Chapter Twelve

Selena

What Dreams May Come

Milky blindness. Too much light. Squinting, I brought a hand up for shade. Dim outlines took shape. I blinked a few times to focus. A white haze coated my eyes. I rubbed them with the heels of my hands. The light receded.

The clearing stretched out, bathed in silvery moonlight. A flat sea of ivory grass. Gray-green pines swayed. The air had teeth, latching onto the skin exposed by my white dress.

Rustling to my right put me on guard. I didn’t know what to expect in the middle of a clearing in God knew where without a way to defend myself.

An all-black German Shepherd bigger than a cow padded out of a group of pines. The moonlight gave its midnight fur shining highlights that rippled with every move it made. Piercing, ruby eyes studied me intensely. Its breath came out in puffs of smoky mist.

Another rustling. This time to my left. A figure in a black-as-onyx cloak glided to the side of the large animal. The cloak’s heavy cowl covered its face. But something told me I wouldn’t want to see it anyway.

I suddenly wanted to be somewhere else. A haunted house. A graveyard. A dark forest. It felt like invisible shackles held my legs in place. I couldn’t turn around. Couldn’t run.

The figure raised its arm and pointed at me with a boney index finger.

I tried to understand what the action meant. It didn’t make sense. What could the cloaked figure want?

Someone called my name. A faint sound, but I definitely heard it.

I searched for the voice in vain. No matter where I looked only pine trees, the dog, and the cloaked figure were visible. I ran my fingers through the wild halo of my hair.

I looked down.

A dark stain slowly spread from the center of my chest outward. I touched it. My fingers came away black and sticky. Pain rippled underneath my skin like a timer going off. My knees gave way. Sobs wracked my body. I crumpled to the ground. Being stabbed by a thousand needles couldn’t come close to the pain rushing through me. It seemed to fill every cell. The wetness on my chest spilled out, pooling on the silver grass. It didn’t take me long to figure out what it was.

Blood.

Every beat of my heart hastened the gush out of the wound. I raised both hands and applied pressure like I’d been taught in First Aid. The blood kept seeping between my trembling fingers. I tried to call out for help, but my throat closed. Each breath came in hicks and hitches as more blood spurted out. My lungs refused to cooperate, then like a popped balloon, they deflated.

In my panic, I only had one thought: I didn’t want to die.

My fingers went numb. My hands and arms became deadweights. My legs didn’t feel part of the whole anymore. The ground drank every drop of life that left me.

The cloaked figure laughed. At me. At my struggle to stay alive. At my life slowly slipping away.

The black dog looked on, unmoving. Its red eyes glittered.

My heart sputtered. Its beats grew fainter.

The moonlight intensified, swallowing the black dog and the cloaked figure in milky whiteness.

Death didn’t come as darkness but as blinding light.

…

I opened my eyes and sucked in the largest breath I’d ever pulled into my lungs. Exhaling in one slow compression, I gradually became aware of my surroundings. Bright sunlight blanketed every surface of my room. The warmth of my body between the sheets pushed the rest of my grogginess away.

Lying on my back, I stared up at the star stickers on the ceiling. Gramps had put them up for me years ago so I wouldn’t be afraid of the dark. I had peeled off the stickers from their pad and handed them up to him while he stood on a step ladder creating a small cluster of constellations around my ceiling light.

“If you’re ever afraid,” he said at the time, “look up and the starry sky will greet you.”

Before I could take comfort from the faded stars, the vision hit me.

I died.

Icy dread sent shivers from my toes up to my head and back down again. My teeth chattered as I gripped fistfuls of my bed sheet. My visions had never been about anything so intense before.

Maybe it had been a regular nightmare and not a vision of my future? Really, where would I encounter a dog that big? And the cloaked figure…I’d seen Halloween costumes more creative.

Someday I’d die, sure, but not now. Not so soon. Only a nightmare. An ordinary nightmare that common, everyday people had. Nothing to worry about. Nothing.

I sat up. My hair tumbled over my forehead. I swiped the strands away only to have them bounce back.

“Selena! We’ll be late, dearie.” Grams called from downstairs.

Her cheery voice slapped me out of my gloom.

“Coming!” I pulled the light comforter off my legs.

…

A hot shower later, I came into the kitchen in jeans and a shirt with RECYCLE in bold letters across my chest. Streams of golden sunlight made the kitchen look comfortable and lived in. The smell of pancakes and ham helped banish any thoughts of black dogs and hooded figures.

The radio on the counter blared the Morning Show on KASL. The weather report was winding down when I dropped my school bag on the floor, pulled out a chair, and sat down. The day would be sunny without a chance of rain, beautifully clear—all blue skies and puffy white clouds.

No milky moonlight. No silvery clearing. No images of death.

I watched my grandmother—a small woman with a big heart—fill a plate with a stack of pancakes, slices of ham, and a mound of scrambled eggs. She had her white hair in a simple twist. When she turned around, her freshly glossed lips held a sweet smile that warmed me from the inside out. Grams moved like a storm in the kitchen, but instead of devastation in her wake, she left great food and shiny countertops.

“Morning.” She beamed at me.

“Are we feeding a party of five?” I stared wide-eyed at the plate Grams set in front of me. Eat-a-horse hungry portions stared back.

“Nothing like a good breakfast to get the day started,” she said as she glanced over her shoulder while squeezing juice from a couple of oranges. “You have a big weekend ahead of you.”

“Ugh! Don’t remind me. Where’s Gramps?”

“In the garage.” Grams placed a glass filled with OJ beside my plate. “He’s getting his tools ready. It’s another long day at Hay Creek Ranch.”

“Their tractors acting up again?”

“I think it’s just a check-up this time. Now, eat up, child! We’ll be out of here in two shakes of a chicken’s bottom.”

I smiled, my right cheek bulging with pancakes.

About halfway through my breakfast, Gramps’s towering height and massive frame filled the kitchen. His salt-and-pepper hair looked wind-blown, like he’d been running out in the prairie all day. I liked the laugh lines on his face best.

His gruff voice boomed. “Good morning, little lady!”

“Not so little anymore, hon.” Grams playfully tapped his bicep.

“Well. She’ll always be little to me!”

Having had enough of breakfast, I teased Gramps while I brought my plate and glass to the sink, “Everyone’s little compared to you.”

“Right about that.” He kissed Grams on the cheek before staring at my half-eaten plate. “Not hungry?”

“Just late.” I shrugged, trying not to connect my lack of appetite to the knots in my stomach.

“Did I happen to see the trashcans open this morning?” Grams raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t want those raccoons coming by again.”

Like a delinquent caught shoplifting, he winced and quickly made his way out the door. “Well, ladies, I’m off to Hay Creek. You two take care now.”

“You’re one to talk! Don’t come home with cuts or bruises.” Grams put her hands on her hips, a kitchen towel hanging from her apron.

“Yes, ma’am.” He winked at her.

Suppressing a giggle, I slung my bag over my shoulder. Normal. Absolutely nothing but normal. I beamed, grounding myself in the moment. My grandparents’ love acted as my safety net, catching me when I needed it most. I had nothing to worry about.

…

Unfortunately, my glow from basking in my grandparents’ love didn’t last long. Kyle kept bugging me about why I flinched every time he touched me. I’d been so keyed up that it felt like I had extra shots of Redbull in my veins. Surviving a day of school didn’t used to be so hard. Thank god Bowen left me alone. Who knew granting him the friendship card would keep him away? I should have thought of it sooner.

As if my day couldn’t get any worse, somehow Dillan’s death stares grew more intense as the day wore on. I wasn’t happy about the weekend, but I’d accepted it. If Dillan wanted to act immature by staring at me like I threatened his very existence, then fine. I had other things to worry about.

After making a pit stop at the arts and craft store for supplies, I sat in the back of Kyle’s Prius trying to ignore the guy sitting shotgun. But Dillan’s tapping kept drawing my attention. His fingers played a rhythm on the door panel.

“I think we should use tea to stain the water,” Constance said, bouncing in her seat. “What do you guys think?”

“I like it.” Kyle peered at her through the rearview mirror. “It ties in to the Boston Tea Party.”

“What about glitter? It always makes a project pop,” she added.

“I don’t know. I think we should stick to traditional colors,” Kyle said.

Again, my gaze landed on the one person I tried so hard to ignore. My fingers started their own drumbeat on the door panel at my side. A metallic object peeking out of his sweater sleeve caught my eye. A watch?

He stretched, and I realized it was a thin, leather cuff with a silver cross that had its four points connected by a circle. An opaque gem I didn’t recognize sat on the intersection of the cross. Being interested in anything concerning Mr. Rock-Star-National-Geographic stamped down the temptation to ask why he chose to wear such a curious accessory.

“I can’t believe you listen to Newcastle Afternoon,” Constance teased, referring to the radio.

Kyle tsked. “Is there a law banning sixteen-year-olds from listening to a radio show?”

“I think what she means is: can we listen to something else?” Dillan turned to Kyle.

“Hey, I like listening to the news.” He let go of the steering wheel for a second and shrugged.

Constance giggled. “That makes it even worse, Kyle. You sound like my Grandpa.”

“What do you think?”

It took me a second to notice that Kyle spoke to me. “I’m sort of immune to Newcastle Afternoon since it’s on at the diner after school, so I’m not the best person to ask.”

“Two against one and an abstained. For the sake of maintaining peace, I fold.” He stretched out his leg, eased out his phone from his jeans pocket, and handed it to Dillan after unlocking the screen.

Dillan scanned through the playlist. “The Beegees, Chicago, Duran Duran, Air Supply?”

“Who are they?” Constance leaned forward and looked over Dillan’s shoulder. “Never heard of them. Are they new?”

“Total opposite.” Dillan’s voice said he grimaced. “You’re worse than Rainer.”

Kyle went on the defensive, “I happen to think Air Supply has some of the most poignant ballads.”

“They’re old bands?” Constance sounded like a six-year-old who just found out reindeers couldn’t fly.

“Classics!” Kyle said indignantly.

“Yes, classics.” Dillan’s tone dripped sarcasm. “Oh, and I just found Abba. If I find Karen Carpenter in here, I will officially rule you pathetic.”

“Don’t you have any Taylor Swift songs?” Constance leaned back on her seat.

“I’m not a big fan.” Kyle’s expression turned blank.

Constance looked aghast. “Why not? She’s probably the most successful country singer out there right now! I’m a proud Swifty.”

He scratched his head.

Feeling bad for my friend, I bailed him out. “Constance, Kyle doesn’t really keep up with all that stuff.”

“Really?” She pouted. “That’s…well, weird.”

“It’s not like I don’t have a TV or the Internet.” He rubbed his cheek. “I’m just picky with the information I put into my brain.”

“Like what kind of information?” She perked up a little.

“National Geographic.” He turned to Dillan for a moment. “I just saw that special your parents did on Plato and Atlantis. Brilliant work!”

“Your parents were on TV?” she asked.

Dillan stiffened at Constance’s excitement. Seeing my chance for some payback, I wiggled in my seat.

“Didn’t you know, Constance?” I waited for the blonde to look at me. “We’re sitting with National Geographic royalty.”

“What!” She beamed. “Can I have your autograph?”

Bingo!

Dillan twisted around and glared at me. His steely-blue eyes promised revenge. For the first time, I didn’t know whether to find him scary or funny.

“My parents are archeologists,” he said, then faced forward again. “They dig up crap, and people pay them for it. That’s their thing, not mine.”

“What’s it like to have parents on TV?” Adoration oozed from the girl beside me.

“Annoying.”

“Really?”

In another stroke of mischief, I said, “You said you’re a Swifty right, Constance?”

She nodded at me.

“Selena,” Dillan growled.

My smile stretched across my face. “Did you know she wrote a song about Dillan?”

“You dated Taylor Swift?” She squealed.

From my vantage point, I saw Dillan shake his head, wiping one side of it with his hand. The one with the leather cuff.

“Leave him alone, Constance,” Kyle said like a parent scolding a child.

“But—”

“I want to listen to music.” He glanced at Dillan.

“Since your playlist is for geriatrics, I’m taking over,” he said. I heard his relief. Huh. His highness could get embarrassed like the rest of us mortals. He handed the phone back to Kyle and took out his own.

“Wait a sec.” Kyle signaled for silence.

We all listened to the DJ announce that six more dogs had gone missing. He quickly followed up the announcement with the advice that families should keep a close watch on their beloved pooches. That a predator was on the loose. When the news ended, Kyle let Dillan sync his phone with the car’s radio via Bluetooth. In seconds, the tribal-sounding drum sequence and chanting of Bastille’s Pompeii filled the car. A corner of my eyebrow twitched. I never pegged him for someone who liked alternative rock, and a British band at that. I only recognized the song because it was the current theme of a show Penny was obsessed with. Huh. Just learned something new about him.

“Why are you interested in missing dogs?” Constance looked out the window.

“I’m more concerned about the predator,” Kyle said neutrally.

The news brought to mind a conversation I had with Penny over text last night. “You know? Mr. Collins lost one of his herd dogs.”

The car jerked to a stop. “What?”

Constance and I called out Kyle’s name at the same time. Dillan’s hands spread over the dashboard, irritation on his face when he turned to Kyle for an explanation.

“Sorry, I didn’t notice the light change.” He pointed at the stoplight ahead of us.

My stomach gave a nauseated lurch. “Concentrate! You know I can get carsick.”

“What did you say about Penny?” He made a right, headed out of town when the light turned green.

“Not Penny.” I settled back into my seat. “Her dad.”

“How’d it happen?”

“Not sure. According to Penny, they usually don’t wander off, so it’s kind of weird, but when he rounded up the dogs, one just wasn’t there.” I noticed Dillan fidget with his cuff.

Kyle followed up with: “Did they look for the dog?”

“Of course they did.” My phone vibrated in my pocket. I whipped it out.

Penny: Good luck this weekend!

Me: :(

I sent up a silent prayer for patience.