Dream Walker (40 page)

Aislen ran her finger around the spiral one more time and listened closely. As it circled the metal, the hauntingly sweet note played. When it brushed across one of the nine jewels, Aislen heard the faint chime of a bell. She placed a second finger in rotation and another tone played in harmony with the first. It reminded her of the crystal wine goblets her mother would play at holiday dinners. Just by wetting the tip of a finger and brushing it lightly around the rim a whole symphony would sing in their kitchen.

As Aislen’s fingers circumnavigated the pendant, it played its silvery lullaby. Not only did it give her a strong sense of security, she felt as if it were speaking to her without words. She strained to hear what it had to say.

Her mother pulled into the hospital lot and parked near the ER entrance.

“If you don’t mind, Mom, I’m just going to wait here in the car.” As soon as the words passed across her lips, the charm let out a sour chord, falling out of tune. At the same time, a wave of nausea rolled through her.

“Oh, Aislen! Please come in with me. At least until I know Robert is all right. I don’t want to face this alone.”

Aislen was again surprised, as much by the intensity of her mother’s emotion as she was by her calling the sergeant by his first name. She didn’t understand why her mother seemed to need him so much. The pendant in her fingers trembled and sang in tune again. A vision flashed through her mind—the memory of standing with her father surrounded by stars and galaxies.

“There will be other people there to help you, Aislen. I will make sure of that.”

Her father’s words were as crystal clear as a recording, embedded within the melody of the pendant. Could Sergeant Mathis really be someone he was talking about? The pendant pulsed against her fingers and fell silent. She took that as a yes.

“Okay,” she told her mother, reluctantly releasing the pendant and getting out of the car to follow her into the hospital.

∞

She recognized the man standing by the front desk right away. Chatting with the cute nurse behind the counter, the detective was unshaven and looked like he was dressed in the same suit he had been wearing when she first met him at the A.R.C. two days ago. Her heart froze up a little, but the pendant remained still.

“I’m looking for Sergeant Mathis,” her mother said to the nurse who was still making eyes at the detective.

“You must be Sabine,” he said, turning toward her and extending his hand. “Detective Jackson. Bob has been asking for you non-stop since he was brought in—even tried to get one of us to go to your house and escort you two here.”

“Sorry it took us so long,” her mother said.

“Not a problem at all, I’m just glad you made it. I personally wanted to thank you for calling dispatch and getting him help as soon as you did. He may not have made it if we didn’t get to him on time. But it looks like he’s going to be all right...just a minor heart attack.”

Detective Jackson turned his attention to Aislen. “Hello again, Miss Walker. Bob’s been asking about you, too. He was hoping you’d get here before the medication knocked him out for the night. He wanted to warn you about something.”

“Warn me? About what?” This was not what she’d expected.

“Something happened to him tonight that shook him up pretty bad. At first I thought it was the drugs talking. He kept babbling on and on about how the game is real and repeating over and over that the Parrish kid didn’t know what he was doing when he killed his dad. He is also convinced, of all things, that it was the video game that caused him to have a heart attack. It took a long time to get him to calm down.”

“Yeah, he came to my house asking me about the game,” Aislen said. “He told us he had gotten a copy of it and was playing it himself.”

“Yeah, well,” the detective said, rubbing his forehead as though he wanted to erase something from his brain. “I’m not going to go into how he managed that. Let’s just say, Bob has done a lot for me over the years, and I’m gonna return the favor on this one.

“From what it sounds, the game was extremely realistic and Bob seems to think that while Blake was playing it, he may have mistaken his father’s hand gun for his game gun and shot Mr. Parrish with it...accidentally. Then once he realized what he had done, he snapped. Which is why Blake had been acting the way he was. He was in shock.”

“Poor thing,” her mom said.

“Yeah...poor thing,” Aislen said, remembering the confusion on the boy’s face when he looked at her in the dream.

“Well, he’s even worse now,” Jackson continued. “A couple of hours ago, he checked out completely. He isn’t moving, rocking
or
chanting anymore. We found him flat on his back in his bed with only the whites of his eyes showing. We thought he was dead. But he’s still breathing. He’s just...just gone.”

Aislen shuddered. She could only imagine what it would be like to find out your father was dead. And that you were the one who pulled the trigger.

“What was it Sergeant Mathis wanted to warn me about?”

“He said that you need to stay out of that game—completely away from it—and especially to stay away from anyone you know who may play it.”

“But I already told him, I don’t play or know anybody who does.”

“He says that you do. That you may not know them, but that they definitely know you, that they are really dangerous, and they should be avoided at all costs.”

The amulet tingled on her neck then stilled itself again. She knew what he was saying was true. Somehow the game was connected to her dream. She didn’t understand how that worked, but she knew it was true now.

Then she thought of the people in the dream, of Blake and the blue-eyed soldier who shot her, and she felt a surge of terror. But surprisingly, her fear immediately quelled and she remembered that she had seen that man again—in her bedroom tonight—just before she collapsed. And she remembered not being afraid.

“Like I said,” Jackson continued, interrupting the memory, “this could all have been the hospital happy juice talking. Lord help me, I hope that it is. But Bob was adamant about me conveying that message before he checked into la-la land for the night.”

“Okay,” Aislen said, somehow thankful that she had come into the hospital with her mother after all.

“The nurse will take you to see Bob now. He is sleeping, but he was insistent you be brought in to him.” Detective Jackson leaned closer to her mother. “We told the staff that you were related.”

He straightened back up. “Take care of him for me. I have to go sign papers to release the boy from our custody. They want to move him to another facility tonight.”

Detective Jackson headed for the door as the nurse came around to escort them back to Sergeant Mathis.

“Oh shit, I almost forgot,” the detective said, stopping them at the door. “Aislen, I spoke with your co-worker, Mr. Kellen. He said they could use your help tonight with moving Blake.”

Aislen felt the pendant snap to attention.

“He asked for you to meet him at work. He said that he’ll pick you up over there and you can drive with him to the A.R.C.”

The necklace acted agitated. It alternated between a stinging and soothing sensation, crackling painfully then calming, and Aislen was confused. Was she or was she not supposed to go to the hospital? Was she or was she not supposed to meet Troy and help him move Blake? Her head was spinning with questions and the pendant spun out of control along with them.

Aislen looked at her mom, who was handing the keys to the car over to her.

“Go ahead, Aislen. I’m good from here.”

Aislen hesitated, afraid the necklace would bite her again, but instead it went still. So it was okay to go. Her mom was safe with Sergeant Mathis.

The pendant said nothing. Nothing was good.

“Are you sure?” Aislen asked.

“I’m positive. You go help Mr. Kellen and that boy. They need you now, more than I do.”

The pendent pounded against her chest again, insistent and Aislen finally understood what it was trying to tell her: it was okay for her to go to the hospital and it even more important for her to get to Troy. Troy was someone who could
help
her. She needed to get to him, and fast.

She took the keys from her mom, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and ran out the door toward Troy, the labyrinth amulet violently urging her on.

CHAPTER 43

Aislen drove like a demon through the city streets toward Chrysalis, the pendant wailing like a siren around her neck. “Hurry, hurry,” she imagined it saying, but she was going as fast as she could.

She knew now how important Troy was. She understood. He was there to help her. It had been obvious all along and she felt ridiculous for not realizing it sooner.

He had taken an interest in her since he arrived at Chrysalis—advising her about school and her career goals. He had rescued her from the dance floor after she had drunk too much and he was there to make sure she got home safe. He even came over the next morning to check on her and make her his special soup. He was a true friend.

Most importantly, he had been there for her when she was so troubled by her dreams. He listened intently, understood what she was going through, and he even helped her make sense of them. How had she have been so blind? He was like her very own guardian angel. Like her dad, but actually
with
her.

The charm at her throat screamed again.

“I’m going as fast as I can!” She yelled back, pushing pedal to the metal and whipping down the street toward the facility. Her head was spinning, her stomach felt ill, and the closer she got to the building the worse the vertigo became.

“I’m almost there,” she told the pendant, wishing it would ease up on her.

She drove into the lot, scanning it for Troy’s Mustang, but he wasn’t there yet. The necklace fell silent and she immediately felt calm and safe. She was in the right place. She was positive of that. She was supposed to be here.

“I’ll just go inside and wait for him,” she told the pendant and it responded by pricking her throat.

“Calm down! He’ll be here soon. It’s warmer inside.”

She got out of the car and let herself into the back door of the facility with her card key. If Troy was going to come get her, he would look for her in the geriatric ward, so she made her way down the maze of long hallways, letting herself in through each of the locked doors. The pendant zapped her again and her stomach lurched.

That was it! She had listened to the necklace and had done what it had told her. She was here now! It had to leave her alone before it made her vomit! She yanked it off her neck and slipped it into her jean pocket. The howling stopped and she immediately felt better. She sighed with relief.

She went to the nurse’s station, but no one was there. They must be doing their midnight rounds, Aislen thought to herself and continued to wander around the ward.

The lighting had been lowered so the residents could sleep better. The hallways were dusky, the walls a ghastly shade of gray. Her path was lit by blue night-lights that lined the walls, and her silhouette cast long and high behind her like a grim shadow puppet.

Heavy sighs and muffled snores of sleeping patients whispered from the rooms as she passed. Even in her sleep, Mrs. Crowley could be heard incoherently arguing with the voices in her head. A grunt issued from Mr. Spencer as he tried to get comfortable in his bed.

Aislen peeked into the dark rooms looking for any sign of a charge nurse or an aide who could tell her if they had heard anything from Troy.

“Aaaaash-lyyynnnn.” She heard the crooked voice call softly from room number 11.

It was Mr. Lange. How did he know she was out here? She peeked into his room. He was not in bed as he should be. He was still sitting in his wheelchair next to the window. The moonlight made the white of his hair glow in the dark.

“Aaaash-lyyyynnn, come here my little poppet.”

The old man was looking down at his hands, watching them intently as he computed his strange arithmetic, tapping his fingers against each other in a rapid, repetitive sequence. She stepped through the doorway. She felt the necklace awaken in her pocket.

“Ah, there you are,” he said without looking up, the gravel of eons rasping from his throat. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Uh, Mr. Lange, you shouldn’t be awake at this hour. You should probably be in bed by now, don’t you think?”

Mr. Lange looked up from his stemming fingertips and focused his rheumy blue eyes at her.

“Come to Papa, Ashlyn, so I can get a better look at you.”

The hackles rose up on her back and she scoffed at the silliness of her fear. Sure, Mr. Lange was creepy as hell, but he was old and feeble. He couldn’t hurt her.

The pendant trembled.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lange. I think you are confused,” she said as she made her way toward him. “My name is Aislen and I am not your daughter.”

“I am not confused, dear one,” he squinted up at her. “You are.”

Poor ol’ guy, she thought to herself. She would hate to end up like this, with a brain so addled by dementia you couldn’t keep people or your own memories straight.