Before I Wake (8 page)

I kept my hands still, even though I wanted to wring them, use them to push this thing away from me. “I’m nothing like him.”

“Scares you, doesn’t it?” The man shifted closer, edging past Noah, who was still as he watched, tense and ready to pounce.

“How you survived I don’t know. You must be stronger than you seem though I find that hard to believe.”

My heart was pounding hard. Yes, I was afraid. I was afraid of this dream, afraid that what It said might be true.

This time when it—he—touched my face his fingers were hot—that same heat that I’d felt in my dream last night. My body was tingling from one touch—and my stomach was churning.

“You belong here, Little Light.” The tingling increased deep inside me, low and sexual. “Why don’t you stay?”

It was tempting. I wanted to stay with him.

For like a second.

And then Noah was there. “Dawn, don’t trust it.”

“It?” The Dreamkin said with a pout. “Noah, after all we’ve been through?”

I glanced at Noah. “If I go with you, what happens to him?”

“I have uses for him.”

I didn’t like the way that sounded. This was one of the monsters my father had warned me about. “What are your plans for me?”

White teeth, too straight and perfect to be real, flashed bright in the tan of his face. “I’m going to fuck you, kill you, then take your body back to your daddy for shits and giggles.”

I swear to God my heart stopped at that moment. I was so terrified I was frozen like a stupid bimbo in a bad horror movie. I reached out and grabbed Noah’s hand.

“Come on, Dawnie,” the monster said, his face coming closer as his hands reached for me. “Let’s get it on.”

I screamed.

I slammed back into the real world still screaming.

I was also in bed with Noah. I was pressed against him, his hand in mine. He was panting. I was panting. This might have been hot were I not so freaked-out.

He was solid and warm against me. His heart was a heavy pounding beneath my other hand, his chest a golden sheen of muscle.

My own heart kicked up a notch. Cardiac arrest seemed imminent.

I let go of him, but I didn’t have the strength—or the inclination—to move from the bed. “What the hell just happened?”

“You were there.” His voice was a hoarse whisper as he slumped against the pillows, the electrodes I attached to him in his hand.

The sheets were tangled around his waist, his long legs still beneath the blankets. He hadn’t left the bed. He hadn’t moved, but I had.

“Sleepwalking.” I nodded, numb inside. “I must have fallen asleep and heard you.” Or maybe when I entered the Dream Realm, I really entered it—corporeal form and all. Was that possible?

I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything.

“You were inside my dream.” He lay there staring at me, rumpled and surprised. “Inside my head.”

I shook my own head with great determination. “That’s not possible.” It wasn’t a total lie. I hadn’t been inside his head, I had been inside his dream—there was a difference.

One look at his face, and I knew he wanted to believe me and also that he didn’t. “No, but it happened.”

I could have argued—I would have if the words and certainty had been there, but they weren’t. This had never happened to me before. I was always in control of my dreams. No one got in, and I didn’t get out. Morpheus’s world did not encroach on mine.

My arm trembled as I braced myself on my elbow. Adrenaline pulsed in my veins—pumping through my heart as though I’d had ten espressos. I looked down at Noah, into his dark eyes, and saw so much there. He was looking at me as though I was the most amazing creature in the universe, and he didn’t know whether to bow or run screaming. I could have kissed him right then, and he’d have let me. And then he’d wipe his mouth after.

“Are you okay?” I asked him.

He nodded, obviously still a little dazed. “You?”

I laughed. Not a good sign. “No, but I will be once I make sense of this.”

Tossing back the blankets, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He turned his head to look at me, his gaze dark and shrewd. “It knew you.”

Shit. Once I admitted this, there was no coming back. No going back to pretending there was a sane explanation for what had happened. “I’ve dreamed it before.” And I was beginning to wonder if It was what my dream version of David Boreanaz had tried to warm me about.

“You dreamed it before?” Now he looked disgusted. Pissed, even. “You’ve dreamed this thing, but when I told you about my dreams, you acted like I was crazy.”

I sat up as well, holding my hands out in surrender. “Noah, I’m not sure I’m not crazy.”

“That thing is real.” He stood. “Don’t tell me you need more proof.”

Proof, no. I knew that thing was real, and I knew it was dangerous.

I looked up. The chiseled perfection of his chest was marred by flushed circles raised by the electrodes he had just ripped off. I couldn’t even stop to appreciate the view because the bizarreness of my life had just caught up with me big-time.

He had bruises—bruises that hadn’t been there when he first went to bed.

“What I need,” I informed him in my best I’ve-got-a-handle-on-this voice, “is some time to think about this and figure out what is going on.”

He offered me his hand, and I stared at it. Should I be a big girl and take it? Or should I be sullen and rude and get to my feet on my own? My natural tendency was to be dramatic and refuse his gesture, deepening the animosity between us that had no basis except fear.

I put my hand in his, allowing his warm fingers to wrap around mine and pull. I stood on legs that shook more than I wanted to admit.

“How did you do it?”

That was a question I wasn’t ready to answer, so I just shook my head. He wasn’t buying, but he didn’t push.

“I’ll take you home,” was all he said, dark eyes unreadable. He seemed disappointed, and that was worse than anger.

I nodded, my mouth too dry to speak. He went into the bathroom and emerged once more dressed in his jeans and gray shirt. We didn’t say much on the way out of the building. I guess we were both still a little shell-shocked from our shared experience.

He had a second helmet on his bike for me to wear, which I appreciated. I’m big on safety, especially when it concerns a person’s brain. I gave him my address—not the least bit concerned about handing out such personal information—and climbed on the back of the bike. I was a little nervous, not having any leather or protective gear except the helmet, so I wrapped my arms around Noah and clung for dear life the entire drive home. I didn’t let go until we were stopped in front of my building.

He lifted the visor of his helmet and watched me as I stood beside his bike—a sleek, black cherry and chrome machine that screamed speed and sex. I removed my helmet and combed my fingers through my smooshed hair.

“Thanks for the ride.”

He nodded.

“Are you going home?” It was none of my business, but I felt somewhat responsible for him now. I think maybe he felt the same way about me.

“Yeah.” His eyes were like black glass under the streetlights. “I’ll probably paint for the rest of the night.”

It was a brave man, I decided, who could admit that he was afraid to go back to sleep with such ease.

“Take a Vicodin. Have a drink, whatever. It will help you sleep.” At his dubious expression I added, “Depressants suppress REM. I wouldn’t recommend a steady diet of it, but it cuts back on the risk of dreaming.”

He watched me, almost expressionless. But I knew he was picking apart everything I’d just said. And I knew that he took my advice as acknowledgment that there was truly something to fear inside his dreams. Funny, he looked almost relieved. “What are you going to do?”

“Knock myself out,” I admitted. “In the morning I’m going to go looking for someone who might be able to give us some answers.” My idea might be nuts, but it was the only one I had that was worth a shot. My other option was…well, not an option.

He didn’t ask who I was going to talk to, or demand answers to any other questions I knew had to be swimming around his head right now. God knew I had a million.

What he did ask was, “Will you be okay here alone?”

“I have Lola. My roommate. You?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Notice that he didn’t tell me if he had a roomie or not. If I invited him to stay, would he get the wrong impression? What was the right impression? As concerned as I was for him, offering him my sofa—or worse, the spot next to me—would definitely compromise the doctor-patient relationship.

As if we hadn’t already compromised the hell out of it. And he’d only ask more questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

“What did It mean with all that stuff about your mother?”

Questions like that. Nope, wasn’t ready to answer it. “I’m not sure,” I half lied. “Has It said what It wants with you?”

He looked away. “No.” That was a half lie too. I’d bet my rent on it.

“Well,” I said lamely, “good night.”

He grabbed my hand as I turned to walk away. His fingers were cold, but his grip was strong. “What are you?”

I laughed, but it came out more like a sob. “I’m not real sure about that either.”

He let me go. “Call me.” It wasn’t a demand or a plea, but he made it compelling all the same.

I nodded. “I will.”

He waited until I was inside the security door before driving away. I know because I stood behind the glass and watched him go.

And with him went any thought I might have had of my life ever being normal again.

I didn’t work on Saturday, which was good because I ended up taking a Xanax before finally forcing myself to go to bed. I didn’t wake up till noon.

Lola had already left for work when I emerged from my room. She worked full-time at a literary agency during the week and in a designer-discount store on the weekends. It was great. She scored me free books by the authors her agency represented and gave me a deal on clothes.

I didn’t feel like putting on a full face today, so after coffee and a shower I sat down with a bowl of cereal at my vanity and rubbed on some tinted moisturizer followed by a coat of Xai Xai lip gloss by Cargo and a few coats of Benefit mascara that made my eyelashes superfat. I wasn’t going to be signed to a major cosmetics deal anytime soon, but at least I felt reasonably human as I left my apartment half an hour later.

I took the train uptown, made a quick stop at Sephora on Fifth for a new heated eyelash curler, and walked the rest of the way to Central Park.

In the bright light of day it was a tourist trap; a horse-crap-littered haven in which people who live their lives on top of each other might find a little peace, but at night…well, we’ve all heard the horror stories about what happens to women who go into Central Park alone after dark. I’ve known women who have done it and haven’t been raped or beaten, but I’m not the kind of person to tempt fate—it’s just not safe. Of course, it wasn’t safe in my own bed either. Not lately.

I knew exactly where to go, and I let my feet take me there at a comfortable pace. I knew there was no point in hurrying. The man I was going to see would wait for me. In fact, I thought he might be expecting me.

Something was changing in the Dream Realm, and I didn’t know what it was. All I knew was that I had taken pains to keep that world out of my dreams, and it was no longer working. The old man—Antwoine—had told me I had reached my maturity. Did that have something to do with it?

It was a nice day—still warm enough for jeans and a light sweater—but there was a chill in my bones that had nothing to do with the weather. If I did this, there was no going back. This was admitting to someone other than myself the truth of what I was. I hadn’t done that for a very long time.

The paved path was cracked and littered with leaves. Autumn was my favorite season, but every year I mourned the falling of all those beautiful leaves. The sun shone down through the trees, igniting them in shades of gold, russet, and ruby. Life was slower here. People strolled—they didn’t shoulder past each other. They sat on the rocky hills and on the benches, and they talked or read. Some just watched the rest of us.

I was on the mall, which had a black fence lining either side of it and benches facing the walkway. This is where I had once come with an old boyfriend and listened to a violinist play for money—and this is where David Boreanaz got staked in my dream. More importantly, it was where I hoped to find the strange old man.

I wasn’t disappointed.

He sat alone on an expanse of wooden bench, slumped and sprawled, his head resting on the slightly curved back so his face was full up to the sun. He looked as brown and weathered as I remembered, but lacking the urgency he’d displayed in the Duane Reade. I stopped right in front of him.

One eye opened and peered at me for a second before closing again. “Sit down, girl. You’re blockin’ my sun.”

I perched myself beside him on the bench and raised my own face to the warmth streaming through the trees. It was nice. It was calming, something I needed, although now that I had found the old man, I wasn’t nearly as anxious as I had been.

“I was wonderin’ when you’d show up,” he said finally in that Southern molasses voice of his.

“Yeah?” Me so expressive.

“Been a long time since I had a pretty girl in my head. I figured you might have some questions.”

He was right about that. “You know what I am, right?”

He peered at me out of the corner of his eye—all affronted-looking. “Anyone with any experience in the Dream Realm would know what you are, girl.”

I sighed and watched a kid whiz by on a pair of those sneakers with the wheels built in the heel. “Great.”

The old man turned his head toward me but not his body. “Is your name really Dawn?”

I nodded. “My mother liked it.”

He chuckled, the corners of his dark eyes pleating like a skirt. His teeth were big and straight and white as snow. Forty or so years ago he had probably been a real Denzel kind of looker, but now he had more of a Southern Morgan Freeman vibe about him. “Morpheus your daddy?”

“So I’m told.”