The Dream Awakened

by Leann M Rettell

  “No, thank you. We’re fine, and your home is lovely,” Debbie said.

  Clancy sat in the recliner, staring into space. Joanne reappeared, with her hair combed and a smudge of lipstick on her lips, and settled into the chair, hands shaking.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Booth, we’re so sorry to bother you at this most sorrowful time. We only want to get a better picture of your daughter’s life. We’ve also been asked by Lee County Parks and Recreation to assess whether any safety measures should be taken on their part to prevent this tragedy from happening again.” The lie slid from Malcolm’s mouth as directed by the singularity.

  “It was an accident.” Joanne’s eyes glazed. “A terrible accident. We still just can’t believe it.”

  “It was stupidity.” Clancy leaned his elbow on the chair, resting his head on his fingertips. “Utter stupidity to go camping in the woods alone and going swimming by herself. She knew better than that.”

  “Clanc, stop that. We have guests.”

  Clancy jerked a hand toward them. “You think they don’t know what kind of stupid mistake she made. This is a formality. You want to know what happened? Tara went to the woods, hoping her inappropriate child molesting boyfriend of a professor was going to join her. When he didn’t show up, she decided to go swimming. Swimming with currents the way they were? She knew better. She was a champion swimmer, she made it to states in high school, and we spent summers camping, going canoeing, and kayaking. She knew not to get in that water, but her love-sick heart made her careless.”

  A sob tore from Joanne’s lips.

  Malcolm wasn’t sure what made him do it. “We’re not convinced it was an accident. Of course, the police have shut the case, but we’ve asked the medical examiner to run some additional tests.”

  His words cut through the tension in the room like a knife.

  Clancy jerked his attention to Malcolm like a hawk. “What do you mean you don’t think it was an accident? She was wearing a bathing suit.”

  Malcolm clasped his hands in front of him, ignoring the glower from Makir. “It’s like you said. We looked into her background.” The details about her strong swimming skills and history of knowing the water could only help the police reopen the investigation. “It doesn’t make sense why she’d risk herself. We haven’t yet spoken to Professor Fischer, but he did get in contact with her letting her know he would be delayed. We don’t suspect him of any wrongdoing. He was the one who reported her missing.”

  Disgust flitted across Clancy’s face. “He should never have dated a student.”

  “It’s not my place to pass judgment on your daughter’s personal life. I only mean that it doesn’t seem likely that Tara would risk herself when he had only been delayed. Don’t you agree?”

  Clancy gritted his teeth and pulled a pack of Marlboros and a lighter from an end table drawer. “I suppose, but that’s a lot to assume.”

  Joanne’s mouth formed an oval. “Clanc, you quit smoking over ten years ago.”

  He yanked one from the pack and lit it, taking a long drag. “I think I deserve one. Don’t you?”

  Unsure who he spoke to, Malcolm kept quiet.

  Joanne stood from her chair, disappeared through the door again, and reappeared with an ashtray.

  Clancy took it and flicked some ashes into the tray. “I still don’t see why you think her death was more than an accident.”

  He felt Makir stiffen beside him and avoided her searching gaze. “Some of her injuries cannot be completely explained away by drowning.”

  “Did that bastard hurt my baby?” Clancy balled his hand into a fist.

  Makir stood. “Mr. Booth, Professor Fischer has a credible alibi for the time of your daughter’s death. My colleague overstepped. We didn’t mean to upset you further. I think it best we go. We’ll give our full report when it’s completed.” Makir stopped, a forlorn expression molded to her face. “We’re sorry for your loss.”

  Joanne stood on shaky legs, wiping away at tears on her reddening face. “Excuse me.” She hurried from the room, choking on sobs. Malcolm cursed himself for his stupidity.

  “I think you should leave,” Clancy said.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Booth.” Makir stood, ushering Debbie and Malcolm outside. The door slammed behind them. Makir marched down the three steps of the front porch toward the rental SUV. She glared at him with her jaw set.

  Debbie squeezed his hand. “That didn’t go well.”

  “Indeed.”

  Malcolm slid into the passenger seat. Makir shook her head. “What in the hell were you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  She turned the engine over, jerking the gear shift into drive. “Damn right you weren’t thinking. You’d never make it as a cop. Those people are suffering. Suffering!” She pulled out into the road, speeding toward the stop sign at the end of the street. She flipped on the blinker going to the left, instead of to the right as anticipated. “You don’t barge in there and make it worse. Their daughter died! And now they have to wonder and may never know if someone murdered her!”

  “Someone did murder her!”

  Makir turned to her and huffed. “I know that. You know that, but we have to prove it.”

  “Then what was the point of going there? We didn’t find out anything important.” Malcolm asked, his voice rising.

  “You found some probable cause. She was a strong swimmer and grew up around the water. It gives doubt as to why she would’ve gone swimming, but strong swimmers are no match for rough currents. We’re going to have to talk to Professor Fischer, and then the medical examiner again, and then and only then, we can think about approaching the police to reopen the investigation. A lot of evidence will have already been lost. Unless we can get a clear picture of who hurt her and why, we have no way of figuring this out.”

  Debbie leaned forward from her spot in the backseat. “You guys. If Aelia is behind this, aren’t you just going to get her caught? Do you want to bring this back up with the police?”

  Makir and Malcolm could only exchange an uneasy glance.

  17

  Makir pulled into the visitor’s parking lot of Fort Myer University. The expansive campus spread over several miles with large brick buildings, lush landscaping, and a shining newness that only money can bring. A floral scent caught Malcolm’s attention along with the steady hum of central AC units. Debbie stepped out of the car to stretch and, no doubt, was relieved to get away from the tension in the car. Makir hadn’t been happy with how he’d handled Tara Booth’s parents, and he couldn’t blame her. However, rushing over to Dr. Fischer’s office unannounced was hardly better.

  “It’ll get him on edge. If he is suspicious of anything, it’ll be harder to hide,” she’d insisted, driving without the use of the GPS as if she’d lived here for years.

  “How do you know he’ll be there?” Malcolm couldn’t help but feel put out. He didn’t think his investigation skills totally inadequate, and here she was taking over.

  “Because I checked his schedule based on the police records. He has office hours after lunch for the next two hours. He’ll be back soon. Better to have us waiting for him. That’ll throw him further into a funk.” Makir took the keys from the ignition, sliding them in the pocket of her black leather pants, and then she tousled her jet-black pixie haircut. How the woman wasn’t roasting alive in those clothes Malcolm couldn’t fathom. His own tight cut jeans and navy-blue shirt weighed with perspiration. At the thought of lunch, his stomach tightened, and he gave his small bulge a little rub. Debbie raised her eyebrows, sharing his feelings. Makir, blissfully unaware, chugged down a vial of simple syrup and jogged toward the nearest sidewalk. Sometimes, he missed not having to consume anything but syrup to get him through a day. But Debbie’s ass swaying in her black Capri pants reaffirmed how much he’d rather have this life and pasta.

  “Uhhh, I can smell your hormones from a mile away. Rein that shit in before I shoot you.”

  Debbie glanced down at
the front of his jeans. He shrugged with a boyish grin, jogging to try and keep up with Makir whose long stride matched his own, but the immortal speed had vanished from his limbs. “You can’t shoot me. We don’t know if I’ll regenerate or not.”

  Makir shrugged. “Not really my problem. Keep it in your pants, little boy.” She cast him a sideways glance, and the sides of her lips curled in a cruel smile. “Or should I say big boy? Too bad I’m not equipped too. I wouldn’t say no to a ride on that.”

  Debbie gasped.

  Makir threw her head back and laughed, slowing to wrap an arm around Debbie so her fingertips rested just above the swell of her breast. “Don’t worry darling. I’d make sure to please you first. He’s certainly big enough to share.”

  Debbie slid her eyes sideways, with a smile playing on her lips. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t share.”

  Makir squeezed her shoulders. “Oh, alright then. I’m all yours. Sorry, Gab, maybe in another lifetime.”

  Debbie laughed and gave him a wink. “Maybe you could watch?”

  Her easy banter relaxed him and chased away the nerves and tension from earlier.

  “How do you know where you are going?” Debbie asked as they passed building after building in this maze of a campus full of similarly named streets.

  “One of my many, many talents. I have an impeccable sense of direction. I’ve found that all dream thieves have certain talents. We all have the same basic things like inhuman speed and strength, transporting, stealing dreams from targets, or regenerating when we have to, but we’re each gifted with another gift. Halek has always had an affinity for technology no matter the era. Nimue learns things fast. Gab here always felt his internal alarm with more clarity than the rest of us, his pulse on the world. Mine is direction. Well,” she winked, “one of my many talents. I’m also fabulous in battle. Oh, the soldiers I used to take down.” She sighed, closing her eyes, letting thoughts drift into the past.

  “How could you kill people? Aren’t dream thieves supposed to help save humanity?” Debbie’s cold stare caught him off guard.

  Makir shrugged, taking yet another turn. Malcolm had to limit his breathing in order to keep up. “I figured if any of those soldiers were important enough to the fate of the world then one of us would’ve stolen the dream, and they wouldn’t be there.” She took the steps into a building two at a time.

  “Why are you in such a hurry?” Debbie panted and wiped the sweat away from her brow, bracelets dangling.

  “Want to catch him before he gets back. We’ll get you two cleaned up and fed afterward. Perhaps I’ll give youse a few hours alone to bump uglies.” Her New York accent deepened into a TV Mobster accent that could’ve won awards.

  Debbie stopped at the elevators. Makir skidded to a halt halfway down the hall. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking the elevator. What does it look like?”

  Makir put her hands on her hips. “He’s on the fifth floor. We’ll be there in no time.”

  Debbie pushed the up button with a devout firmness. When the door dinged, she entered the elevator, not giving Makir a backward glance. Malcolm shrugged, stepping inside beside her. Debbie pressed the button marked number five, tapping her foot while she waited for the doors to close.

  They rode in silence with Debbie huffing every few seconds while Malcolm did his best to make himself unnoticed lest she start venting about Makir. The door dinged when they reached the right floor. Makir leaned against the wall, examining her nails as the door opened. “Geeze, what took you all so long?”

  Debbie stepped out, flipping her long sheet of brown hair. “You know, no one likes a conceited ass. You should remember that.”

  Letting Debbie pass, Makir grinned a teethy warrior smile before obviously letting her eyes linger on Debbie’s backside and glancing at Malcolm. “You did good with that one.”

  He let Debbie walk a few steps away. “Could you lay off, just a little bit?”

  “What, and miss out on the fun? Not a chance.”

  Malcolm gripped her shoulder. “Are you really okay? About me?”

  The grin fell away. “Yes and no. I can’t say I’m not jealous. What any of us wouldn’t give to know what food was like, or sex. God how I’d like to fuck, just once, but our lives have never been easy, and I figure if it happened to you, perhaps it might happen one day for me too. Before, the lack of those things was just a steady disappointment that I’d gotten used to. I feel it sharper now, but I also have hope, which I never had before. I’m not sure this is better.”

  Such frankness from her was a rare and beautiful thing, but he’d appreciated her more than ever. “It’s everything you’ve dreamed and more.”

  “What, fucking?” The edgy grin returned.

  “All of it, and I hope you can experience it too one day. And not just with any human but with someone you love.”

  “Or with another dream thief?”

  Malcolm raised his eyebrows at this comment, but on this Makir wouldn’t elaborate, he had no doubt. He could wonder out loud, though. “Please tell me, not Lother.”

  The disgusted crinkle of her nose was all the answer he needed. She wouldn’t be interested in him, despite them having similarities in their draw toward battle, but he couldn’t fathom which one of the others caught her fancy. Jokes aside, he knew it wasn’t him.

  Debbie paused halfway down the hall, raising her arms. Makir grabbed Malcolm by the waist and jetted inhumanly fast to appear by Debbie’s side in one instant. The room spun as nausea gripped his stomach hard, and he bent forward to take gasping breaths. Debbie blinked. Smacking him on the shoulder, Debbie said, “Ha, see, now you know how it feels!”

  Malcolm pulled himself together as the elevator dinged again, and a young man appeared, shoulder’s slumped. The murky face of Jim Fischer floated to the surface of his mind from Tara’s memories. A love that was not his own gripped him, and he wanted to hold the man. He shook off the odd feeling, concentrating on the present. The dark-haired man with bloodshot, vibrant blue eyes kept his gaze cast toward the thin industrial carpet. Part of his red polo shirt slipped out from being tucked in his trousers. A computer bag hung off his right shoulder as he shuffled down the fluorescent-lit corridor, not paying the least bit of attention to the many closed doors or nondescript framed artwork lining the halls. He paused only when he neared his office door.

  “Can I help you?” The rich baritone voice vibrated, drudging up more of Tara’s feelings, and he caught the timbre of melancholy interlaced through each syllable.

  Makir stepped forward, crossing her arms over her chest, eying the man up and down. “Yeah, are you Professor Jim Fischer?”

  Her tone irritated Malcolm, and he longed to protect Jim. He recognized the foreign sensation but couldn’t say whether it was due to his changes, what he’d seen in Tara’s mind, or if it was because he’d never really interacted with a target and the objects of their dreams after stealing them.

  “Yes. Can I help you?”

  “I’m Madison Asher. These are my partners Malcolm Anderson and Debbie Jones. We’re private investigators who’ve been hired to look into the death of Tara Booth. As you might have guessed, your name has been brought to our attention many, many times. Surprising, since you’re a professor at this school, and she was a student. Wouldn’t you say?”

  A blush rose from Jim’s neck to tinge his ears. “Please, let us step inside my office.”

  “Of course,” Makir gestured with an exaggerated wave of her arms. “We wouldn’t want any of your colleagues to know you were boning one of the students, now would we?”

  Even if Malcolm didn’t have Tara’s lingering memories and emotions, he’d have felt she’d went too far.

  “Madison,” Malcolm warned.

  The glacial look she shot him put him in his place. He’d already landed himself in her bad graces from his atrocious attempt at investigative work at Clancy and Joanne Booth’s house. He’d decided he’d better hold his tongue. After all, Mak
ir had been doing this sort of thing for centuries. He’d hoped her appetite for torture had diminished during the last hundred years or so.

  The keys jingled as Jim removed them from his black dress pants. He unlocked his door, flipping on the light switch. They stepped inside, catching sight of a large wooden desk full of complicated charts and Florida Gator pictures. A photo was turned sideways as if he’d been holding it and then shoved it back onto the shelf. Upon closer inspection, Malcolm recognized the dark hair and vibrant smile of Tara with Jim’s arm around her at a Gator football game.

  “I think you’ve gotten the wrong impression of me.”

  “Have we?” Makir took a seat without invitation. Jim sat behind his desk, Debbie took the other vacant seat, and Malcolm retreated to the far wall to observe. Debbie quickly dug into her bag and pulled out a notepad and pen.

  “What I understand is that you were supposed to meet poor Tara on the Friday that she died, but you stood her up, and this upset her, so she decided to go swimming in a river with a rushing current and drowned. Don’t you find this a bit too convenient?”

  Jim’s jaw set. “I find nothing about her death convenient, Miss Asher.”

  “Really? It just so happens that you have an airtight alibi that the university confirmed hadn’t been scheduled beforehand.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  Makir raised an eyebrow, sliding to her feet so she could peer over the desk at Jim. “I’m suggesting that perhaps someone discovered how cozy the two of you had become, and you wanted her out of the picture. What better way to take suspicion off you than to fabricate a fantastic cover story for yourself, get her alone in a hard-to-reach cabin, and then send someone to get rid of her?”

  Jim shot to his feet, yanked open the drawer beside his desk, and jammed his hand inside. Malcolm rushed forward, pulled Debbie up, and forced her behind him. At the same moment, Makir yanked a gun from under her leather jacket, aiming for Jim. “Freeze.”