Weaver of Dreams

by Sparks, Brenda

  Kelly’s gray eyes grew wide and a tear streaked down her cheek. “No. You can’t call them.”

  “I think they need to know.”

  “But they can’t.”

  “Kelly, even if you keep the pregnancy a secret, you will give birth. You can’t keep this from your parents. The sooner they know, the sooner they can accept what happened.” Maggie handed the girl a tissue. “You need to see an obstetrician many times before the baby is born if you want a healthy child. Have you been to an obstetrician yet?”

  “What’s that?”

  Maggie struggled to keep the emotions from her face. This poor child didn’t even know an obstetrician delivered babies. Obviously she had not been to an ob/gyn.

  “It’s a doctor who delivers babies. You need to see one if you plan on having the baby.”

  Kelly took a deep breath as if to give her courage before she spoke. “Can you take me to the baby doctor?”

  Maggie couldn’t have been more shocked. She’d do a lot of things for the students at this school, but taking a pregnant teen to the doctor in order for her to avoid telling her parents about the pregnancy wasn’t one of them. “I can’t do that, Kelly. But what I can do is call your mother and bring her in here so we can talk to her together.”

  “And you’ll help me tell her?”

  “Of course I will. I’ll be right here the whole time.”

  Kelly nodded, and wrung the tissue in her lap. “Fine. Call her.”

  Relief surged through Maggie and she fought the smile of triumph that threatened to curve her lips as she picked up the phone.

  The long conversation with Mrs. Clark, was full of emotion and turmoil, but Maggie believed they could work through this. As Kelly and her mother left her office, she couldn’t help but wonder who the baby’s father was. His name hadn’t come up when they were talking. But she hoped he would be involved.

  Maggie leaned back in her chair, and her gaze slid across her desk to the looming stack of paperwork on the corner. She needed to go through the list of students to be sure none of their federally mandatory three-year reevaluations for special education went over due.

  No sooner did she start the process of compiling a list of the coming due re-evaluations then her mind began to wander to the man of her dreams. Her core warmed as her mind’s eye conjured his handsome looks and toned body. Her face flushed with excitement when she pictured the way he looked when he sauntered across the meadow. He was a fantasy, in literally every way.

  Not only was he incredibly good looking, but his personality seemed perfect—exactly what she would want in a real man. He’d acted playful, funny, as well as, charming and sweet. He was too good to be real.

  Which of course was exactly what he was—not real.

  A heavy sigh escaped. Too bad it had only been a dream, but at least it wasn’t a nightmare. For the first time in months she had slept through the night. If it hadn’t been for the stupid leg cramp, she might have even slept until her alarm went off.

  “I wonder if I’ll dream of him again tonight,” Maggie murmured to herself.

  “How sweet. You still dream of me.”

  Maggie’s head jerked up and turned toward her office door to discover Mark standing there in all his boss-like glory. What the heck could be so important it brought Mark Carver to her office?

  Chapter 12

  Mark’s smug look made Maggie want to gag. She decided instead to wipe the arrogance from his face.

  “Dream of you? I don’t think so, Mark. I can assure you I no longer dream of you or your thinning hair." She perused his hairline with her eyes, knowing he secretly fretted about it.

  He let it slip once that losing his hair was his only real fear. Maybe that was the reason for his poor libido when they’d been together. Perhaps he thought himself unattractive because he was going bald. It could certainly explain his lack of interest in having sex.

  “Low blow, Mags,” he taunted by saying his nickname for her in a sing-songy voice.

  Maggie’s hands fisted in pique under her desk. She hated when he called her that and he knew it. “You lost the right to call me by that name when we broke up.”

  “You mean when I broke it off,” Mark corrected, closing the door behind him after he entered her office.

  He traversed the small room and took a seat on the corner of her desk. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down on her, looking every bit the intimidating boss.

  He isn’t playing any games today.

  Mark could be a real bastard when pissed. She would do well to back off and let him say what he came to say. But then she’d never been one to back down from a fight. Which may have been one of the reasons he called off their relationship.

  Maggie leaned back in her chair, overlapping her arms to mimic his stance. “As I remember it, we came to a mutual agreement on ending our relationship.”

  “Relationship?” A rude scoff came from his throat. “More like me always trying to satisfy you and you never being appeased.”

  “Excuse me? As I remember it, I always tried to be good enough for you; sexy enough for you, and you never seemed to appreciate the effort.”

  Mark’s look of disdain twisted his features. “I would have appreciated the effort, Mags, if it had been enough.”

  “You have made it perfectly clear you don’t find me attractive, Mark. We don’t need to go there again.”

  The look of shock on his face would have been almost comical if she was not so hurt.

  “Not attractive? I never said that. Never. I find you a very attractive woman.”

  “Liar. You found me so attractive you never wanted to have sex,” Maggie accused.

  “Just because I wasn’t in the mood, didn’t mean I wasn’t attracted to you. For God’s sake, I never would have dated you if I didn’t find you attractive.”

  The sincerity in his voice took some of the bite from her anger. She was so tired of this fight. Tired of dealing with this infuriating man. She just wanted him gone so she could be left in peace.

  “Why did you come today, Mark?”

  He braced his hands on her desk. “Jennifer arranged for a press conference this afternoon.”

  “Great. Who’s going on camera?” She knew what his answer would be, knew her pleas yesterday would go unanswered, but hope that it might just be someone other than her made her cross her fingers discreetly in her lap. Maybe, just maybe, she got through to them in his office and he decided to let someone else speak for the District.

  “You,” her ex informed her.

  Of course! Annnnd her anger came back in full force just that quick. “No way!”

  “Yes way.” Mark pinned her with an intense stare, obviously trying to intimidate her into accepting this.

  “Nuh-uh. Not gonna happen. Get someone else.”

  “Jennifer says it should be you.”

  “Tell Jennifer to do it herself.”

  “She thinks it will be better received by the public if it comes from the school guidance counselor rather than the District’s attorney.”

  “I actually can see her point,” Maggie conceded. “But I’m not doing it.”

  “Yes, you are. The press will be here at four.”

  “That’s after school.”

  “Exactly. The kids and teachers should be gone, so the press won’t be able to get any sound bites from anyone except you.”

  Butterflies the size of birds fluttered in Maggie’s stomach. She couldn’t do this. She just didn’t do public speaking.

  The few times she tried talking publicly in the past, she shook so bad, her teeth chattered. Wouldn’t that make a lovely sound bite for the Six O’clock News?

  Wonder how Miss Jennifer Lawler would like that?

  “I can’t do this.
” Maggie hoped her voice sounded stronger than she felt.

  “You can and you will, Mags. The District needs you. The school, the students need you.”

  Way to play on her love of the students. The jerk still knew exactly how to get to her. Loyal to her school and the students who attended, she always said she’d do anything for them and she meant it.

  “Maggie, if you give the press conference, our side of the issue will be believed. Just think how good the school with look once the public knows the truth of the situation.”

  She had to admit, the secretary mentioned earlier the front office got several calls from parents looking to withdraw their children. The principal seemed sure the negative press led to the sudden calls. If too many students withdrew, they could lose teachers and staff.

  A forceful sigh blew out between her clenched teeth. “What should I say?”

  A superior look took Mark’s face—she really hated that look. “I knew you would do it,” her ex declared, clapping his hands together.

  “I’m only doing this for the school. Not you, Mark.”

  “Fine, fine.” He stood and withdrew a piece of folded paper from the pocket of his suit jacket. “Here, Jennifer wrote this up last night after dinner.”

  Did she even want to ask how he knew when Jennifer Lawler wrote it?

  Nope.

  “Memorize what is written and say exactly those words during the press conference.”

  Maggie took the proffered paper and opened it. She gave the statement a quick read-through while Mark stared down at her silently. Her eyes met his as she spoke. “This is our official line?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t say much. What if the reporters ask questions?”

  “You say no further comment and walk away.”

  “Easier said than done,” Maggie muttered.

  “But that’s what you will do. Understand, Maggie?” Mark's eyebrows narrowed menacingly over his hazel eyes. “Don’t get diarrhea of the mouth. Just say the approved statement and stop the press conference.”

  “If you are so worried about me messing things up, why don’t you find someone else to say this?” Maggie shook the paper in his direction, wishing he sat close enough so she could hit him with it.

  “It needs to be you, the innocent, pretty guidance counselor.”

  Only he could make a compliment sound like an insult. “You’re a real bastard. You know that, Mark?”

  He turned heading for her office door. “I might be. But at least I get things done.”

  With one hand on the doorknob, he stopped to look back at her over his shoulder. “Oh and Mags, don’t mess up. I’d hate for the school to look for another guidance counselor this late in the school year.”

  The threat came through loud and clear—mess up and she could start looking for another job. Got it. Thanks a bunch. Her nerves were much calmer now.

  Her stomach tightened and breakfast threatened to make a second appearance as Mark left her office. When he disappeared from sight, she walked over and closed the door behind him.

  She leaned against the door, trying to compose herself. It didn’t work. Her hands trembled as she went back to sit behind her desk. Perspiration dotted her brow while her stomach tightened further. She reread the prepared statement, the words blurring from her trembling.

  “I don’t know how I am ever going to get through this,” she mumbled, staring sightlessly down at the shaking paper in her hand.

  Chapter 13

  Foster grabbed a beer from his fridge—his seventh of the night—muttering under his breath about how they just didn’t get the job done any longer. Used to be enough beer could quiet the voices in his head, but now it just seemed to make them louder. The bottle of pills sitting next to the stove caught his attention as he turned.

  “Maybe I should take my meds.” He shrugged. “The doctor says they help.”

  You don’t need them, the voices in his head whispered. You’re fine.

  The pills didn’t really work. Not like the alcohol did . . . Used to.

  He staggered into the living room, and plopped down on the torn couch with too much force. His beer sloshed over the lip of the can, wetting his hand and leg.

  “Dammit to hell,” he wiped the frothy liquid from his jeans.

  Yes, dammit all to hell, the voices taunted him. Damn you to hell.

  “No. No you don’t,” Foster yelled back. “I don’t want to hear it!”

  He grabbed the remote from the dusty coffee table and pushed the power button. With a click, the TV came to life, sending a loud scream into the room. Realizing a horror flick played, he quickly changed the channel to the local news. The news wouldn’t be bloody, wouldn’t have anyone screaming at him.

  He didn’t need to see any more horror. His dreams lately had been more than enough. They were terrifying. Bloody images and those creepy people filled his dreams. He wished he never needed to go to sleep ever again.

  Sleep is good. We want more blood. More guts.

  He hadn’t slept more than a few minutes at a time in years. Horrific nightmares plagued him. Grotesque images of death filled his dreams as a recurring theme.

  Sweet, bloody death.

  His sweat soaked sheets remained on his bed. He saw no reason to change them. He would just soak them again tonight once he lost his battle to stay awake.

  Sleep. Go to sleep. Dream for us.

  “Stop it!” he screamed. “Shut up.”

  He turned the TV volume up, hoping to drown out the voices. A pretty woman with reddish hair appeared on screen. Below her image the caption read MARGRET O’CONNELL—EVANS HIGH SCHOOL GUIDANCE COUNSELOR.

  Evan had been his step-daddy’s name. He hated the abusive son of a bitch. Mean as a rattlesnake and as strong as a silver back gorilla, the bastard was a zoo all to himself.

  An animal who deserved to die.

  Foster chuckled. “Oh, yeah. He died all right. I saw to that.”

  With an axe and a baseball bat. They are still in your closet. Trophies of your success.

  “I need to clean them.”

  Pretty red stains. Leave them.

  The sound of the woman’s high voice drew Foster’s attention.

  “. . . and so upon careful review of the student’s file, the District investigators found no wrong doing on behalf of school personnel.” The pretty woman’s tongue darted out to wet her lips before she continued. “While it is regrettable the student was not found eligible for a program that would allow him to access the state’s scholarship to attend a private school, we cannot falsify test results or eligibility paperwork. It would be unethical for the school to do so. Thank you. I have no further comment.”

  Foster watched with regret as the lead anchor came back on screen throwing the broadcast to the sportscaster. He could care less about the scores for the hometown college team or the National League, but he supposed anything must be better than watching the damned horror movie on the other channel. Too bad the interview hadn’t been longer. He wouldn’t mind watching that woman some more.

  Foster took a long pull from his beer. The counselor was a pretty little thing. Her lips looked so kissable. Her mouth was the perfect shape to bring a man pleasure.

  You want to fuck her.

  Oh, yeah. The voices knew what they were talking about on that score.

  He bet she would feel good with her legs wrapped around his waist. She could be the schoolteacher to his naughty schoolboy—might even spank him.

  Spank her. HARD. She would enjoy the pain.

  Pain could be good. He knew first hand.

  Foster put his beer down on the table and rolled up his sleeve. He looked down at the circular scars that dotted his forearms. He earned those cigarette bu
rns—Evan assured him of that.

  They were his personal war wounds. They proved he survived, to win the war.

  Won the war by killing the general.

  Yeah, he’d killed Evan good. He came home from school one day to find Evan beating on his mama. She cowered in the corner with him standing over her raining blows down on her face. Her blood sprayed out, hit Foster’s shoe. Seeing Mama’s blood enraged the voices. Until that afternoon, they had only demanded he hurt animals and insects.

  But we wanted more. Your mama needed to be avenged.

  He ran to his room and grabbed his baseball bat out of the closet. Foster whacked his step-daddy upside his head so hard he dropped to the floor.

  It felt so good.

  He beat the monster unconscious, over and over.

  Like a Whack-a-Mole game.

  His smashed head oozed blood onto the carpet.

  Pretty, pretty blood.

  “Not as pretty as the little guidance counselor,” Foster murmured.

  He ran a hand over his scruffy beard, enjoying the rough feel of his whiskers before he grabbed his beer from the table. Chugging the remainder of the cold liquid, he slammed the emptied can back down on the table. His body heated as the alcohol warmed his stomach, gave him a slight rush.

  Finally! The buzz had arrived.

  Not as good as the buzz from a fresh kill.

  His cock pushed painfully against the zipper of his jeans making his thoughts return to the pretty guidance counselor.

  She would be prettier lying before you with her head severed from her neck.

  Dead? But she hadn’t done anything.

  She is keeping the boy from getting his scholarship.

  But she just followed the law.

  She should do what is right, even if it’s against the law. Like you did getting rid of your step-daddy.

  He wished they would shut up. That was different.

  Is it? Or is she just a bully, keeping a boy down like Evan did to you?