Blindspot (Daydream, Colorado Book 1)

by A. M. Rose

  “I was thinking of maybe spending the day here… I… there’s some stuff I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Some stuff… Is the stuff named Drew Daley?” Orson threw him a cheeky look and Mason huffed.

  “So, you know he’s back?”

  “No thanks to you,” Orson said, and Mason knew he wasn’t angry at him for not telling, but it still stung a bit.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No need. I know he’s always been a sore spot for you. So… he’s back?” he asked, pulling out a large pan and placing it on the stove top.

  “To be honest, he’s not what I wanted to talk about,” Mason tried to get out of it, but he knew Orson well enough to know it would never work.

  “Maybe not. But you clearly want to.”

  “How is that clear?”

  “You look like you haven’t slept in ages, and you’re getting defensive about it,” Orson said as he waved a hand over the pan and set it to cook the fish perfectly. He came over and sat across from Mason.

  “I’m not defensive. There’s just nothing to talk about…”

  “And the dark circles?”

  “Are what I wanted to talk about. They have nothing to do with Drew, though.”

  “Okay… I’m listening.” Orson nodded, dropping whatever teasing attitude he may have had.

  “Um… do you remember when we first met?” Mason asked and Orson snorted.

  “Yes, Mason. I remember when I first met my son, thank you,” he drawled.

  “All right, fine,” Mason snorted, twirling the tissue in his hands and thinking on how to start talking about the issue he had.

  “Your parents were never very good at figuring out what was best for you. But bringing you to Helen for answers when you had your first glance was a stroke of genius.”

  “Calling them parents is a bit generous,” Mason said, feeling his throat clench at the words.

  “Yeah, well. I’m a generous man,” Orson shrugged, and Mason smiled at him, feeling a bit more grounded.

  “You are. Modest too,” he quipped back, and the older man tipped his glass at him in a little salute.

  “I’m also smart. Enough to figure out you’re stalling. So… out with it,” he said, making Mason sigh.

  “Okay, yeah… so. Glances. You know what they’re like, right?” he asked, and Orson gave a small nod.

  “I know enough. Or at least I know what Helen told me and then what yours have been like.”

  “Well… lately, mine haven’t been like they were before.”

  “What do you mean? Are you okay?” he asked, worry clear in his voice.

  “I’m okay. I mean… I haven’t been sleeping lately. I… I’ve been having nightmares. Or… I guess glances… maybe?”

  Orson narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean maybe?”

  “I don’t know. I never used to have them in my sleep so… I guess, at first, I thought they were just bad dreams. But…”

  “They keep getting worse, and it’s always the same person?” Orson said and Mason gaped at him.

  “How…”

  “Helen had that too. Once…”

  “Why? What is it?” Mason fired off the questions, barely managing not to jump out of his seat.

  “No clue…” Orson said, and Mason deflated completely.

  “But…”

  “We had guesses. Theories. We talked to other people who had theories of their own.”

  “What were they?”

  “Nothing revolutionary, I’m afraid. Best guess people had was that someone needed help badly enough that their magic reached out to look for it. And found the closest person with the power to potentially help.”

  Mason stared at him for a second, trying to work out the logic behind it and finding none.

  “That’s a horrible way to look for help!” he exclaimed.

  “Oh, it absolutely is.”

  “I have zero idea who this man is. Zero idea where he is. He could die tomorrow, and I’d have no clue!”

  “Helen said the exact same thing,” Orson said, turning to check on their lunch. He deemed it ready and plated the fish and their salad before returning to the counter and setting the food in front of Mason.

  “Did she… who did she see?” Mason asked, picking up his fork. Bad news usually went over better when he ate something first.

  Orson grimaced. “It was a woman. In her fifties, at least that was Helen’s estimate. She would see her crying, alone, scared. It wasn’t pretty.”

  “Did she ever find her?” he asked, but he knew the answer even before Orson spoke it.

  “Unfortunately, no. She never saw her surroundings, never had a clear glance of her face or her name. There was just no way to locate her.”

  “What happened then?”

  “They just… stopped one day. Out of nowhere like they showed up.”

  Mason gasped at his words, fork frozen halfway to his mouth. “So, she died?”

  “We chose to believe she got to safety and didn’t need help anymore. Helen… She really took it bad. Ended up going to a therapist to try and make peace with the guilt.”

  Mason felt his stomach turning like he was going to be sick. He could see the man from his dreams struggling and crying out, and the thought it would just end with Mason unable to help in any way made him think he might go insane.

  “When was this?” he asked finally, when the dread threatened to eat him alive.

  “It ended just before your parents agreed to allow you to stay with us when they left. Helen used to say you came to us for a reason,” Orson said with a smile, and Mason did his best to return it. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you better news. I wish I knew more.”

  “No, I… it’s more than I knew before so…”

  “Do you want to talk about the dreams? Helen used to write them down. Said it helped if she got them out…”

  “I don’t really know what to say. It’s… a guy, I think. Looks like a guy, but I can’t be sure. And he’s… scared, running, screaming…” he trailed off, hands starting to shake as he recalled the images that flashed behind his lids whenever he had a minute to allow his mind to wander.

  “Is he alone?” Orson asked and Mason shrugged.

  “I never saw anyone else. But someone is hurting him. He’s afraid of someone.”

  “How can you tell?” Orson asked, forehead creased and eyes squinting in question.

  Mason thought about it for a moment, not really sure how he knew. He never questioned it until then. He just knew there was someone who was making this person feel scared.

  “I don’t know. It’s a feeling I’ve had since the first time it happened. And I’m pretty sure I’m right about it.”

  “That’s interesting. I don’t think Helen ever experienced something like that,” Orson said, shrugging. “Goes to show how little we actually knew about it.”

  “Who did you ask?”

  “Everyone we could think of, librarians, historians, other people who have the same power. We found books, old diaries, people who did research on it, doctors. But nobody found any concrete information. The basic conclusion was… it happens sometimes, and if you can help great…”

  “And if not?” Mason forced another bite down.

  “Then you move on, kid. Don’t let it eat you alive,” Orson said, and Mason huffed out a laugh. That sounded easier said than done.

  “I hope I can find him somehow,” he said eventually and Orson nodded.

  “That’s why writing the dreams down as soon as you wake up helps. You might forget the details that could lead to figuring out who or where he is. Try it, maybe?” Orson suggested.

  Mason nodded, willing to do whatever it took to find this person and help them out. “I’ll try,” he said.

  Orson smiled at him, clapping him on the shoulder and picking up their empty plates to stack them in the sink. He waved a hand and a happy clink of them being washed broke the silence.

  “Want some dessert?” Orson asked.r />
  “What do you have?”

  “Ice-cream, brownies, got some chocolate truffles yesterday,” he rattled off and Mason nodded.

  “Sounds good.”

  Orson snorted loudly, shaking his head, but he still went and grabbed everything from the kitchen before bringing it to the small table in the living room. Mason migrated over from the kitchen and settled into the plush armchair. He folded his legs underneath his ass, making grabby hands at the treats Orson set in front of them.

  The older man rolled his eyes and handed him a bowl containing two brownies, a scoop of ice-cream on top decorated with a couple of chocolate truffles.

  “You know me so well…” Mason swooned as he accepted the bowl and dug in.

  “You talk a mighty good talk about eating healthy for someone impersonating a pig,” Orson said, and Mason squawked in offence as best as he could with his mouth filled with food.

  “I’m a growing boy!”

  “You’re a boy, sure. Never really did the growing part,” Orson said, kicking his legs up on the edge of the coffee table.

  “How dare you?” Mason cried, waving his spoon in the air like a sword.

  “If you can call me fat, then I can call you short,” Orson said, and Mason glared at him.

  “How mature of you. And I do it for your own good,” he said, stuffing another bite of ice-cream into his mouth.

  “Okay, so… if I say something for your own good, it’s allowed?” Orson quirked an eyebrow, and Mason squinted his eyes suspiciously.

  “This feels like a trap,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because if I say no, then I lose an argument, and if I say yes, you use it to say something I’m not gonna like.”

  He was fairly sure he knew what Orson would bring up. The conversation about his dreams might have derailed it a little bit, but Drew would come up again. Soon. Now, more than likely.

  “I feel like it’s my duty as your parent to make you feel as uncomfortable as possible,” Orson said.

  Mason shook his head. “I think you got that wrong.”

  “Nope, pretty sure I’m right. So, start talking…”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. Drew… is back in town. For a while…”

  “Have you talked to him?” Orson asked and Mason nodded.

  “Yeah um… we ran into each other by accident.” Slept together. “And then met a few times to talk.”

  “And…”

  “And nothing!”

  “Very convincing.”

  “I’m helping him out with some stuff while he’s here. There. Happy?” Mason said with a huff and Orson shrugged.

  “Are you happy?” he asked.

  Mason startled at the question. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you took it hard when he left; you spent years looking for him and then years trying to let go. And now he’s back. Are you happy?”

  “I don’t… There’s not really much to be happy about. Drew left because some shitty stuff happened to him. I offered to help him find answers. And then he’ll be on his way again.”

  “But you are friends, if you’re helping him…”

  “Um, yeah…friends…”

  “Or… are you more?” Orson tilted his head, and Mason threw his head back against the back of the armchair.

  “Just friends…”

  “You were always a horrible liar, kid.”

  “I’m not lying!” Mason exclaimed, but he knew it was futile to argue.

  “Fine. Keep your secrets. I’ll give you some advice though,” he said, and Mason wanted to groan and complain about him meddling, but the truth was, he needed someone to talk sense into him. He needed Orson to tell him to keep away from Drew and to not get swept away by him again. He needed him to help protect himself from shattering when Drew left again.

  “I’m listening,” he said and Orson smiled.

  “You deserve to know if you two would be good together,” he said.

  Mason gasped, almost jumping out of his seat. “What?”

  Orson smirked. “Did you expect me to help you lie to yourself some more?”

  “I’m not lying!” he said again, but it didn’t seem to make any difference.

  “You can keep telling yourself that all you want, son. But we both know you’ve loved Drew since you two were gangly teenagers. And you never got the chance to actually try and be together.”

  “It’s because he left,” Mason growled, feeling himself getting defensive again.

  “It’s not about the fact he left. It’s about the fact that he left just when you finally let your walls down enough to let him in.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He crossed his arms on his chest and gave his best glare to the older man.

  “It means your parents did a number on your ability to trust. They left, time and again, and you grew to expect everyone to leave. And just when you lulled yourself into a sense of safety around him, he left too.”

  “Thanks for that summary. Sounds amazing to have it all in bullet points.” He sunk deeper into the chair, wishing the soft padding would cover him up enough to hide every weak spot he had. He hated being seen so much. Hated that there were people who saw right through his sharp edges.

  “It has nothing to do with you, Mason.” Orson ignored his sarcasm and just kept talking. “Your parents left because they were irresponsible shits-for-brains, and Drew left because of his own issues. None of it was your fault in any way,” he said, and the conviction in his voice made Mason’s eyes prickle with tears.

  “Hard to believe that, Pops,” he whispered, and Orson moved to sit on the armrest of Mason’s chair and wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

  “I’m here. Always will be. Helen loved you to pieces, and given the choice, she would have loved to be by your side. Sage is there. He’s not going anywhere. You’re not the reason people make stupid choices, Mason. So stop ruining your own chances at happiness because you think you are.”

  Mason stared at him, allowing a tear to roll down his cheek.

  “What are you saying? To give Drew a chance?” he asked.

  Orson shrugged. “No. I’m saying to do what your heart is telling you to do, not what your fears are demanding you do.”

  “And if my heart breaks again?” Mason asked.

  “I’m not sure it can break again, when it was never truly mended, kid.”

  The call he received at three in the morning was unexpected.

  Drew didn’t know how Malachi had acquired his number, but he barely had time to ask that, or anything for that matter, as the Head Witch gave him a time and place and hung up on him as quickly as he called.

  He didn’t sleep for the rest of that morning, tossing and turning before simply staring up at his childhood ceiling the way he had so many times before. Both anxiety and hope were fighting for the spotlight inside his head, and he couldn’t shut them down.

  At six A.M. he caved and called the only person he could think of.

  “Hello?” Mason answered groggily, still half asleep.

  “Hi,” he breathed, body relaxing at hearing his voice.

  “Drew?”

  “Yeah… I’m sorry it’s so early, I just needed to speak to you,” he apologized.

  “What time is it?” Mason asked, still slurring like he was on the brink of falling back to sleep regardless.

  “Malachi called me,” he blurted out instead of an answer.

  “Mal… what?”

  He definitely sounded more awake now.

  “He asked to me to meet him at the farm at nine… he didn’t say why,” he mumbled. “I don’t know if that’s good or not…”

  “If he had nothing, he wouldn’t want to meet,” Mason said decisively, he could hear the sheets rustling like he was moving. “You said he wanted to meet at Darian’s?”

  “Yeah, that’s what he sai—”

  “I’ll pick you up, and we’ll head over. I can’t believe that asshole didn’t text me to
say he had something! Or Darian for that matter… or Nick! At the next council meeting they’ll be getting a piece of my mind, I swear to—why are you laughing?”

  “Nothing, sorry,” he said softly, but a hint of a smile was still present in his voice.

  He couldn’t exactly tell Mason that he was afraid their last encounter had set them back even deeper into the awkwardness they orbited around and wondering where they stood. Hearing Mason heated up about him eased his mind. Told him that, yeah, certain lines may have been crossed, but Mason still had his back. Viciously so, if his words were anything to go by.

  “I’ll pick you up at half eight,” he said.

  Then he hung up.

  Drew sighed and lowered the phone from his ear to press against his chest. He tracked his gaze over to his picture board; he could barely make the photos out in the dark, but he knew exactly where Mason was located without needing to see.

  He lost himself for the rest of the early morning hours staring at his picture, walking through his own memories.

  By the time Mason was pulling up in front of his house, he was wired again. He had no idea what to expect going into this. Was today the day his magical gag was finally removed? It seemed almost too absurd an idea to consider for long. He’d lived with it since he was seven years old. It was almost a part of who he was.

  He slid into the passenger side and buckled up with shaky hands. Mason was dressed in a hundred layers again, in varying shades of grey and black, and he looked warm and huggable. Drew didn’t dare test it.

  There was a thick silence between them, neither one of them attempting to bridge it with small talk as Mason began to drive.

  Drew directed his gaze out the window, left leg bouncing uncontrollably with nerves. He needed a distraction. Anything was better than considering the well of possibilities waiting for him at the farmhouse.

  “Did you speak to Orson?” he found himself asking, gaze still out of the window.

  He felt Mason’s eyes flick towards him. “Yeah.”

  “Did you get the answers you needed?”

  Mason hummed. “Kind of.”

  There was silence again. Drew hated it.

  “That night—”

  “It was a mistake,” Mason cut off.

  A mistake.