Dreamers (The Dreamers Series) (25 page)

“Um, I don’t know. I haven’t really found anyone who struck my chords, you know?”

“I hear ya’! I was the same way. I dated, don’t get me wrong, but nobody really did it for me. I was busy with school and my nephews so I never really made a boyfriend a priority.”

“Aren’t you and Heather, you know, a couple?” she sheepishly asks.

“No, we are friends—best friends. I’m in a relationship with my son’s father.”

“Is she dating anyone?”

I sit up slightly, turning my head towards her. Judging from the tone in her voice she seems happy to realize Heather and I aren’t a couple.

“Nope. She is fully available.” I smile.

She blushes and turns to grab another palm full of the spearmint oil I requested on her first visit.

“Oh,” she simply replies.

I don’t push the conversation any further, as she seems really shy about this topic, much like Heather. I detect a definite note of interest and I make a side note to mention her to Heather later. Naturally, they’ve interacted, but not much. A little more exposure might spark something good.

After an amazing hour of relaxing muscle stimulation, I’m ready for my afternoon nap. I’m light as a feather as I walk Leslie to the door.

“Thanks, Leslie. See you next week.”

She smiles and looks at the dining table where Heather sits, wearing a navy-blue polo, a crisply wrinkle-free pair of jeans, and dark-navy converse.

“Bye, Heather,” she calls sheepishly.

Heather barely looks up to my dismay as she calls back, distracted.

“Have a good one, Leslie.”

When Leslie has fully made it away from hearing distance of the door, I scold Heather.

“Hey, you! She was making an effort to speak to you; the least you could have done was looked up.”

She pulls her glasses off with a troubled look on her face, and it pulls me back a notch.

“One, not interested. And two, I have bigger fish to fry right now.”

“Wow, touchy. Is something wrong? Did you find something?”

“Um, I’m just a little confused. Just let me work for a bit, and I will get with you later.”

“Okay, hun. Can I make you some tea or something?”

“No thanks. A beer would be great though.”

“Sure, no problem. I will have to run to the store and grab some. You work and I will be right back.”

I scurry toward the door hoping she won’t notice my hasty attempt at a brief escape.

“I don’t think so, Kid. Just give me whatever alcohol we have in the house. You’re staying put.”

“What is it you like to say? Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“We have wine.”

“I’ll take it.”

My typically laid-back friend returns to her business and remains quiet for the rest of the afternoon, sipping away at her wine, flipping through papers, stepping onto the balcony for secret phone calls. For someone used to working incognito—undercover—she sure has a hard time covering the emotions on her face. She is torn about something—something she found in those papers. I return to my room, toying with the idea of just coming right out and ordering her to tell me what’s going on—it’s my life, after all. Knowing Heather the way I do stops me though; she won’t be forced to say anything she doesn’t want to. Now familiar with both sides of her, business and personal, I know she has a Jekyll and Hyde personality. It would be pointless to demand anything of her right now so I just stay put wondering and reflecting on today’s events. That plaguing feeling still lingers though. What is it that has me on such high alert? Is it something Nick said—or even something Heather said? Was it simply the reminiscing to my time with Lana that has me feeling this ping of question? I push through every last frame of what’s happened today, trying to weed out the culprit. Then, just as I have decided that hormones are making me it edgy—it hits me. How could I have missed that? Jesus, I have to tell Heather.

I reach for the doorknob, anxious to make my way to the living room to tell Heather what I just realized, but she meets me at the door, her face panic stricken.

“Sydney, we have to get out of here—now. Get your shit and let’s go.”

“Heather, wait. I have to tell you something. Something weird happened today. I hate to tell you this but…”

“Yes, Sydney. I just figured it out myself. Let’s go.”

***

“Fucking, Peyton. I knew it.”

Somewhere between Heather tossing a duffle bag at me and aimlessly rummaging through my drawers, I have managed to completely lose sight of what it is I’m supposed to be doing. Running, I suppose, is the only word for what it is. But running where? How can we identify a safe haven when we don’t even know what we’re running towards? We have the
who
, but the
why
still clings aggravatingly to my brain receptors, knocking against the areas where reason and logic are supposed to reign. The thought that Peyton has some vendetta or hatred toward me is baffling. I’m a nobody to her; she has nothing to gain from hurting me. The only reasonable conclusion could be jealousy. Or perhaps revenge for screwing up whatever insane plot she had for Dominick. Either way, I feel the same cornered hopelessness that I felt with Lana. The only place for me to go is away—into hiding. But for how long?

I continue this struggle for several minutes before giving any real consideration to another thought, something that could be the most troubling concern of all. What is Heather going to do with this information? How far will her biological loyalties push her away from what’s right? The questions spinning my head into a hysterical whiplash take their toll, leaving me feeling faint and shaky. I rest for a brief moment on the corner of my comfy bed, probably for the last time ever, wondering which direction to face first. Past, present, or future? The line between them seems to have blurred, merging into one hopeless cluster of answerless wonderings.

Racing to pack ones belongings in a matter of minutes proves to be a challenge as I realize I’ve been circling the room for the last ten minutes with nothing to show for it. I’ve walked past the same pair of jeans folded neatly on my dresser at least twenty times, yet each time I’ve completed a full circle around the room they are still sitting there. Knowing my intent is to pack them seems to do nothing for the actions I seem to be subconsciously avoiding. Heather looks annoyed as she walks in to find the empty bag spread across my bed.

“What’s the hold up, Syd? I had my bag packed in two minutes flat.”

“I don’t know. I just keep getting distracted. I can’t focus. I’ll do it now.” Her words are enough to snap me into reality as I finally grip the jeans in my hand.

“Forget it, we can buy new clothes and replace all that other shit. We need to go now; you aren’t safe here.”

I toss her the only small bag I managed to pack, containing my Pear Berry body supplies she bought me on my first day here.

A quick double-tap knock comes from the door, as Peyton announces her presence, letting herself inside.

“Wow, Mom, ever heard of waiting for the person that actually
lives
here to open the door and not just bust in like you own the damn place?”

“Heather, dear, have you been taking your anxiety medication lately? You’re in one hell of a mood, these days.”

“No. I don’t take that shit anymore. I don’t need it. Why are you here?”

“Sydney invited me to dinner earlier. I don’t smell anything; are we going out instead?”

Heather is less than impressed with her phony, sugary voice. I grab her hand, squeezing tightly before she can shoot off her mouth, endangering us both. I quickly take the reins on the conversation.

“We were going to cook and realized we had absolutely nothing in the fridge. Heather is treating me to a night out on the town. Italian. I’m rearing to get out of here, even if it’s just for the evening.”

“Why the bags?” She points accusingly at our luggage.

“I was thinking I would treat Syd to a mini vacation at the beach, Nosy. She’s been locked up for long enough; she needs a break,” Heather lies.

“Oh, well excuse me, Miss Moody. I thought you were going to handle business for me tonight though, remember? I have a plane to catch at midnight for the conference in New Orleans in the morning.”

Heather sighs and rolls her eyes, aggravated with the dealings with her mother. It’s obvious that this is the final straw for the two. It’s a huge relief to see the resolution pouring from within her betrayed mind. Still, she attempts to bite her tongue and bullshit her way through the questioning looks from Peyton.

“It’s not a problem, Mom. We can just grab some dinner and head back home afterwards. We weren’t going to leave until you got back tomorrow afternoon, anyway. I just thought it would be easier to get the bags in the car tonight seeing as how we are already going out. Work smart, not hard. Right, Cupcake?” She turns to me with a wink.

“Yes, ma’am.” I smile back.

“Thanks, darling. I really appreciate your help. You’re a life saver. I’ll just grab a sandwich or something; you guys go on and have an evening alone. Try to have some fun. Get my daughter in a better mood, Red.”

Her pet names make me sick, especially ones that contain the name
Red
. Bad memories. I have a direct inclination to punch her straight in her perfectly-shaped nose, but I would hate to mess up such an expensive job. I’m sure some plastic surgeon worked very hard making her look like something other than the disgusting devious monster she is.

“I’ll do my best. She’s just tired. Nothing a nice dinner and horror flick won’t fix right up. Have a nice trip to New Orleans, Mrs. Grayson. See you soon.” I smile as convincingly as possible, knowing she is trained to see right through me.

We scurry to the truck quickly. Heather throws it in gear and guns it.

“How did you figure out it was my mother?” she asks.

“She said something today, something I hadn’t mentioned to anyone. She said that she was surprised I still liked peanut butter and jelly sandwiches after that was all Lana fed me for a month. I never told anyone that. I’m certain of it. I haven’t spoken about anything that happened with Lana, to her or anyone else. She had to have known I was there. And to know details all the way down to what I ate everyday…impossible without being involved.”

“I know,” she answers.

“How did you know?”

“Those phone records…there was a reason she didn’t want me investigating them. It was her who called Lana that day. It’s right there in black and white. What really blows me away is that she is way too smart to be so stupid. She used her own cell phone. She must have never intended on letting Lana live. The phone records would have been insignificant with Lana dead. A dead person can’t implicate her.”

I’m not as surprised as Heather at her slip. Heather is entirely correct in saying that she had no intention on releasing Lana from her grip. The records wouldn’t have ever been an issue. Still, not knowing what her intentions were for MY fate makes me wonder: what if she isn’t through with me? There was something she needed from me, or wanted. Nobody goes through kidnapping someone and keeping them adequately fed and in decent health just to turn around and kill them. If she wanted me dead, she could have done it at any time. She wanted something from me first—but what?

The thought brings me back to what Peyton said a moment ago. What business is Heather tending to for her tonight? She isn’t equipped or licensed to see any of her patients. Peyton doesn’t have any pets or children for Heather to charge, so what is Heather needed for? The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Every time I turn around I am forced to suspect the people I care most for, the people closest to me. I know better—I think. She isn’t in on this. No way. Still, I have to ask.

“Heather, what business are you supposed to be handling for her tonight? This isn’t some kind of setup between you two, right? You aren’t going to hurt me, are you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I would never hurt you, Sydney.”

“Well, what are you going to do?”

“I make sure her medical equipment is in working order. I always do it when she’s out of town. Nothing new,” she replies casually.

I imagine a shock treatment apparatus lying around her pristine apartment, waiting for the next victim to come in and be brainwashed. Silly notion, but I can’t understand what type of medical equipment would be necessary for a psychiatrist. In any event, I don’t care. As long as I’m not being lured into a trap like Little Red Riding Hood, then I don’t want to know.

“Why do you keep going with the flow? Let’s go to the police now and turn her in. There isn’t anything holding us back now.”

“No, Sydney. There are unresolved issues.”

“Like Nathan Manning? How do we even know that he was ever even after Nick? Peyton said that she sought Nick out in order to protect him from this man, yet nobody has even heard from him, nor have they seen him around. The only person who seems to be putting people’s lives in danger here is your mother. Nick disappeared in her care, I was kidnapped by Lana on her orders, buy why? Why would she want me out of the way or dealt with, as Lana put it. What risk did I pose to her personally? Because she knew Nick and I were together? Was it jealousy? And what did she have to offer Lana that would be worth risking her freedom to kidnap a nobody like me? She bargained with Lana, that was evident, but with what? What was the bargaining chip?”

“I’m not sure. I have my own little speculation on it, but until I’m sure I need to keep my thoughts to myself. Soon enough you will understand. Right now, I’m teetering toward the brink of insanity, Syd. She’s my mother; how could I have not known? I was trained for this. She lied to my face, justifying her horrible actions and backing them with a noble cause. Do you have any idea what a fool I’ve been?”

“Heather, don’t do this to yourself. You had no way of knowing. Your mother told you she made a mistake and some kind of accident happened with Dominick. You backed her up because she manipulated you. She used Nathan Manning as her cover story when she crossed the line with Nick and people began finding out. Maybe she wanted me gone because she thought Nick knew more about his death than he actually did. He and I were communicating—she thought I knew something.”

“If she wanted you dead, she could have done it herself. She knew where you were the entire time. She had access to you twenty-four hours a day. She could have taken care of you and laid full blame on Lana. Lana committed suicide; the police would have automatically assumed it to be her. She’s the one who held you there. There is something missing. You said her words were that she wanted you
dealt with
, correct?”

“Yes, I believe that was exactly what I heard. Lana said that she had changed her mind, that Peyton could deal with me herself. Peyton said something to Lana on the phone that day that completely crushed Lana, as if everything she was expecting had been taken from her. Lana was defeated; I just don’t know why. I guess plan B was to opt out, commit suicide.”

“
Dealt with
doesn’t mean dead necessarily, though. She was keeping you alive. She had plans for you.”

“Plan A?” I ask sarcastically.

“Yeah. Lana opted out though, but why? Without that answer, you could still be at risk.”

“Not if we turn her in,” I say matter-of-factly.

Even in this awful predicament I can still find humor in the fact that our thoughts mimic each other’s nearly identically—sometimes. While a moment ago I was breezing through her mind flawlessly, her face has changed now and I have no clue what she’s thinking. She still doesn’t want to turn her in and all I can get is a
not yet
. Something is holding her back. There are still some very large puzzle pieces I’ve yet to find—or pieces she just refuses to share with me. If she would just open up, I might be able to help her.

“Heather, tell me what’s bothering you. What don’t I know?”

“Sydney, I will tell you everything when the time is right. For now, I have to organize my plan of action here. I don’t have much time, and I can’t go in unprepared. We need—”

She stops abruptly, looking at me with a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

“We need what?”

“Cayden and Mia. Have them meet us at the apartment at midnight. Mother will be on a plane by then and we can begin handling business.”

“Why are we pulling Mia and Cayden into this? Won’t we be putting them at risk?”

“Because we need them. It’s time to do what’s right. This might be the only chance we have. And if we are doing this, we have to have help—the right kind of help.”

I know better than to ask any more questions. Heather already looks as if she is going to pass out. Sweat is beading off her forehead, and her hands tremble with anxiety as we watch the clock in the truck, waiting for Peyton to leave for the airport. Heather found a congested parking lot where we could blend in and observe the comings and goings of our apartment parking area. At around eleven, Peyton finally makes her way to her Mercedes, carrying her suitcase and her large coach handbag. Thankfully she is oblivious to the fact that we are watching and leaves without a hitch. Heather notifies one of her contacts asking that he verify that her mother actually boards the plane at midnight, and to call immediately letting her know. She looks at me with a twitch of a smile and offers her hand.

“You ready to do this?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing, but yes. Let’s do it.”

Cayden and Mia wait at the entrance anxiously, utterly confused as to the message I left. Mia hugs me tightly with tears in her eyes.

“You said it was an emergency. Tell me the baby is okay?”

“The baby is fine. He is probably sleeping like the little energy-sucking monster he is.” I manage a short laugh.

“He? He! Oh my god, Syd! I’m so happy! Cayden, it’s a boy!”

“I caught that. Congrats, Mama.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Now what’s the emergency? We’ve been panicked ever since you called.” He looks at Heather questioningly.

“We need to go inside. Does anyone know you’re here?” Heather asks them both.

They both confirm that they had followed my instructions and told nobody where they were going or who they would be with. This seems to settle Heather a little more as we begin making our way to the elevator.

To my surprise she walks us into our old apartment, dead bolting the door behind us.