this entire conversation, Nick hadn’t ‘shown’ me anything. “Why didn’t you ‘show’ me any of that?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “Normally, you would’ve projected a weave of the memories. You didn’t do that at all this time.”

  “I guess…” he began. “I just needed you to hear from my own mouth what happened.”

  My mind returned to the image of Sabre hovering over Levi at the laser tag place. “What makes us different from Rephaim when we give people bad dreams? I mean, like when Sabre twisted the assault memories and tormented Rico with them.” I didn’t want to confess I’d given those warped memories a tweak when I went to the jail.

  “It’s different because we don’t do it for the hyped up delta waves. We don’t consume them. We don’t use them for the high.” A shadow filled his dark eyes and I knew we were thinking the same thing. Caphar don’t, but Sabre did. Was he over the line with no redemption? Had he finally tipped so far to the dark side he was falling in?

  Chapter 26 Thunderstruck

  A summer squall thundered outside as I sat in a hard metal chair in a windowless interrogation room waiting for Molly. She’d called me early that morning about some leads she got after my interview with Sunny Sykes on channel five. Dark, electrical images sparked and flared in my mind. Memories from every suspect they’d questioned in this room smudged together in a blur of impressions. My brain ached from shutting them out. After a few minutes, Molly swung the door open and stepped inside with a stack of files pressed to her chest.

  “Hey. Sorry it took so long,” she apologized.

  “No problem. But why are we in an interrogation room?”

  “Oh. That.” She gave a nonchalant wave of her hand. “Well, Sheriff Willie’s holding a meeting with the Chief and some of the deputies and captains in the conference room. And I figured, well, I thought you might want some privacy as we talk.”

  “Oh. Okay. So what’ve you got for me?”

  Molly crossed to the grey metal desk and fanned the file folders across it. She sat in the chair opposite me and crunched her brows together like she wasn’t sure where to begin. I folded my hands in my lap and twiddled my thumbs to release some of the building tension.

  She cleared her throat as though it would cement a decision she made. “I have to be totally honest with you, Em. I’m more than a little baffled by a few things.”

  “Oh?” I struggled to keep my features in check while my insides were squirming.

  “There’s just been a few—coincidences. So many, in fact, that I’m beginning to think they’re not coincidences at all.”

  My internal squirm reached my outsides and I shifted in the chair. Was this really an inquisition?

  Officer Molly continued. “First, it was your insight on the Expo ’74 murder.” She flipped a file open. “You were right. The lab guys from back then missed the smear of blood from the murderer. They got a hit on CODIS. Detective Bannister and his partner are on their way to Moses Lake to question a man about the girl’s murder.”

  I pursed my lips and nodded. “Cool.”

  Molly scowled at me. “Then, there’s this.” She flipped open the next file. “There is no way in hell you could have seen a smear of blood on that guys arm from where we were.”

  I blinked wide, worried eyes at her.

  “And finally,” she flipped open the last folder, “there’s this. A half dozen calls came in the week after your on-air plea to victims of Rico DeLaRosa. Two were crackpots looking for some kind of reward, so we discounted their reports. One we discovered was not a DeLaRosa victim, but were able to identify who the perp was. He is now in lock up. But,” she flipped a page, “out of the three remaining calls, can you guess what two of the names were?”

  Shit! I wasn’t quite sure how to get out of this one. Did I need to change her memories? Destroy the evidence? No. Surely there were copies of this information on somebody’s hard drive somewhere. Maybe Sabre was ballsy enough to take on the entire SPD and their computers, but that just wasn’t me. I gaped at her, unsure of what to say.

  “The day you watched DeLaRosa’s interrogation, you said two names.” She pointed to the name on the first report. “Angela.” She flipped the page. “And Haley. So how is it that you knew the names of two of these girls? And were able point out a murderer from so far away? And found new DNA our guys have missed for over forty years?” She watched my face like a good detective for any sign of a tell. Someday, she’d make a great detective.

  I grumbled, low and perturbed. “What’s your theory?”

  Her regulation bun bobbled as she shook her head. “I’d rather hear from you than to speculate.”

  I sucked in a breath and measured its release. “You probably wouldn’t believe me, even if I told you,” I hedged.

  “Try me,” she challenged.

  I scrubbed my face with my palms and scraped my nails through my disarray of copper spikes. “Do you believe in psychics?” I asked her.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t ever met anyone with psychic abilities. Though that lady from Boston or wherever sure makes me wonder.”

  “Can you explain why I know all of this any other way?” I asked.

  She chuckled softly. “Sure. That you’re an accomplice of some kind. Or you keep really bad company.”

  I scowled. “You’ve met the company I keep. You can’t possibly believe that.”

  “I’m inclined to say no.” I mirrored her pursed lips and stern brow. “Emari. I need you to be straight with me. I’ve got superiors looking over my shoulder at you, wanting to know what’s going on.”

  I locked onto her eyes with mine. “I’m going to count to three. Then, I want you to remember the first thing you think of, but don’t say it out loud. Okay?” She nodded. “Okay. One. Two. Three. Now, pick a color: Red, blue or green. What is your mother’s first name? What was your GPA when you graduated high school?” Her left brow arched. “In reverse order, the answers are: 3.5, Irene, blue and Ivy. Is that right?”

  Her mouth dropped open and her eyes darted to the mirror that took up one wall of the small room. I followed the glance.

  “Aw, so we haven’t been alone, have we?”

  “Um…no. But, how did you do that?”

  My mouth twisted with a mischievous grin. “It’s a gift.”

  “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. What else can you do?”

  The grin dissolved from my face. I truly didn’t want to divulge all of my secrets. Especially with others looking on from the peanut gallery. But this is what I’d determined to tell her, or anyone else, if they asked about my abilities. “I can read what people think and—I can read thoughts left behind on an object.” She scowled at me again, disbelieving. I smirked at her skepticism. “The man who last sat in this chair, his name was Brian Wainright. He was being questioned about a breakin down in Peaceful Valley yesterday. He denied that he did it…but I can tell you, he did. He snuck in a ground floor bedroom window—the south one, I believe. His fingerprints should be on a bedpost in that room—on the foot board. He took all the money from a candy dish, a tri-colored gold men’s wedding band, a Rolex knock-off watch—and something the owner doesn’t realize is missing yet. A Doobie Brothers CD from their ‘best of’ album from 1976.”

  “How do we know you weren’t just an accomplice?”

  “I couldn�
��t have been around for the Expo murder, could I? But I gave you info on that. And I have witnesses and an alibi for all day yesterday.”

  “Where did he stash the stolen property? We checked his truck and home.”

  “You’d best check the home again. They’re in one of those fake wall outlets in his living room. On the—north wall.” I stood and scraped the metal chair across the floor. “Now. Can we go?” Molly nodded and I headed for the door. She caught up with me in the corridor.

  “Emari?” I turned to her. “I—don’t really know what to say. I’m sorry. Really. The brass wanted answers and they knew we have a rapport.” She grasped my hand in hers. “I didn’t really have a choice. I have to follow orders.”

  I squeezed her hand. “No sweat. It’s all good. I should’ve known I left behind too many clues. I gave myself away. Most people kinda think you’re insane if you claim to be psychic or anything. I can’t blame them. Until recently, I wouldn’t have believed it myself. I never really understood as a kid what I was seeing. I just thought it was my imagination.”

  “Then, you’re not mad at me?” Officer Molly was fully out of cop mode. Our friendship still had value to her.

  “Honestly?” She winced, but nodded. “I’m a little disappointed. But, I understand your position. Besides, my girl’s got the hots for you. How can I stay mad in that case?”

  Molly’s face flushed. “Really?” I nodded. She giggled like a love-struck school girl.

  “Officer Elliot?” boomed a voice down the corridor. Molly’s smile faded and she tensed. She dropped my hand and pivoted around.

  “Yes sir?” she squeaked.

  “May I speak with you a moment, please?”

  “Yes sir.” She turned back to me. “Meet you out by the cruiser? We’re still doing another ride along, aren’t we?”

  “You bet. I’ll be waiting.”

  The sun drew moisture from the storm off the streets and sidewalks in a wispy fog. The air still smelled of rain and sunshine—warm, wet and clean. I smiled as the last of the thunderheads rolled to the south and east, and the birds abandoned their hide-aways and broke into song. The heat already burned away the raindrops from Molly’s cruiser, so I leaned against the front fender and waited.

  Nick and Sabre would be pissed that I revealed so much about myself to the cop. But I’d made my own decision about how I wanted to handle things like this. I didn’t divulge any information about them, just myself. I didn’t care if they didn’t like it. It was my life. And I made my own choices—just like Nick always encouraged me. They were my decisions, good or bad. And I had to make them based on what I believed was right, not what they believed was right.

  “Hey girl!” Molly called as she jogged toward the car. “Sorry it took so long. Captain wanted to debrief a bit.”

  “No problem.” But I could feel the anxiety rolling off her like the thunderheads to the south. We slid into the cruiser that still held the heat from earlier in the day. As she backed out of her parking space and entered traffic, I asked, “So what’s up? You’re all tense and stuff again.”

  “Am I?” Her smile fluttered like a nervous crow. I just stared at her. Like, duh. Her lips finally settled into something more genuine and bashful. “Um…Captain asked me to ask you a personal favor. It’s kind of dumb. I think he’s trying to test you some more. I don’t know.” She grimaced.

  I chuckled. “Whatever. Just tell me.”

  Her eyes darted sideways toward me and down to the bag she’d placed between us on the seat. “That. He wants you to…one of our retired shepherds was—dognapped. The trainer he lives with was injured in an accident during a pursuit. He depends on that dog. But…”

  “If it was Eddyson missing, I hope anyone who could, would help me find him.” I reached into the sack and ran my fingertips over the coarse fabric, like burlap. Burlap always reminded me of Sabre, when William and Thomas hanged him—back in the day. My breath hiccupped in my chest.

  “What?”

  “Um, it’s nothing. But your Captain is full of—crap. This is just a scrap of material. The only one who’s touched it recently is the Captain himself.”

  Molly’s face blanched. “Uh…he said there were two items in the bag.” I scrabbled through the bag to find a black leather dog’s collar studded with silver pyramids. A city license, rabies tag, and canine officer’s tag jangled from the metal loop. “The boss says they found it in the officer’s front yard.”

  I ran the leather across my fingers. “What’s he want to know?”

  “Anything. The officer, he’s in pretty bad shape. He really needs his dog back.”

  I closed my eyes and opened my mind to memories embedded in the collar.

  A warm, moonless Spring night unfolds before my eyes. The air smells of fresh-cut lawns and burned hot dogs on a barbeque. My nerves are ablaze with tension. I have to get the dog from that stupid cop who sent my brother to jail. Just for revenge, I’ll kill the stupid animal. My hands shudder with nerves but I deny it. I’m not scared. It’s just chilly. The metal beads on a leather bracelet on my right wrist tinkle together and I stuff them up my sleeve to quiet them. There’s a tattoo and a circular scar on my left hand. A faded, blown-out, jailhouse tribal tattoo, and a meth pipe scar.

  I scavenged for a piece of paper and drew a picture of the tattoo. “This and a round scar, like a burn from some sort of pipe, are on his left hand. He was thinking of killing the dog.” Molly winced. “I don’t think he will though. Unless he’s totally tweaked—which I guess could be any time of day with some people. Does that help?”

  Molly nodded and pulled to a stop in a parking lot at the Vet’s Arena. She snapped a picture of the drawing with her cell phone and messaged the image to the Chief to run through their database of known criminal ink. “And now, we wait.”

  Chapter 27 Glory & Gore

  Another grueling day of training on the heavy bag. As usual, Sabre sat tinkering with some project or another at his workbench. My abilities were growing by leaps and bounds, and my body was transforming with ropey muscles and definition. Nick and I even practiced ‘quick draw’ with tasers, just for fun—the tasers would scramble every electrical impulse in our bodies if we used them for real. But it really did help with our reflexes and cut the tension that surrounded our lives. I was catching up to Nick’s speed, and even bested him a time or two. He’d stand there feigning a chest wound, and grin at me with pride. We took our hand-to-hand to a whole new level. Nick stopped treating me like a porcelain doll, and more than a few times, I wished we could return to the easier sessions. He was kicking my butt. But I think he enjoyed the practice for wholly different reasons. Each time he pinned me to the ground, he’d gaze down into my face with a mischievous grin, and his eyes fiery and searching. At the end of a particularly arduous session, he immobilized me against the wall, both of our chests heaving with exertion, his mouth hovering inches from mine. I found myself mesmerized by the fire in his eyes, slowly lured forward with the urge to press my lips to his.

  “I am going to wretch one of these days!” Sabre grouched from his workbench. But I saw the quirk of a smile playing on his lips. I laughed and ducked away from Nick’s grasp. Sabre was more than happy that Nick and I seemed to be on the mend—he was relieved.

  “Ya know,” I scolded Sabre, “Nick’s done all of my training. Why don’t you ever come out to play?”

  “Because I’d kill you,” he replied in all seriousness. My eyes flashed to Nick who gave a curt nod.

  “Well, maybe you should learn some control,” I suggested.

  “I don’t need control,” he argued back.

  “Of course you do. You can’t kill everyone we fight.” Nick smirked at me and shook his head.

  “Can if I want.”

  “Well, don’t you sound like a petulant child. Come on Sabre, Nick’s getting boring.” I gave Nick a playful wink. “Come out and play, and teach me something new!”

  Sabre’s project clattered to bench top and he scow
led at Nick. “I hate when your toys get sassy.” Then to me, he said, “Isn’t a big word like ‘petulant’ one of your SAT vocabulary words?” But again I saw the hint of a smile on his sour face.

  Sabre gathered weapons from around the garage: an iron staff, a pair of sai, nunchucks, and the shiny throwing knives I tried to kill Nick with. He strode out of the garage. Nick and I followed to the target practice area behind the garage. He set the weapons in a neat row on the table beside a compound bow.

  “Go stand by the target,” he instructed. I turned to follow his orders but Nick grabbed my arm.

  “Not happening,” he warned with a leer at his mentor. “Quit screwing around and just show her what you can do.”

  My face flushed with heat for being so gullible. Sabre always knew which buttons to push to make me blush.

  Without another word, Sabre hoisted the crossbow, and in quick succession drove five bolts into the eye of the target. He whirled in a blur of action and worked his way, one at time, through each of the weapons, finishing with the staff. It spun so fast and furious I thought he’d take flight. I stared in awe. I’d seen this man in action, but I’d never seen him exhibit this much skill and agility. The grin on my face grew wider and wider—until he’d worked his way in front of me and brought the staff to a screeching halt an inch from my face. Nick’s fingers bruised my arms as he clutched me in surprise. Sabre barely broke a sweat, but Nick was seething behind me. Before he could utter a word, I responded to Sabre’s challenge. His grin stretched as he blocked blow after blow. He toyed with me, letting me land an occasional hit, but swatted most of them away with ease. I propelled myself at him with the aim to flip him and pin him to the ground. I should have known better. In a flash, he blocked my assault and turned it against me. In the end, I was the one pinned to the ground with a ferocious Dream Weaver hovering over me.

  Thomas sneers down at Sabre, murder blazes in his eyes. Sabre is held at bay by the machete Thomas holds to his throat. Sabre’s hands raise slowly from his sides in placation—or surrender. His eyes dart to me and their message scares me more than anything the man has ever done. Is he begging for forgiveness? A ghost of finality passes between us, and Thomas thrusts a blood-soaked lance up under Sabre’s ribcage. The vacuous suck of perforating flesh and the throb of pain in his eyes tear a scream from the depths of my soul. “NO!” Bubbles of crimson froth from Sabre’s mouth and spill down his chin and chest.