Rock Star (Dream Weaver #2) (12 page)

Chapter
14 What Does the Fox Say

             
              Thomas prowled the circle of light, eager to inflict pain, restrained only by his master’s command. I didn’t need Caphar abilities to catch the agitation rolling off of him in unadulterated waves. Every few minutes, he stopped and opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it closed and held his peace, like some burning confession singed his tongue but he didn’t dare release it. His fists clenched and unclenched, bridling the desire to wrap them around my throat. No doubt as he’d done to the beautiful Sarah Rose. The incessant back and forth was hypnotizing, and my eyelids grew heavy.
Maybe that’s what he wants. Maybe he wants to terrorize my dreams.
I jerked myself awake and tried not to watch him pace.
Maybe it’s not such a good idea to fall asleep. Maybe he’s projecting this stupor.
The quiet
shush
of his movement twined through me like a lullaby. I finally succumbed to its tune and slumped down in the chair for a little nap.

             
I lifted my face to the caress of the summer sun, absorbed the warmth that pierced through my skin to saturate my soul. I stood in the lush green garden with my parents; a content little family. The heat drew the fragrance of raspberries from the bushes, mixed with the scent of rich, freshly-watered soil. The early evening light glinted off drops of moisture that beaded on the leaves like clear, cool diamonds. My parent’s arms encircled me, surrounded me with their warmth and love.  “We’re here, sharing your dreams…” My father’s voice warped into a sinister gloat. “And turning them into nightmares…” The voice, no longer my father’s, chortled sadistically…The golden, tranquil day eclipsed and morphed…Daylight masquerades as dusk, the clouds heavy-laden with snow. An arctic blast extends its arm, balling its fist to bludgeon the car from the road. Brake lights flash a glaring red. The tires whir and whine on the frozen asphalt, seeking elusive purchase. The wind flings the car across three frosted lanes. Panic twists my father’s face as the car fishtails out of control. His frantic hands, hands that can do anything, build anything, grapple uselessly at the wheel. My mother’s face is fear-white, her mouth a perfect ‘o’ that disappears beneath her small, stark hand. A wall of white emerges out of the flurry before the windshield, but not of snow. Cement. Massive and merciless. The shiny new sedan plows into the bridge abutment, lifting Mom’s side of the car into flight. Giant sparkling snowflakes of shattering glass fly into the air as the car rolls over and over…The blaze scorches my eyes, bringing my tears to a boil. Searing heat and the horror of looking into the faces of my mother and father as the flames devour them forces my eyes away. My body finally crumbles onto the cold freeway, in exhausted agony. I crush my ears with my hands to block out the maelstrom. Their haunting screams reverberate in my ears, echoes of the torment resounding throughout my body.

              I lurched awake and toppled from my chair. Bile churned in my stomach and my throat knotted against it. Thomas’ quiet laughter pulverized any sense of composure and I lay sobbing on the cold tile floor. His bony fingers grasped my shirt and slammed me back into the chair. But he didn’t let go. He lowered his face to mine, his corrupted breath swathed my face, and I cringed. Like an ER doc uses paddles to restart a patient’s heart, Thomas crushed his knuckles into my chest. Electric fire sparked through me, all the way to my fingertips and toes. I refused to give him the satisfaction of his torment, and pinched my lips around a scream. His mouth parted, as if to speak, but he snapped it closed and sneered at me instead.

             
“William said to keep your hands off me,” I reminded him through gritted teeth.

             
His lip curled up in contempt, but he remained silent and returned to his relentless pacing. I hung my head in my hands and pressed the angry tears back where they belonged—not here where he could see them. Their corrosive salt eroded a layer of confusion away from my mind. All those nightmares after the accident. All those night terrors after the rape. Thomas did that. Night after night, he’d bombarded my brain with the images of my parent’s death. I wasn’t there. I didn’t see the crash. But the phantasms were so real—because he made them that way—or maybe, because he was there. Frost crystallized in my veins.

             
“I hate you,” I seethed at him, but his only response was more vile laughter.
Asshole.

             
How long had this Rephaim been stalking me? How long did he lay in wait outside my home and lob bombs of despair into my soul? I scowled at him. But Nick was there too. He’d been watching over me like a guardian angel. So Nick wasn’t just saving me from myself, from nightmares—he was saving me from the Rephaim. Blood pounded in my brain. Confusion severed cohesive thought. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes again, to squelch the tears and turmoil that threatened a prison riot.

             
I curled myself into a ball, wrapped my arms around my legs and laid my forehead on my knees. The quiet scuff of Thomas’ steps lulled me, once again. Dread seized my heart but even that was pacified by the monotonous rhythm. My eyes drifted closed. And—nothing overtook me.

*          *          *

              No dreams. No nightmares. No visits from marauding Wraith. When I awoke, it was impossible to tell how long I’d been asleep. No light leaked into the old bakery from the outside world. It might’ve been five minutes. Or it might’ve been five hours. I still felt exhausted, so no gauge there. The room around me felt eerily static; not even a breath stirred the air. Was I alone? I rocked myself forward, struggling to get out of the deep-set chair. No protest from the Wraith. I walked the edge of the circle of light, peered into the darkness, and saw only faint glimmers of light off surfaces in the distance. And still no one objected. Maybe I could get free. Maybe I could get back to Nick and Sabre and warn them of Thomas and William’s plan. If only I could get my hands free. If only I could find a way out.

             
Groping my way through the darkness, I felt for something that might sever the plastic ties on my wrists. My eyes adjusted to the dark with each step deeper into it, and black silhouettes developed within the darkness. My fingers grazed cool metal tables, a dented old sink, a stack of heavy plastic milk crates that toppled to the floor with a clamor. I sucked in my breath. Held it. Waited. Waited for enraged voices that never came. Why? Why would they go to the trouble of kidnapping me, again, and then just leave me to my own devices. What if they were screwing with me and this was all just another elaborate dream? I rattled my thoughts together with a shake of my head and continued my survey of the land. After a few moments, I found what I thought was an old bread slicer with sharp metal edges to cut the ties at my wrists. As I sawed at the plastic, I nicked my wrist. The pain shot warm and familiar up my arm and to my brain. But that wasn’t me anymore. I had made a choice. I had chosen to live. So I couldn’t allow myself to relish the pain of self-inflicted wounds any longer—like a recovering alcoholic pining for a drink, but couldn’t let a single drop pass his lips. Finally, the plastic tie snapped free. I rubbed my wrists and shook my hands to get the circulation going again. Now. If I could just find a way out.

             
I remembered the old Wonder Bakery sign that flashed by the van’s windows before Thomas drove us down to the gates of hell. There used to be a bakery near the Flour Mill and adjacent to the Courthouse. I was pretty sure that’s where I was. I just needed to find a way out. But where were Thomas and William? And was this an elaborate ruse? Just a means to lure the guys out for slaughter? This was all just a little too easy. I had to chance it though. I needed to get to a phone, call Nick…I patted my pockets.
No! Way! Thomas actually left me with my cell phone? Is he really an idiot…or is this just one huge set up?

             
Out of fear of being overheard, I decided to text rather than call. I kept the keypad on my cell on silent—a promise I’d made to Mom and Dad after another school shooting. They didn’t want the beep of my keypad to give me away if I was hiding from a lunatic with a duffle bag full of guns and ammo. I hunkered down in a corner and blocked the light of the cell phone with my body.

             
Nick. SOS. Down at Wonder Bakery, near Flour Mill. I think. Trying to find a way out. Help!
My thumb hovered over ‘Send.’ My mind reeled with possibilities: stupidity? Or trap? Finally—‘send’.

             
What had I just done? Had I just sent Nick an invitation to his annihilation? All I knew for sure was that I needed to get out of that place. I needed to get as far away from these two vengeful, lunatic Wraith as I possibly could.

             
A door banged open somewhere in the building. The sound reverberated around the empty room and echoed in my chest.

             
“Where is she? Why weren’t you watching her?” William’s voice roared like a chain saw.

             
“I only left for a moment. And she was asleep,” Thomas defended himself but he didn’t sound all that repentant.

             
“Idiot!”
Ha! That’s what I thought, too.
Something smashed against a wall and a rumbling snarl trickled into my dark little corner.

             
“Come out, come out. Wherever you are,” William said in singsong.

             
Yeah. That’s a hellaNo!

             
Come out, come out. Wherever you are.

             
I clawed my skull, trying gouge his voice out of my head. I needed to get away. Now! My hands roamed the walls, groped for a window or door, any point of escape.
Please, God. Let me get away.
My fingers stubbed against a light switch box but it was too risky to turn it on. William knew I was close; I could feel his darkness probing for me. I knew he could hear the memories that churned in my mind. And probably hear my racing heartbeat, as well. I scrabbled my way along the wall and finally found a heavy metal door with a pressure bar. No alarms or locks barred the door, so I pushed it open just enough to slither out into the night. Chilly March air slapped my face and stung the abrasion left by Thomas’ knuckles, as I eased the door closed behind me with a quiet thud and launched myself away from the bakery. My shoes slapped the pavement.

             
“Come back, little fox,” William yelled from behind me. I’d made it about fifty yards. All William had to do was phase and he’d catch me in seconds. My heart leapt into my throat and urged me faster. My gaze darted all around me, like a flock of angry birds swarmed around my head, as I tried to find where he might materialize in my path. If he caught me, he’d drag me kicking and screaming back to the dark bakery…if he didn’t just snap my neck first.
This is just too easy.

             
Havermale Island and then downtown lay across the two suspended bridges in front of me. The island held no hiding places, except maybe the Canada Pavilion; but it was usually locked up for the winter. If I could make it downtown, I just might be able to disappear in a dark alley, and there was sure to be people no matter how late it was. But downtown was a long run. Lots of space for William to catch me between here and there. I wound around the retaining wall and onto the gritty path down to the bridge. As I careened onto the North swinging bridge, my feet skidded in the sand and grated my hands as I sprawled on the cement.
Geez! Stereotypical of every horror movie. Victim flees. Victim falls. Pursuer conquers. Well, not today.
I shot a glance over my shoulder as I pushed myself off the ground. I hated this bridge. With the waters rushing below, it actually made it feel like it was moving; though this time of year, there were more rocks than water. I hurdled onto the bridge, willed myself to get across, to get away from the dark apparition that stalked me.
Where are they? Why haven’t they found me yet?
My head swam with exertion and motion sickness. I wobbled on my feet, and sprawled headlong in the midst of the bridge.
Geez! Distressed damsel, much?
I clutched the handrail to steady myself and pull myself back to my feet, but an ominous black cloud whirled and settled around me—I was having a Lord Voldemort moment. When Harry and his friends have battled the bad guys and his godfather is killed, he chases the bitch witch to exact his revenge. But along comes the antagonist, Lord Voldemort, in a whirring cyclone of black sand. The cloud solidified into the form of a man beside me. William. His icy hands curled around my wrists and jerked me to my feet.

             
William leaned into my face, his breath hot and corrupt, wreaking of something foul. I writhed in his clutches, but his strength surpassed anything I might muster. After a few moments of fruitless thrashing, I allowed myself to grow limp in his clutches; let my mind drift to Nick. “Yes,” William rasped, “that’s what I want. Show me the one who will draw out my prey.” He nuzzled my ear and forced sadistic images into my mind—the torturous brutality he’d perpetrate on Sabre, once he followed Nick to my rescue.