Dreams Unleashed

(2nd Edition)  It's the near future, and society is government controlled. Technology tracks everyone, and personal privacy does not exist. The hope for freedom lies in the operations of an underground organization, GOG, which fights against worldwide oppression. Their most powerful weapon is Ann Torgeson, a paranormally-gifted operative. When her powers release the seal of The Prophecies, she becomes a weapon against the government, which relentlessly pursues her. Question everything is the theme of Dreams Unleashed.

Dreams Unleashed (2nd Ed) - The Prophecies, Book 1

• Title Page
  
• Chapter 1
  
• Chapter 2
  
• Chapter 3
  
• Chapter 4
  
• Chapter 5
  
• Chapter 6
  
• Chapter 7
  
• Chapter 8
  
• Chapter 9
  
• Chapter 10
  
• Chapter 11
  
• Chapter 12
  
• Chapter 13
  
• Chapter 14
  
• Chapter 15
  
• Chapter 16
  
• Chapter 17
  
• Chapter 18
  
• Chapter 19
  
• Chapter 20
  
• Chapter 21
  
• Chapter 22
  
• Chapter 23
  
• Chapter 24
  
• Chapter 25
  
• Chapter 26
  
• Chapter 27
  
• Chapter 28
  
• Chapter 29
  
• About the Author
  

DREAMS UNLEASHED

(2
^ND
Edition)

Book One

The Prophecies

Linda Hawley

Dreams Unleashed, Copyright © 2011 by Linda Hawley.

All rights reserved.

Published by Nouveau Publishing

Printed in the United States of America

Second Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, technologies, and organizations are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Manuscript Edited by D Kai Wilson - IndieUnbound.com

Manuscript Proofread by Jackie Jones - JJProofing.com

Cover Design by Joleene Naylor

Cover image © Filograph through Dreamstime.com

Dedication

For Paul

You are the reason I was able to publish these words.

My love is yours for eternity.

Acknowledgments

I must sincerely thank Kai Wilson for her expertise and work ethic in editing this second edition of Dreams Unleashed. Kai is an extraordinary woman, and I am proud to associate with her.

I must also thank my proofreader, Jackie Jones, for making Dreams Unleashed readable. I have never spelled well, and her eye was an absolute necessity. She too is an exceptional woman and a very gifted proofreader.

To Ed, David, Johnathan, Joseph, Julia, Jackie, Jackie the Younger, Alex, Grace, Patty, Ryan, and Joey---you each are more beloved by my soul than you will ever realize.

Lastly, I must thank my husband, Paul, and my daughters, Alexandra Elinor Hawley and Grace Katheryn Hawley. You have believed in me, let me have the time I needed to write, and never complained. I could not have written The Prophecies without your selfless love and excitement for this story. You are my heart; I would be nothing without you.

Note To the Reader

Since Dreams Unleashed is the first book in The Prophecies series, you'll learn a great deal in the pages to come about characters and events that will play out in the coming books. You'll be going with my heroine, Ann Torgeson, on some flashbacks all the way back to the year 1988. I suggest that you pay attention to the chapter headings, to help keep your bearings.

Chapter 1

WASHINGTON D.C.

I hurried off the metro at the Union Station stop, looking around to see if anyone followed.

Okay so far
, I silently encouraged myself.

After quickly negotiating the crowd, I approached the escalator. Taking the steps two by two, I tried to make my body move as smoothly as possible, so that I wouldn't attract attention. I kept touching the moving handrail, trying to ground myself, though my heart was nearly beating out of my chest.

How could they have known
?

After climbing halfway up the escalator, I was blocked by an elderly couple.

Move...move...move, please
. I wanted to shout.

But they didn't move.

Looking up to the turn-of-the-century arched ceiling far above me, I tried to relieve my anxiety. With a jerk, the escalator reached the top and dumped me out. I moved around the couple and began to walk as fast as I could, passing through the eighteenth century columns, walking evenly on the marble floor. The main hall was filled with people, all of them busy, seeming to move in every direction at once. I could smell the grease from the food court and felt bile rise up in my throat.

Focus on the light...focus on the light...you can make it
. I coached myself.

I could see the exits under the three archways directly in front of me. Weaving through the masses, I tried to make my way to the doors. Reaching them, I passed under the centurion statues and pushed past a rush of people going the opposite direction. I collided with a man but pressed forward, still trying to get away.

After passing through the door, I looked behind me, half expecting to see pursuers. I ran across the loading and unloading lane and was nearly hit by an eager driver. Grateful to reach the brick walkway that surrounded the Christopher Columbus fountain, I stood behind it, breathing deeply. This would block me from the view of anyone in the station.

Regroup, Ann
.

I had hastily gotten off the metro at Union Station, thinking that it would be easier to lose myself in the middle of D.C. than in Pentagon City, where the FBI had chased me. After meeting my contact there, we saw almost too late that we'd been shadowed. We then split up using the standard protocol.

Think quickly
, I urged myself.

From behind the fountain, I carefully glanced to the entrance of the station, but my wrist was painfully grabbed from the other side by the crew-cut twenty-something I had bumped into earlier.

If he's here---that means there's more
.

I whipped around and, with my free hand, shoved my Taser into his groin, delivering 2.7 million volts of resistance, while simultaneously yanking my other wrist away as hard as I could. Almost instantly, the man crumpled at my feet, and I sprinted away.

My mind raced.
Where can I go
? Panic gripped me, but I tried to think clearly.
Kelly's restaurant
, I thought. It was only a couple of blocks away, and I could call from there.

Scrambling across Columbus Circle, I ran west on Massachusetts Avenue.

It should only take me a couple of minutes... F-street...it's on F...I think
. I knew Brian Kelly, the owner, and a couple of the waiters at Kelly's Irish Times from my time as a journalist in D.C. If one of them was there getting ready to open for dinner, they would let me in.

When I saw a break in traffic, I ran across Massachusetts Avenue and glanced to my left to see if anyone was pursuing me.

All clear
.

After high-tailing it up F-street, I finally reached the green awning marking Kelly's. I knocked on the door, slowing my breathing, and hoped there was someone there that I knew.

If I can just get inside, they'll never think to look for me here with the restaurant closed
.

I knocked for about fifteen seconds, seeming like an eternity, and then saw Brian approach the door wearing a stained white cook's apron.

"You know we're not open for another hour or...Ann, lass. It's been a while now, hasn't it? Come on in then," he said eagerly, opening the door.

I stepped in and turned once more to see if I was followed. It looked safe.

Brian closed the door and reached down to hug me with his stocky frame. I could feel his bristly beard on my neck as he briefly squeezed me. He put his pudgy hands on both of my shoulders and peered down to me with his dark eyes.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked. His deep, smooth voice held a note of concern.

"I'm working on something that's gotten a little tricky. Do you think I could use your bathroom and make a call?" I asked.

"Of course. You take all the time you need," he said.

"Thank you," I said gratefully.

"If you need anything, you come get me," he said, patting my shoulder, then looking out the window before he locked the front door and walked back toward the kitchen.

I had known Brian for many years. While I was a reporter, he occasionally gave me insider tips on stories I was working on. I knew I could rely on his discretion. After making my way to the back of the restaurant, I pulled open the green wooden door of the women's bathroom. The door looked like it had been painted one too many times.

Inside, every available space of the light brown bathroom walls bore plaques bearing Irish platitudes. I set my messenger bag in one of the two vintage sinks and plugged my used Taser into an outlet near the floor. Then I pulled my second Taser from the bag and put it in my coat pocket.

Standing there at the sink, looking at my reflection in the mirror, I prepared myself to make the call. I needed help.

I dialed and waited as the cell phone rang three times, "Hi...leave me a...."

Crap---Bob's voicemail
.