Book Read Free

Dream Keeper

Page 8

by Amber R. Duell


  Her eyes widened, her mouth dropping, then her face pinched. Suspicion lined her features. A flush of anger and fear colored her cheeks. I’d never seen that shade on her before. “What is a Dream Keeper?” she asked again in a low voice, enunciating each word with a stone-cold edge.

  I couldn’t lie. Not when she asked so directly. Not when she deserved the truth a long time ago. If she was going to learn it now, it was better that it came from me.

  “You are,” I whispered, my throat tight, and braced myself for her reaction.

  She jerked back, eying me like I had just given her a death sentence. I prayed I hadn’t.

  “Nora—”

  “No.” She shook her head violently, her fingers digging into the hair around her ears. “Dream Keeper? As in keeping a dream? But he said if I didn’t give it to him... And I... Then that means...” Her face fell, draining of color.

  Then she vanished.

  I stared at the indents her feet left in the sand and willed my lungs to inhale again. That could have gone better. Tomorrow felt like a lifetime to wait for a chance to explain.

  Everything.

  Before I lost her forever. I tugged on the cord that connected me to Nora, asking her to come back. Begging. But there was no reply.

  8

  Nora

  Darkness enveloped the living room when I woke, leaving my friends as nothing but hazy outlines in the room. I sat up and took deep, shaky breaths. Dream Keeper. The title echoed through me over and over, alternating voices between the Weaver and the Sandman, until I slammed my hands over my ears. How could things have gotten so bad so quickly? Imagining the Sandman was manageable, but now I was twisting real life events to fit with my warped fantasy dream-life. Sick. I had to be.

  But I could never actually ask my mother for help. No matter how much I needed to.

  I climbed quietly to my feet so as not to wake anyone, and crept over throw pillows, then Emery. My foot knocked a plastic cup. “Crap,” I muttered. Hopefully that was water—her mom was rather proud of the new beige carpet. My foot squished into the liquid, and I cringed as it oozed between my toes.

  A night light glowed at the end of the hall. Emery’s little brother had a hard time finding the bathroom without it, and I silently thanked him for that as I tip-toed across the tile. A quick stop at the store in the morning to get my own wasn’t the worst idea. Maybe more than one. I should count the number of outlets in my room first. All I needed was to wake up to a stand of burnt out mini-lights. I wrinkled my nose. Or maybe I should just start sleeping with the light on and consider it problem solved.

  With a quick flick of the bathroom light switch, I shut myself inside. My fingers curled around the edge of the sink, and I leaned forward to place my forehead on the cool mirror. I’ve always been real, the Sandman had said. You are, he had answered when I asked about a Dream Keeper.

  The words overlapped, bumping and scraping against each other in a bid to be heard. Keeping a true heart and a true mind in my dreams should’ve meant the beach was safe. Should have. If I had remembered to keep both things, that is. I said I trusted the Sandman, but there was someone more important that I had to have faith in: myself. Self-trust was something I hadn’t known in years, if ever, and it was becoming increasingly impossible to uphold.

  But if I believed in myself, then I would have to believe what the Weaver said at the carnival—that he would hurt someone. He wanted me to give him a dream, but what did that mean? How would I give something like that away? It isn’t a material thing I could hand over. More importantly, why did he want it? Maybe he wanted access to the Sandman, so he could hurt him. My heart sunk. How was I supposed to justify choosing someone that lived in my head over real people? But if one of them was real, so was the other.

  Stop it. I couldn’t let my delusions run wild. None of this is real. None of it.

  I stood straight and splashed water on my face. “Okay,” I said to my reflection. The soft lighting made me appear haggard; the dark circles beneath my eyes looked black, my cheeks, sunken. I was paler than usual, which until that moment, I hadn’t thought was possible.

  I couldn’t stay at Emery’s tonight. I wanted—needed—the comfort of my own bed. Using the hand-towel, I dried my face and reached for the light again when a shadow flicked near the toilet. My stomach lurched. I swung the door open and leapt into the hall. The shadow followed. My joints locked and I stood, watching little yellow fish float inside the sea-themed night light, willing the impossible away. The house was quiet. Quiet and still. I held my breath and listened. Silence.

  Calm down. I sighed and dropped my head. Everything is fine.

  At my feet, dark toe-prints lined the hallway floor, rows of dark circles staining the grey slate. Somehow, deep down, I knew. I knew it wasn’t juice I stepped in. A collection of snapshots flashed before me. The police cars rushing by Howell’s. Lisa on the news. The cashier with the pen in her hand. The spray of crimson as her body fell to the floor.

  Blood.

  It was blood. I could never mistake the sight of it. My stomach dropped.

  “Natalie?” I called, my voice tight. “Emery?”

  Let them be annoyed that I woke up them up. Let them. I took two halting steps back toward the living room. Let’s make a deal, the Weaver had said earlier. My breath stuck in my throat. That wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been. But maybe. I swallowed hard.

  “You awake?” I shouted down the hall.

  Oh please, oh please, oh please.

  The hallway tilted, and I lost my balance. My shoulder collided with the wall. I slid my way back to the living room and fumbled with the knob on the tall floor lamp.

  I couldn’t look.

  I had to look.

  “Guys?” I pleaded, tears welling in my eyes. “Someone say something.”

  The ice machine in the refrigerator grumbled, sending me straight into the air. The back of my hand knocked the lampshade. I steadied the rocking light with my other hand, and found the knob, twisting until the bulb clicked on. Light flooded the room, but my gaze stayed on the pleated white fabric of the shade. I waited. Held my breath. Prayed someone would grumble for me to turn it off. But no one did. Not after five seconds. Not after ten.

  “Anyone?” I whispered desperately. The silence pressed against me. Pressed and pressed and pressed until, finally, I lifted my eyes.

  My soul left my body.

  Everywhere. The blood was everywhere—coating the walls, painting the furniture red, turning the floor into a swamp.

  Emery’s body was sprawled out in the same place as when I stepped over her. Her dull eyes stared up at the ceiling. Long, jagged cuts carved both forearms deep enough to see muscle and bone.

  Natalie faced the hall from the recliner, two empty sockets staring across the room. Gleaming red streams coated her cheeks. Clutched in her hands were both eyes.

  The room pulsated with light and dark. I fought against the lightheadedness. This wasn’t real. Not real. Not...

  Across the room, scrawled in blood on the bay window, was DREAMER, DREAMER beside a smiley face. Something clicked, every ounce of denial shattering. The surreal feeling fell away, replaced by a rage so blistering the scars would never fade. The scream that tore from my throat engulfed me, tore me down, down, down until I folded in on myself.

  I rubbed my puffy eyes against the memory of red and blue lights flickering through the window. Highlighting the words written there. Reflecting off the pools of blood, too much for the carpet to absorb. Against flashes of ivory bone poking through skin and dull, lifeless eyes. Eyes. I choked back the swell of acid that ignited the back of my throat.

  This was my fault. The Weaver wanted to make a deal, but I didn’t listen. I tried so hard to convince myself that he wasn’t real when I knew he was. If I had given him the dream, whatever it was, my friends would still be alive. Who else would he hurt to get to me? Who was next on his list? Knowing what I know now, would I say no if he asked again?

&n
bsp; “Miss Gallagher, I need you to focus,” Detective Bell said. I pressed my back against the steel chair and brought my feet up to the seat, burying my face in my knees. “If you want us to catch who did this to your friends, we need you to tell us what you know.”

  “Where’s my mom?” I croaked, my throat still raw from screaming. “I want my mother.”

  “She’s... filling out the paperwork. You’re a witness, not a suspect so we can go ahead without her.” He clicked his pen a few times, looking purposely down at his notebook. “You said you didn’t hear anything.”

  “No.” I lifted my head weakly. The past few hours cooled my fury to a simmer, waiting. Waiting for the second my head hit the pillow. For the Sandman to show his face. I wasn’t sure what my answer would be if the Weaver asked again, but I had to end this before he got the chance. For that, I needed the Sandman’s help. This wasn’t about me anymore. It hadn’t been since Randy was murdered, but now it was personal. Now I didn’t simply want the Weaver to go away. I wanted him to pay. In flesh. In blood. In pain and death. And I wanted to be the one to do it.

  I could only hope I had the willpower to not give in first.

  I drew in a shallow breath. “No,” I said again, louder. “I wasn’t feeling well when I woke up, so I went to the bathroom. When I came back, I turned on the light...”

  Detective Bell scooted his chair closer to the table. “Emery Williams’ arms were sliced to ribbons, and Natalie Flores, the girl you’ve been friends with since preschool, clawed out her own eyes. They’re dead. Gone. Horrifically murdered. They’ll never get to see their families again. They won’t graduate next year. They won’t go to college, get married, have families. They won’t grow old. Their lives are over, Nora. So, I say to you again, people aren’t killed like they were without there being some noise. Likely a lot of it, based on the crimes committed. These were not pain-free deaths. If someone threatened to hurt you, if you give names, we can keep you safe.”

  I wanted to fall from the chair and melt into the linoleum. There was no noise during the murders. No struggle. No intruder. Emery’s father double-checked all the doors and windows before we settled in to watch a movie. They were still secured when the police arrived. The thing behind their deaths cared nothing about locks. The note on the window left no room for doubt—not that I harbored any. I hadn’t imagined the voice or invented fantastical theories. Everyone else saw the message.

  It was real.

  All of it was real.

  “You must be a sound sleeper,” Detective Bell said when I was silent.

  “Apparently Emery’s entire family is,” I countered. How could I explain it was the Weaver without landing myself in a padded cell? Besides, I wasn’t sure exactly how he killed them yet. Just that he did.

  His scowl deepened. “A lot of people are dying under strange circumstances. Your boss.” He ticked off a finger. “The cashier. Now your closest friends while you slept right beside them.”

  I swallowed against the rawness of my throat. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  Detective Bell removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This doesn’t look good. You understand that, don’t you?”

  “No. I don’t. If I did anything to my friends, why wasn’t I covered in blood? And, like you pointed out, how could I have pulled that off without waking someone up? In case it’s missing from your file, Natalie was a super athlete. If I tried to gouge her eyes out, don’t you think she would have knocked me into next week?” I took a ragged breath. I didn’t know how the Weaver managed to do it so quietly, but I certainly couldn’t have. It was impossible.

  “Besides, you have the girl at the mall on surveillance. How can you possibly think I had anything to do with that?”

  The detective cleared his throat. “Just because you didn’t commit the murders tonight, doesn’t mean you don’t know who did. You could have let someone into Emery’s tonight and locked the door behind them on their way out.”

  “I didn’t,” I said as hard and sharp as an axe.

  He settled his glasses back over his nose. “Do you have a problem with anyone? Is there anyone that would want to hurt you by hurting people around you? An ex-boyfriend, maybe?”

  As it turned out, I did have someone out to get me, but I answered, “I don’t have any ex-boyfriends.”

  The door creaked open and a young officer looked in. “Detective?”

  “What is it?”

  “Her mother is demanding to be let in.”

  Detective Bell tossed his pen to the table. “We’re done here. She’ll be out in a second.”

  The officer nodded and disappeared.

  “I really don’t know anything,” I insisted more gently.

  He glowered. “I don’t have time for lies when someone is out there terrorizing the town.”

  “Neither do I.” I put my palms on the table to slide the chair away. “If I knew anything, I would tell you.”

  “There’s one more thing before you go,” he said, his tone softening.

  I froze. What else could there possibly be?

  “I apologize for withholding this from you, but it’s important we find the person responsible for the murders. I didn’t want to sidetrack you.” He cleared his throat again and stared at his notepad. “Your sister is missing.”

  The words hit me like a brick. “What do you mean, missing?”

  “Katie was in bed around one this morning, according to your mother. When we called to tell her about what happened, she looked in her room again, and your sister was gone. Her phone and purse were still in her room, and the back door was left ajar.”

  “Katie isn’t missing,” I half asked, half stated.

  “I’m sorry.” Detective Bell eased out of his chair, his lips pursed. “We’re going to need you to take a drug test on the way out.”

  I blinked rapidly until I was able to focus on Detective Bell standing across the table. My sister was missing, and he was talking about peeing in a cup. “Are you sure she’s missing?” I demanded. “Because Katie likes to sneak out for parties sometimes. Maybe she—”

  “We’ve considered all the evidence,” he hedged.

  “But...” But how? “What evidence?”

  “Excuse me.” Detective Bell adjusted his tie and walked to the door. “Your mother is waiting, and I have a killer to find.”

  I splayed my fingers on the cool metal table. “It’s probably the same person,” I blurted. “Right? It has to be.”

  “We’ll be in touch. Don’t leave town,” he said calmly, though the vein protruding from his forehead told another story.

  Then he was gone, leaving me alone to remember how my legs worked. How anything worked. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. The fire inside me roared again, and I knew. Whatever it cost me, whatever price I had to pay, I was going to kill the Weaver.

  “Sandman,” I screamed the moment my feet hit the beach.

  He climbed from the glowing sea, water dripping freely from his hood. His clothes clung to him, accenting muscles I would never have guessed lay beneath all that fabric. “I’m here,” he said, breathing hard and fast.

  I paused, glancing behind him at the quiet waves. “What are you doing?”

  “Fixing something.” He shook out his gloved hands. “What happened?”

  “They’re—” Tell him. Say the word out loud: Dead. But I didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to admit it and have it become real. I clutched my stomach. “Oh, God. I’m going to be sick.”

  The sky darkened, a hundred different shapes rushing in from nowhere, jostling together to blot out the blues and purples. Shadows fell over the Sandman’s form. Slices of starlight cut through the dark masses.

  My mouth hung open. “What the...”

  “Whatever happened, don’t think about it now or he’ll come,” the Sandman said, and dipped his hand into the sand.

  I gripped his wrist before he could form a dream. “Don’t think about it?” I hissed. “M
y friends were brutally murdered while I slept right next to them. My sister is missing, and I shouldn’t think about it? I should pretend it’s all okay? You think you can show me a pretty picture, and it will all go away? I promise you, Sandman, nothing will erase what I saw tonight. Ever.”

  “Nora,” he croaked. The sand fell, lifeless, from his hand. “I… I’m sorry.”

  Pieces of individual shapes dipped lower in the sky—a hoof, a wing, a human-like arm—and I squared my shoulders. The Sandman’s tendons flexed beneath my hand, and I jerked away.

  I touched him, and he didn’t disappear.

  I glared at the place my hand had just been, unable to find the right question. Even if I could, I wouldn’t have been able to process his answer with my mind torn in a million different directions. Did he lie? Was I missing something? What the hell was going on?

  “I don’t have the ability to protect you if those nightmares break through the barrier tonight.” His voice was strained.

  Nightmares. I lifted my head and shuddered. “Is that him? The Weaver?”

  The sopping wet hood shook around his head. “No, but they belong to him.”

  “That bastard is going to pay for what he did.” I bolted across the beach, charging toward the sea. “Right after he gives Katie back.”

  The Sandman stumbled after me and yanked me back with an arm around my middle. The touch sent electricity through my chest, shocking my heart. It was warm and relaxing yet somehow exhilarating—everything I ever imagined. But it wasn’t the right time to feel calm. I needed to be angry. To cling to the hate.

  “It’s not him, Nora. They don’t have your sister.”

  “But they’re the Weaver’s so they’ll take me to him, won’t they?” I growled. He wanted something from me badly enough to go through all this trouble—it seemed safe to assume he needed me alive. If not, I would’ve been victim number one. “I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.”

  “The Weaver can’t be killed without disrupting the balance.” He held me flush against his chest, and I felt each hammer of his pulse. It spurred my own, lighting a new kind of fire. He lowered his face to my neck and breathed in. “Please,” he begged. “Don’t antagonize them. We’ll get Katie back.”

 

‹ Prev