Go, dog, go.
I hit the last o on the dust-laden typewriter and listened to the faint snap of the key drift away into the forgotten books behind me. Brushing my dusty finger against my jeans, I turned away and walked through the bookstore, stroking dusty spines as I passed the shelves. A sense of being stalked followed me to the open doorway. Back outside in the post-apocalyptic nightmare, I looked around, tense and worried. Although nothing stared back, I shivered.
“Buck up, buttercup.” My muttered comment sounded overly loud in the war-torn dreamscape. I was back in the same dreamscape that Ricochet and Bishop had followed me through earlier, but this time, I was flying solo. Well, for the most part. Ricochet was around somewhere, but this was my dream, and he was playing ghost because we didn’t want to spook Hawes. Instead, I was all but staked out like the sacrificial virgin for the fire-breathing dragon.
A shadow passed overhead, and I jerked my head up, searching the gray skies as my heart pounded in sudden fear. Rico’s advice about being careful with what I’d created reverberated through me. Dammit! Why the hell did I have to pick that image? The last thing I needed was to add a freaking dragon to the mix. A silent inky form drifted on the winds, joining a handful of others as they circled something in the distance. Faint caws sounded, and I braced a hand against the warped doorframe, dropping my head as I relearned to breathe. Crows or ravens? It was hard to tell from this distance, but I could totally handle those over a dragon.
Forcing my feet to move, I headed away from the remains of the bookstore, picking my way through the desolate city streets as I trudged toward my tower. It was Ricochet’s idea to start at one of the scenes Hawes had used to torment me, not at the tower, my place of protection. We didn’t have time to play the necessary mind games needed to trick him inside. It would be easier, Ricochet said, to fool Hawes into thinking I was simply asleep and dreaming than to lay a trap. Since there was no freaky, intimidating stalker fog nearby, I deduced that Hawes hadn’t clued in yet.
Figures. I’d picked this scene because it was the most recent, but I had another one in mind, a darker one that left my stomach cramped and my hands shaky. My courage wasn’t strong enough to dive straight into it, so I was taking the longer path to the waiting nightmare—Danielle’s murder.
There were many scenes Hawes liked to taunt me with, but that one… yeah, that one got to me the most. His enjoyment, the thrill and pleasure coursing through him—and through me because I couldn’t escape his demented hold—was like a drug that drew him back time after time. The fact that it made me ill and left me screaming into the void as I teetered on sanity’s edge just added to his sadistic feast.
An upraised root caught my foot, sending me sprawling forward, my palms and knees hitting hard. Rock, wood, and dirt pitted my palms and stung my knees. The change in scenery barely registered as the suffocating dread pressed like a demon’s hand against my spine, leaving a bone-deep chill in its wake. Something slithered in the thick greenery nearby. The flutter of wings came from overhead, but only shadows drifted through the leaves. I started to shake, and a whimper escaped me as my fear grew teeth and sank them deep into my racing pulse.
He was out there. I could feel him hunting me. When he caught me… my brain stalled under the swamping terror, leaving me blind.
I scrambled to my feet and stumbled forward, hand outstretched, sobs hitching in my chest. Branches tore at my skin and clothes, the whiplike stings adding another layer to the mindless panic driving me forward. I slammed into a tree, bounced off hard, and landed on my ass. The impact was so jarring that my fear receded just for a second—long enough for me to recognize what was happening: Hawes was playing with me, using my fear against me. Again.
Son of a bitch!
Under the sickening fear, rage woke, gaining strength as I scrambled back to my feet. My fists curled at my sides as I studied the shadowed forest from hell around me. My breath sawed through my chest in loud, harsh exhalations.
From deep in the darkness came a hair-raising laugh, followed by a mocking taunt that seemed to come from everywhere at once. “Are you scared yet, Megan?”
Spinning around, I stared into the shifting shadows, trying to find him. “What do you want?” I hated the tremor in my voice, but I was holding on by my fingernails.
“You know what I want. I want them, and you’re going to give them to me.”
I was shaking my head. “No, I’m not.”
“So sure of that?” The question rode an icy breath of air over my shoulder and came from behind me.
Pure instinct wrenched me forward, away from the threat at my neck, but when I spun around, no one was there. Retreating, I put my spine to a thick tree and dug my nails into the bark. Lifting my chin, I forced a credible sneer into my voice. “You had me for six months and couldn’t get what you wanted. No way in hell you’re going to get it now.”
Just then, a familiar feminine voice screamed my name, wiping away everything but instinct and sending me crashing through the forest.
“Keelie!” There was no way to stop my mad dash, not with my baby sister’s cries cresting on the air. Images of Danielle overlapped with Keelie, pushing me faster until I broke through the forest and into a clearing. At the horror before me, I rocked to a stop. “NO!”
A figure towered over my sister’s white terror-filled face. Keelie’s fingers tore at the hands that were wrapped with cruel intent around her neck as her screams choked into horrific gasps. I rushed forward, carried by fear, determination, terror, and fury. Years of martial arts training were left in the dust as the need to hurt and protect took over. I grabbed a nearby branch and, screaming in useless fury, swung at the figure’s head. But he was gone. With no time to check my swing, the branch slammed into Keelie’s skull with a dull thud. For a breathless moment she swayed, then she crumbled into a heap.
The branch fell from my nerveless fingers as I dropped to my knees, a keening wail of grief and horror escaping my mouth. “No, Keelie! No, no, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I cradled the lifeless body of my sister, holding her close, rocking in mindless agonizing guilt. Oh my God, I killed her. “I didn’t mean too. I’m sorry.”
Malicious laughter rang at my ear. “You’ll tell me, or I’ll make sure you kill everyone you love.”
As I held Keelie’s dead weight in my arms, the overwhelming guilt and horror of my actions closed in, leaving me screaming into the night. With a harsh caw, a dark shadow dropped from the branches above. Instinct made me turn away, but the stinging burn of razor-sharp talons raked along my skin, opening long, bloody scratches along my cheek. The unexpected attack acted like a mental slap.
This isn’t real. This is a dreamscape. My dreamscape.
Keelie wasn’t here—this wasn’t her. Desperately, I grasped the fragile rope of sanity and hung the fuck on. Carefully, even though I knew it wasn’t her, I laid my sister down. Closing my eyes, I rose and began reshaping the dreamscape, using my anger as fuel. When I opened my eyes, Keelie was gone, and I was no longer in the forest. Instead, I stood in the meadow, my stone tower rising tall and strong in the distance.
I raised my hand and aimed my middle finger at the looming storm. “Fuck you, Hawes.”
Above, the sky darkened as the approaching storm moved in, fast and mean. Winds tore around me, whipping my hair back from my face in stinging retaliation and forcing me to lean into them in an effort not to drop under the pressure.
I screamed into the wind. “Grow a pair, and face me!”
“Megan.”
Spinning around in the sudden quiet, I came face-to-face with Bishop. For a moment, relief left my knees weak. Then alarm spread through me. This couldn’t be Bishop. He shouldn’t be here. Oh God. Had I managed to bring him into the dreamscape again, like last time? Panic welled, nailing my gut like a fist. If Bishop was here, it meant… did that mean… and the team…? My thoughts kept slipping as my fear and worry spun faster and faster.
Hard hands grabbed my arms and shook me. “Megan, what the fuck is going on?”
“I don’t know… I think…” I tried to look around, to find some way to tell if this was real or another mind game, but there was nothing to anchor me.
Bishop drew me up until I was on tiptoes, and his furious face was all I could see. Accusation left harsh disgust and cut unforgiving lines, turning his expression brutal in its fury. “What the hell did you do, Megan? Where’s the team? Why did you bring me here?”
Oh God! I fucked up! I fucked it all up!