Dream Escape

by Sal Conte

  As she was about to renew her search, Molly’s footsteps on the stairs sent a chill slicing through her. She began to shiver as the footsteps approached. She clutched the scissors as if she were gripping a knife. They’d do little damage against the butcher knife, but her time had run out. They were all she had.

  Molly’s footsteps were slow and deliberate. She stopped outside the door.

  CRASH!

  A heavy object slammed into the door sending splinters flying. Then again. With the second blow, the blade of the axe penetrated the cheap wood, and Emma knew it wouldn’t be long before Molly chopped through the door, and was inside.

  Peter had purchased the axe a few years earlier to chop up a large tree that had fallen onto their property during a wind storm. After an afternoon of trying, he realized he was no match for the tree, and needed to call in a professional.

  The axe had become a joke between them. Whenever Peter would suggest he do something handy around the house, Emma would reply something like ‘Just don’t chop the house down, Mr. Paul Bunyan.’ It was always good for a laugh.

  CRASH!

  With the third crash, the right side panel nearly caved in. She could see Molly through the splintered door. The whites of her eyes were dark with hate and determination.

  “Look what I found,” Molly said, peering at her through the hole in the door. Her lips peeled back into a hideous, toothy grin. “Or should I say, look what your nanny found.”

  CRASH!

  She hit the door again with the axe, peered through the widening panel. “We had a wood stove in my house until I was fourteen. I learned how to use an axe when I was eight years-old. I’m good with this, ain’t I?” she teased.

  CRASH!

  With the next blow the panel was totally obliterated. Splinters and wood chips flew everywhere. Molly set the axe down and reached her hand through the shattered panel and unlocked the door.

  “Peter knows you’re here,” Emma cried out, as she plopped down on the floor. “He’ll know it was you.”

  Molly chuckled delightedly. “Not much of a liar, are you?”

  She pushed the door open, and stepped inside. The butcher knife was once again in her hand.

  “You’re right, I’m not much of a liar. But what I’m saying is true. Look into my eyes and you can see it’s true.”

  Molly moved towards her. “How would he know I’m here? I know you didn’t tell him we were going to have tea. He would have mentioned it to me.”

  She stopped in front of Emma.

  “I didn’t tell him at first, but I called him. I called him before you got here. We’re out of milk. I told him to bring some with him when he brought the kids home, and that’s when I told him.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not! Peter won’t want you when he finds out you killed me. You’ll go to jail, Molly. And Peter will run off with the nanny. You’ll ruin your chances of being together forever.”

  The axe hovered above Molly’s head, blade poised, the Tin Man frozen with rust. She was thinking, wondering if it was at all possible that Emma was telling the truth.

  “Are you so fucking busy you can’t buy your own fucking milk?” The venomous question flew from her lips.

  The axe began its descent toward Emma’s head.

  Emma screamed.

  Chapter Twenty

  Molly had invaded his dreams. At least, that’s what Kim would have him believe—that Molly, sweet, loyal Molly, had taken her place in his fantasies.

  Is this a trick, a ploy to win me back? he wondered.

  “Molly wouldn’t do that,” Peter said with extreme confidence. “Molly is the type who would confront me about wasting my time at Dream Escapes instead of preparing for the case. Molly lives to get innocent people off death row. Period. She’s got no time to waste on my dreams.”

  Kim stared at him for a long moment. “Peter, I didn’t see her in your dreams. Whenever she arrived, I was always removed. But I know the presence I felt, dark and malevolent. It was the same presence I felt in your home that night.”

  He laughed. “There ya go. You are way off base. There’s nothing dark or malevolent about Molly. She’s the kindest person on the face of the earth.”

  “If you say so,” Kim replied, her voice getting tight. “I’m just telling you what I felt.”

  He realized his laughing off what she’d revealed had hurt her. “It’s that… it doesn’t make sense, Kim,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “Why would she bother with my fantasies?”

  “To be with you. She’s in love with you, Peter.”

  “Molly? That’s ridiculous.” He realized he was doing it again, and caught himself. “Look, Kim, we get along very well, there’s no doubt about that. Molly may love me like a brother, but she is not in love with me.”

  Kim sighed deeply. “Sometimes men can be so blind. Peter, she’s very much in love with you. As much in love with you as I am. A woman knows these things.”

  The statement, along with the look in her eye struck a chord with him. There was nothing in it for Kim, no reason for her to make the outlandish statement. She loved him, and was trying to protect him.

  “Okay, suppose she does love me? That doesn’t make her dangerous.”

  “There’s no reason for you to believe me, Peter. I am a fantasy woman from a fantasy world. But I know people, and I know evil. The energy I felt that night was pure evil.”

  “Okay,” he said, accepting that she believed it to be true. “I will, uhh… feel her out about it.”

  “Emma’s not safe.”

  “Please don’t bring Emma into this,” he said, as he remembered the mess he was in, the mess she’d put him in.

  “Think about it, Peter. Molly wants you to herself. Now that she knows I’m out of the way, her target will be your wife, Emma.”

  Peter had heard enough.

  “Robbie, it’s time to go,” he called to his son. “Thank you for the warning. Like I said, I will look into it.” He fixed her with a steely gaze.

  “I want you both to be safe,” Kim said, her voice cracking.

  “Thanks for taking the time to apologize,” he said. “And I appreciate your understanding that I love my wife. So… I guess this is it,” he said with a note of finality.

  Kim’s eyes slowly widened as it registered that he was saying goodbye.

  “I guess it is.” Her eyes began filling with tears. She covered them by putting the shades back on. She started to say something more, but thought better of it. Instead, she stood, and let go of Dinah’s hand. “Take care, little one,” she said, her voice going sweet. She turned away, and without a last glance at Peter, exited the park.

  Chapter Twenty One

  When Molly didn’t answer at the office, Peter wasn’t alarmed. She was probably visiting a law library somewhere, or at lunch. He decided to call the house. He didn’t think anything was wrong. Just checking. But when Emma didn’t answer after several calls, alarm began to rise within.

  He called the office again—nothing.

  He called Molly’s cell—it went straight to voicemail.

  He called Emma.

  “Emma, it’s me. I need you to call me back. It’s got something to do with Dinah.” He knew if she was monitoring her calls, mentioning one of the children would prompt her to call back. He waited fifteen minutes before he went into full-on panic mode.

  Kim had said with her out of the way, Molly would target Emma. He didn’t believe it. At least he didn’t want to believe it. Molly was his rock, his right hand. She loved Emma and the children as much as she loved him… Wait. He needed to stop thinking that. She didn’t love him. She liked him.

  He loaded the kids into the car.

  “Where are we going, Daddy?” Robbie asked.

  “We’re going to… see if Mommy wants to come out and play with us.”

  For once that was enough to quiet the boy. Robbie was content to stare out of the window and sing. As he drove, his relationship
with Molly played back in his mind. They worked very closely together in his small office. They often worked into the night, but there was never anything to suggest it was anything but work. Molly had come to work for him because she was committed to a cause. Their touchstone was they shared a commitment to get innocent men and women off death row.

  As he rode and thought, he realized he knew nothing about Molly’s private life. He’d driven her home a few times. He knew she lived in a security apartment building in Culver City, but had never set foot inside her apartment. He knew she’d been married once a long time ago, but she never brought it up, and he never asked. He didn’t even know if she had a cat. Their relationship was built around one thing—their shared commitment to the Death Row Project. That was all there was to it.

  He spent the entire ride home trying to convince himself that Kim was wrong. Kim wasn’t a real person. What did she know about real, human emotions? Yet the closer to the house he got, the more he could feel panic bubbling up inside.

  He pulled into the driveway, and on a whim decided to look inside the garage. He hit the remote button, and the garage door slowly opened revealing Emma’s Volvo wagon inside. Staring at the car, his mood quickly went from panic to freaking out.

  “Let’s go get Mommy, Daddy,” Robbie called.

  “Mommy. Mommy,” said Dinah as she began to struggle to get out of her car seat.

  “I need you to watch you sister for a few minutes, Trooper.”

  “No! I don’t wanna watch her. I wanna go get Mommy.”

  There was no way Peter was letting Robbie inside the house. There was no telling what they’d find in there. He was still having a hard time believing that Molly would harm Emma. But he wasn’t ruling out a heart attack that left her lying helpless on the floor.

  “Hey, Trooper, I need for you to be like a daddy right now.”

  Robbie stared at him, not sure what he meant. “I’m not a daddy.”

  “I know. You’re Daddy’s helper. You know how you need help sometimes tying your shoes. Daddy needs help right now.”

  He surprised himself with how calm he sounded on the outside. He wanted to holler out Just stay out here! But he knew his son, knew that would only make things worse.

  “You want me to help watch Dinah?”

  “Yes.”

  “What should I do if she cries? Should I hit her?”

  “No. You should never hit anyone. Look, Robbie, Daddy’s gotta go get Mommy now. Just watch your sister.”

  Robbie was still questioning him as he got out of the car.

  He moved up the walk to the front door. It was unlocked. As he pushed in, he could feel his entire body begin to shudder with fear. He told himself to keep it together. Everything was going to be all right.

  The house was quiet.

  “Emma? Hey, Emma, we’re back,” he called, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

  He started for the living room, and what he saw there let him know his worse fears had been realized.

  Bloody footprints.

  The next several moments it was as if he was having an out of body experience. This wasn’t the work of a jealous lover, this was looking more and more like a home invasion robbery. Or had Kim been there before she came to the park?

  “Emma!” he called at the top of his lungs. “Emma, where are you?”

  The next thing he knew he was running. In the hall he saw more blood, no body. On the kitchen floor there was more blood, a long, ugly trail of it. A butcher knife rested on the counter by the sink.

  “EMMA!”

  The bedroom was the worst. Pools of dried blood were everywhere, but no Emma, no body.

  “Emma, honey, where are you?” He was pleading, pleading for her to be there, pleading for her to be alive. Right then he didn’t care how weak or hurt she was. He needed to hear her voice.

  There was no reply.

  Peter realized it was time to call 911. Heck, it was past time to call, but he’d just realized that was what he should be doing. Someone had gotten into the house and done harm to his wife. Who had done it, or why, mattered very little at the moment. The only thing that mattered was that he find her alive.

  He had to sit down. He realized if he didn’t sit, he was going to pass out. He sat on the edge of the bed. Brown clots of dried blood were caked on the bedspread.

  He pulled out his phone. It was then he heard Robbie calling him, whining. He’d left the children alone too long.

  He had to get it together. He had to make the call and then go outside and not display the alarm he was feeling to his kids. He was about to do just that when he saw the writing on the bedroom mirror. He wondered how he’d missed it. It was in lipstick.

  Peter, my dearest. Sorry for the mess. It could not be avoided. I am fine. Come join me in Casablanca.

  There was no signature. She knew he’d recognize her handwriting.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Jordan Smith’s life was flashing before his eyes.

  They say that’s what happens when you’re about to die. Smith wasn’t about to die, but he felt as though he was.

  The woman had seemed a Godsend when she appeared in his life several months earlier. It is always difficult for a new business in the beginning. Despite having an amazing and unique technology, Smith always knew getting the word out would take time. The woman, Molly, understood the difficulties of a new business, and had offered to become an angel investor.

  As he sat in his office, a glass of Glenfiddich 18, neat, in front of him, Smith realized what he had taken to be Willie Wonka’s golden ticket was in fact, fool’s gold.

  The elevator downstairs clanged to life, jarring him from his reverie. As sure as the day, the person on the elevator was coming for him. Smith’s thoughts moved to damage control. What was the best path he could take to get through this thing with as little damage as possible. The elevator clunked to a stop. The door opened and closed, and the hollow sound of footsteps beat against the tile floor coming toward him down the hall. As the footsteps neared, he steeled himself for what would be a very difficult conversation.

  Peter Hathaway entered and called out. “Smith? You in there?”

  “Yes, yes, Mr. Hathaway. Right here. Come.”

  Moments later, Peter appeared in his office doorway looking every bit as troubled as he should. The man’s skin was ashen, his eyes wild with terror.

  “Where is she?” was all he said.

  “First, I think I should explain myself,” Smith started, trying to sound calm as he attempted to begin the process of damage control.

  “Where is she?” Peter repeated. His expression turned murderous.

  Damage control had to wait.

  “They are in your dream, sir. In Casablanca,” he replied, remaining stoic.

  “They?” There was a distinct ring of hope in Peter’s voice. “My wife… Emma, is with her?” he asked, his voice choking.

  “Yes. She is.”

  “And she’s… alive?”

  “Yes.”

  Relief flooded Peter’s face, and then drained away. “You lied to me,” he said, his tone turning dark.

  “I didn’t know what kind of person she was,” Smith said, offering up the flimsy excuse.

  “You lied to me!” Peter fumed. “You knew Molly was in my dream.” He started across the room toward Smith.

  “No, no. I did not lie,” Smith insisted as he rose to his feet. He held his hands up in the air as if he was being robbed. “You didn’t ask about her. You asked about the woman in your dreams coming out of your dreams, and that’s impossible,” he said, even more insistent.

  Peter stopped short. “Guess what, Buddy. It isn’t,” he replied.

  Smith could see the fight begin to bleed from Peter’s face. His expression turned helpless.

  “Why?” Peter asked, his voice going small, like a child’s.

  Damage control.

  “You have no idea how hard it is running a new business. She gave us the money to keep Dream Esca
pes from going under, to make it possible for more people to have wonderful adventures like yours.”

  “Molly doesn’t have money.”

  “I beg to differ. Her initial investment was half a million dollars, with a promise of more if the business showed growth.”

  Peter appeared incredulous. “Molly?”

  “Yes, yes. You have to understand, sir. A business like ours hemorrhages capital in the beginning. What was I to do?”

  “Sell a few of those suits,” Peter said, sounding disgusted with him.

  “Well…” Smith said, taken aback. The damage control wasn’t working. “I sympathize with your positon,” he replied stiffly.

  “I don’t want your sympathy. I want you to send me to Casablanca.”

  Peter turned away, and headed for the destination room.

  “I can’t, sir.” Smith called after him.

  Peter swung back around. Murder once again in his eyes. “You’d better.”

  Smith considered his next words carefully.

  “We’ve never sent more than two people into one fantasy before. We will need a few hours to adjust the equipment’s algorithm.” This was true.

  “No. Now,” Peter replied.

  “We send you now there’s no telling what could happen. If we do not adjust the algorithm, it could obliterate the entire fantasy, killing you all. That would quite literally ruin us.”

  “You think I give a rat’s ass about whether or not your business survives?”

  “Then think about yourself, sir.”

  “I’m thinking about my wife. I need to save my wife, if it isn’t already too late. Don’t you see, I don’t have a few hours. I don’t have a few minutes. That woman she’s with is crazy. There’s no telling what she will do.” Peter paused, his face a mask of agony. “I should have seen the signs. I should have noticed something was off. I work with her every day.” His voice had gone to that helpless place again. “I need you to send me back—now.”