Dreamers (The Dreamers Series) (4 page)

It’s been around twenty minutes since I hung my pictures, and I’m anxious to bring them out and take a look. I walk back into my dark room and begin poking around with my photographs. Just as I thought, the one of Heather is stunning. She looks so natural. It’s amazing. I pick through a few of the others, unimpressed. The ones Heather took of me are up next on the line. I’ll admit, I am curious of why Heather was looking at me the way she was. She took four shots of me, all lying on the ground. They really are good pictures. There is a hippy-ish quality to the way my body blends into nature.

In the back ground there is something catching my eye. I assume it’s some type of blur. Heather isn’t used to operating a commercial camera, so I could just be slightly out of focus. I take it into the hallway where the lighting is better to better analyze the blur. The picture drops from my trembling fingers, hitting the floor as the image come into focus. This is impossible; there is no way this could be real. I run back to the dark room, jerking the other three pictures from the hang line. It’s then that I see it—clearly.

“Oh my god.”

***

When dreams become a reality there is no obvious escape path. I’m not safe from him, no matter which physical state I assume—he’s here. I peer deeply into the photo, melting the obvious image into my eyes. Any question of coincidence disappears swiftly. The cold gray headstone lunges from the photo, nestled directly behind my beautiful tree. A headstone in a cemetery is not big surprise, obviously. Yet, this one is unique and clearly states his name—Dominick Manning, the same name which has haunted me since I learned of Lana’s fate.

She was telling the truth, he’s real.

I have to tell Heather, she needs to know. She has to face the fact that something dark is lurking in her home. I can’t overlook the irony of being in that specific cemetery, shooting photos at that particular spot. This is fate—intervention. A sign. I won’t ignore it.

“Heather!” I bellow down the narrow hallway.

Several long seconds pass before jingles hit my ears and she stumbles towards me half awake.

“What’s up, Kid?”

“Look.” I throw the photo into her hand, waiting anxiously for her reaction.

For a moment I think she catches the image as her eyes stay glued to the thick paper. Her smile tells me she has completely overlooked the most important part of what I needed her to see—Dominick’s headstone.

“They really turned out awesome, Syd. I know what you meant now about being natural. You look so—alive. I love the way the leaves blend into your hair, like different shades of fire. It’s gorgeous.”

“That’s sweet, Heather, but look behind me. What do you see?”

“I see you, your ugly tree, some mud—you.” She laughs.

“Look at the headstone, Heather.”

Again, her eyes focus in on the photo, analyzing it more closely this time.

“I don’t know, it’s kind of out of focus. Not to mention, I left my glasses on my bed. You seem to have forgotten that I’m half blind,” she jokes.

This is the point where I’m forced to consider my choices. Telling the truth could land me in the nut house with Lana, and keeping quiet is just as confining—mentally, that is. I don’t like secrets and I certainly don’t want to lie to her. If I simply drop it, I won’t have to answer any follow up questions Heather might have for me regarding my interest in Dominick.

“Nevermind, it’s not important right now anyway,” I quickly reply as she analyzes me with curious eyes.

“You alright, Syd? You seem edgy.”

Preservation impulses shoot back and forth through my brain, beginning in the portion that determines reason and logical thought then crashing like a tidal wave into the other side which holds no boundaries, allowing me to fully absorb the situation. Logic and reason win the battle of whether I’m going to tell Heather or keep my big trap shut. She’s so closed off in her beliefs of the supernatural. Not to mention, thoroughly convinced that Lana is a maniac. Without proof how am I supposed to convince her that I’ve been in contact with a ghost and his headstone is right here in the picture to prove it? I’ve seen him, smelled him, felt him—I’m not crazy. Heather might not agree, though. For now I need to keep my mouth closed.

“I’m alright. I just haven’t been sleeping well, and it’s beginning to catch up with me. I really should go to bed.”

“I hear ya’. I’m about to hit the sack myself.”

“Okay, goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Sweet dreams, Kid.” She turns, heading back to her room.

I make a quick stop to the kitchen, topping off my Ambien with a tall glass of red wine. I can’t take the chance of waking up until I find answers. This man has taunted me in my sleep, and now he’s inadvertently screwing with my head during waking hours. There is something so alluring about him that I can’t pinpoint, and it’s driving me mad. The way my body floats directly toward him whenever he’s around is troubling.

I literally jog to my room trying to outrun the effect of the Ambien and wine. In all the chaos I nearly forgot having taken it. The reminder comes in the form of blurred vision and a sluggish pace down what feels like an endless hallway. I don’t have much time. I fling the closet door open, dragging Lana’s box from the back corner. I rip through the cardboard, exposing the contents. I see an Ouija board, a few books, and a journal. While the other items must have held significant value to Lana, the only item of worth to me currently is the journal. It could be exactly what I need to unscramble this unusual situation.

The first few pages are nothing more than a ton of jabber about moving and work. I flip to the back, hoping for a more recent account of events. On the last page I find a short inscription.

July 13th, 2011

Dominick,

I don’t know how I’m supposed to find you anymore, I can’t sleep and when I do you aren’t there. I NEED you to come back.

I know you asked me to stay away from you, but I finally found something. I caught her today, red handed. You were right all along, she does know something, but you’re not going to believe what it is.

I don’t know how I’m going to pull this off, but we are finally going to be together.

I swear to you, that bitch is going to pay for what she’s done.

I’m slipping her a pill tonight, and then I’m coming to get you.

If all goes bad and I never return, know that I love you, and everything you NEED to know is right here in this building. I know if I disappear someone will read this someday and maybe they can help you if I can’t.

I don’t understand what I’m reading. There is absolutely no way Heather has anything to do with Dominick’s death. I begin frantically flipping backwards through the journal, but it’s too late—the Ambien hits me, giving me only enough time to crawl from the floor to the bed. There is no escaping it this time. I’m drifting quickly into his world with no defense. Reality darkens.

***

I drift towards the window, catching his scent before ever making it to the opening. I stop several feet short of the sill.

“Dominick,” I whisper into the night.

“You know my name already? I’m impressed. Come a little closer, sweetheart.”

It’s not easy—resisting his plea. He has magnetism about him, making it nearly impossible to disobey his commands. Be that as it may, I determinedly remain strong.

“No, you come closer. I’m not coming anywhere near that window. I don’t trust you after last time.”

Without pause he appears behind me.

Admittedly, I feel slightly more empowered by finding the resistance to avoid the window. Yet, I still can’t find the strength to face him. His pull is strong—too strong. I continue facing away as I speak, getting straight to the point of where I need this conversation to go.

“I came looking for you for a reason. What do you want from me?”

“So direct, I like that,” he says with an amused tone.

“I’m not really interested in what you like. You tricked me into a dangerous situation last time we met. I’d like to know why?”

“Turn around,” he orders.

From behind I can feel his presence. There is no hostility, but his arrogance is extremely off-putting. This bit of control he believes he holds over me isn’t settling well as I realize he could easily use it against me if I let him.

“No. I don’t want you toying with my head. I don’t want to face you.” I stand firm.

“You don’t have to face me in order for me to toy with your head. I just wanted to see your beautiful face, and ask a favor of you. I could use your help.”

Did he seriously just call me beautiful? He thinks he knows how to work me. Wrong.

“Let me get this straight, you want me to help you, and completely forget the fact that you almost made me fall out of an open window the other night? That’ll never happen. I’m not helping you.”

“I wouldn’t have let you fall. I was just playin’.” He tickles my sides from behind.

I grab his hands, startled by the electricity they thrust through my skin. His strong fingers are like magnets, clinging firmly to my hips. I force myself to fully push them away, but not without a determined effort. Either he doesn’t want to let go, or I don’t want him to. Either way, for now I’m free of his grip, aside from the tingling sensation his touch left behind.

“Go play with somebody else. Even if I wanted to help you— which I don’t—I can’t.”

“I can be very persuasive,” he confidently remarks.

“For every ounce of persuasion, I have double in stubbornness. No amount of persuasion would ever make me want to help you. You’re obviously not a good person or you would have crossed over. I know how these things work. I watch the Sci-Fi channel.”

Although his genuine laugh tells me I inflicted no insult, I instantly regret my harsh words. I have no idea what landed him here. Likewise, I have no right to accuse him of being a bad person. The truth is, it’s bothering the hell out of me that I do like him and I can’t stop myself from wanting to turn around—just to drink in his gorgeous features once again. I don’t know if it’s him playing mind tricks or what. Outwardly there are certainly no appealing factors to his personality. He’s cocky and arrogant—self-absorbed for sure. Everything I despise in a person, woman or man alike, is all over him.

“You’ll learn to like me. I’m not worried.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath, Dominick. I’ve already heard about what happens to people who get involved with you. Lana’s in a mental ward because of you,” I spit back, disgusted.

“No, Lana’s in a mental ward because she’s bat-shit crazy.” He laughs.

“I don’t think it’s funny at all. You screwed her mind up, and you don’t even care. You’re heartless.”

“I have a heart, it just doesn’t beat anymore. That kinda thing happens when you’re dead.” He seems amused by his lame attempt at quick wit.

What he is unaware of is the fact that I’m no pushover and I have enough lame wit of my own to keep him in check. Funny, the more I get to know him the clearer it becomes that he doesn’t control everything about me while I’m here—not even close. It occurs to me that his adamant insistence that I will fall under his charm spell is nothing more than a charade. There is a fractional element of the real Dominick peaking from underneath the mask he has created for himself. I have no intention of letting him look at me as some helpless damsel in distress.

“You’re quite a smartass for someone who needs help. Shouldn’t you be groveling?”

“I don’t grovel to anyone, sweetheart. But for you, I will agree to play nice.”

“That’s awfully gracious of you.” I roll my eyes.

He catches my sarcasm, allowing it to achieve a hint of a smirk in his lips.

“I do try to accommodate when I can. As I said before, I kinda like you.”

I can taste his menthol breath. It fills the entire room as he speaks. His aroma is like a lasso, snatching me from my pedestal, back down to the cold hard floor. Memories of my earlier nap in the living room replay in my mind as I anxiously fight them away with all my power. The way he manipulated my mind. I was like putty in his hands. He can dominate me, fool me, and coerce me into fulfilling his every desire—like a drug that you crave without ever having used it. If I allow him to pulse through my veins I will never let him go. Staying strong continues to waiver between easy and impossible as my confidence sways from my comfort zone. I’m falling again—down to him. I have to get up. More importantly, I have to stay up. I breathe deeply as he continues to speak in that seductive velvety voice of his.

“Don’t fight me, Sydney. You’re even having trouble keeping your face turned from me.”

“I am not. You don’t know anything,” I lie.

“I know everything. I even know what you’re thinking about right now. You’re thinking about that kiss from your sweet little dream earlier, aren’t you? You liked it. Admit it.”

“What kiss?” I flip around, finally ready to face him.

He is just as beautiful as I remember, maybe even more so. His eyes of aqua shimmer in the moonlit room like pool water.

“Aww, you’ve forgotten about the kiss in a matter of seconds? You should take some ginseng for that; I hear it helps the memory.” He arrogantly smirks.

“I never kissed you,” I reply sullenly.

“Don’t you get it? You can’t hide things from me. When you sleep—I’m there. When you’re silent—I’m there. I can see and hear everything you think—whether you want me to or not. And you were just thinking about that awesome lusty kiss we shared in front of the fire place. Don’t be ashamed, Sydney. It was pretty hot.”

“I was dreaming about Heather. You just butted your way into the ending,” I challenge.

“It wasn’t exactly her—more like her image. And you and I both know I didn’t have to butt in. You wanted me there.”

“I think your insanely enormous ego is making you a little too confident for my taste. Just an opinion. I could have denied you easily if you hadn’t snuck your way in.”

“You couldn’t deny me if you tried.” His face remains cocky. “Truth is, I was just trying to give you and Heather a little kick start on your courtship. I just wanted to see your reaction to ME. And, honey, you didn’t exactly pull away.”

“I was asleep, asshole. And fully aware that I was dreaming. And Heather and I don’t need a kick start on anything; we’re just friends. As for the kiss, it was just great until you showed up and tried to filet me.”

“Please, Sydney. You loved every slippery moment of that dream. You wanted it, especially after you saw it was my face staring down at you.” He inches closer, his breath hits my lips.

Jesus, this man is sexy. Not only are his lips right in sight for me to bite, but the way he looks at me… with such fire—it’s sensually erotic and shoots a painful ache throughout my most sensitive nerves. Lying isn’t an option, he can see right through me. Playing stupid might be the more effective route. After all, he’s mind fucking me and he knows it. Every feeling I have towards him is totally coerced and nothing more than a manipulation on his part. Be that as it may—it unlocks a wild burn inside me that I’ve never felt. I almost—like it. Although, I will never admit it to him.