Dead Dreams (15 page)

“Dad?” I waited, then stood and kissed him on the forehead. His skin felt cool, too cool. How long would he remain in that state? “It’s Brie.”

I’d heard those stories of people insisting that you talked to comatose patients. That just because the patients seemed unconscious that didn’t mean they couldn’t hear every word, even if they showed no signs of acknowledgements. I now understood why people would believe or wanted to believe that. They didn’t have a choice. The alternative was almost unthinkable. To see your loved one lying there, and yet unreachable, left you with an emptiness, a loneliness as though someone had gouged your heart out.

“Dad?” I whispered into his ear. “I’ll always love you. No matter what. I’ll always remember you. Don’t forget that. I’ll come back. I need to do this. To prove to myself. Please understand.”

I heard a grunt, but it might have been just my imagination. Or my own sob. His eyes remained closed. Not even a flutter. I leaned forward and planted another kiss on his cool forehead.

Better leave before I changed my mind about the switch. I turned, practically tripped out the door, and rushed to the bathroom before my mother could stop me. If nothing else, she’d understand my need to process this alone.

Later, as I strode back out to the waiting room, Keith, with his designer navy blazer, swaggered in from the entry with that lazy, lanky strut of his. He headed straight toward my mother, his arms outstretched, and gave her a long hug. Our eyes locked for a moment over Mother’s head. Had Keith just arrived? It must have been a good thirty minutes when that banana-colored Corvette had whizzed down my road. And, there weren’t too many of those around with almost the same license plate.

“Just got here?” I asked casually.

“Yep.”

“How are you holding up?”

Keith shrugged.

“He’ll get over the stroke. I know he will. He’s strong and sixty-two isn’t old.” Something I’d chanted to myself over and over in the bathroom.

“I suppose. Still a shocker, though. He was always exercising.”

I nodded. “I thought you’d be here sooner.”

“Why’d you think that?” he asked.

Pastor Perry pulled Mom away, and they spoke in low tones.

I looked Keith straight in the eye. “Pastor Perry said he called you earlier and that you were rushing down.”

“You accusing me of
not
rushing here quick enough? Some of us have a real job. I can’t just up and leave.”

I supposed waking up at the crack of dawn to dash to work didn’t count as a real job in Keith’s vocabulary. “I could have sworn I saw your car race past Birch and turn onto Holbart.” That was the street that led to Emerson where my apartment building stood.

“I’m surprised you never see me whizz pass your place more often, then. I have clients in the area. I would have picked you up, but you weren’t home.”

What did he mean by that? “You went by my place to pick me up?” How brotherly.

“I did, but your car wasn’t in its usual spot underground, so I figured you’d left. But, I don’t know
if
it was me you saw. Like I said, I just got here.” With that, Keith stalked off toward Pastor Perry and Mom. Of course, he didn’t even realize I’d be at work by eight. It would have been unlike him to think of me. Family tragedies have been known to melt the most hardened of hearts, so maybe there was hope for him.

“Mom, I have to scoot.” I broke up Mom’s deep discussion with Keith and Pastor Perry. “Let me know about Dad’s progress. If you can’t get a hold of me, text me when you learn more.”

I’d have to talk Sarah into allowing me to keep my cell active a few days more, although she’d talked about us going dark and just making do with throwaway twenty-dollar phones when we got out of the United States in case the cops decided to trace us via our mobile phones. Supposedly, these devices could act as GPS beacons. “Traceable,” was the word Sarah had used when she’d explained. It’d be harder to trace the twenty-dollar ones, she’d said.

Mom gave me a bewildered stare. “I don’t text.”

Pastor Perry laid his hand on her arm. “That’s okay.
I’ll
text Brie, if you want. And, Brie, you be sure to call me anytime you want to talk.”

I turned around to run out of the waiting room, sure I would give up on my plans with Sarah if I stood there a second longer.

“Brie!” It was Lilly. She held her arm out, and at first I thought she wanted me to pull her off her seat as I breezed by, but then I saw she was passing me something. “It’s for you.” She handed me a square envelope.

“Don’t open till it’s your birthday,” she said quietly. My birthday wasn’t for another two months. Why’d she give it to me now? I turned it over and saw it was sealed. It must have been a card.

“Thanks, Sweetie.”

“No peeking.” She smiled at me. “Promise?”

I nodded. I was going to miss all eleven years of her. I bent down and drew her blonde head into my chest. Maybe one day she’d forgive me, and when I returned I intended to make it up to her. I’d tell her this lousy sister of hers had missed her every step of the way, even as she’d been sipping piña coladas on a beach in Antigua, or debuting on a Broadway stage. And, what about my childhood puppy, Holly? Would she still be around six, seven, years from now? She was already ten. Dad had given her to me for my eighth birthday.

“You’re not promising?” Lilly prodded.

I ruffled her hair. “I won’t peek. I promise. You be good, okay, Squirt?” My nickname for her when we played “finding Nemo” in the backyard had always made her giggle before. She had a toy squid she’d squirt at me when I couldn’t locate the rubber Nemo she’d hide.

I practically sprinted out of the waiting room, afraid I’d changed my mind about leaving. I was already late for the bank meeting, and Sarah was going to be livid.

“Hey! Wait up!” Pastor Perry ran after me. “I need to drive you back.”

I’d forgotten.

I was silent most of the walk to his van.

“You haven’t had much sleep lately?” He pointed to the pouches under his own eyes. He must have been wondering about the suitcases under my lower lids.

“Late nights. Too many early mornings.”

“As long as it’s not nightmares keeping you awake.” He chuckled.

“Actually, I’ve had a few.” I remembered the dreams that had jolted me up. Always the same intruder. The robbery had shaken me up more than I admitted. “But they’re nothing. Just fears we all have acting out. Or, maybe the Chinese takeout for dinner.” I giggled.

He stopped when we got to the van but just stood without opening the door. “Sometimes dreams may mean more than just the spicy takeout. Our subconscious is aware of things we may overlook. What did you dream about?”

Just what I needed: an interrogator. “Stupid stuff.”

“Nothing’s stupid if it scares you.”

“You believe dreams come true?” I didn’t mean to remind him of his daughter and hated myself for having blurted that.

“Some.” He sounded sad. He opened the doors, and we drove off.

“Isn’t that like New Age stuff? Believing that dreams can come true?”

“You’d be surprised to learn the Bible has people dream dreams that turned out just as they saw it in their sleep. More than a half-dozen incidents. Sometimes, they were warnings from God.”

Right
. “Pilate’s wife.”

“Not specifically hers. But, there were others.”

“So, did they heed the…warnings?”

“Usually.”

His white van was passing the El Camino now. I glanced out the window and noticed we were about three blocks away from Stay Fit. “What happened when these Bible characters
didn’t
heed?”

“They weren’t just Bible characters. They were real people, like you and me. The Bible is, after all, history, too. You want to guess what happened to them?”

I shrugged. “They got…struck by lightning?”

He barked out a laugh. “There was Joseph, Jacob’s son. Heard of him?”

“The son with the multi-colored coat?” We’d done the musical at school, and I’d been one of the props. Lame.

“Joseph was betrayed by his ten older brothers and sold to the Egyptians as a slave. Years later, God gave him dreams that brought him out of slavery. And, because he heeded the warnings, and the Pharaoh at the time did, too, the residents of that region were delivered from famine and death. You can read for yourself in the Book of Genesis.”

I nodded. “Cool story.” At least Sarah was going to deliver me to wealth. By that time, we’d already arrived at the fitness place, and it was already past ten.

“Like I said, these are not just stories. The Bible is also a history book. Events are verified by other non-Bible-believing historians.”

“Like non-Christian historians?”

“Several. Tacitus, Thallus, and a few others. They lived in the first century.”

History. One of my favorite subjects. I nodded. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Sure. Call me, and we can continue on the dream topic.”

“Thanks. That was insightful. Might help me some.”

I slammed the door a bit harder than I meant to and hustled toward my MiniCooper. I turned to wave at him. Pastor Perry was staring at me as he sat in his white van. He wore a frown.

How could I, a sane, almost straight-A student, take my nightmares seriously? I could understand someone wanting to kill Sarah, hence our escape plan. But, who’d want to injure me? I had no money, no gorgeous hunk hanging on to my arm waiting to lavish me with all sorts of gifts, or for any female to be jealous over, no multi-colored coat, not even a career, as far as my brother was concerned. Nothing. Nada, as they say it here in Spanish-speaking California.

Actually, I’d had dreams that had come true before. Twice. Although, some might argue these were coincidences.

When my mother’d had a late-term miscarriage five years back, I’d dreamt I saw a shadow enter her bedroom consecutively for five days. On the sixth day, Mom had stayed in her room the entire afternoon, crying. (I’d heard her through the cracks under her bedroom door.) Later that evening, Dad had broken the news about her miscarriage: something about Mom’s age—she’d been forty-five, and the dangers of pregnancies late in life.

Another time had been when my first and
only
boyfriend, Drew Sanders, had gone to Russia on a gymnastics competition. I’d dreamt he’d have an accident while flipping on the rings. I’d casually mentioned the dream to him but he’d thought nothing of it, and I’d also attributed it to the fact I was going to miss him. While in Moscow Drew’s hand had slipped, and he’d lost his hold. He’d fallen and broken his spine. His parents had taken him to New York City and to all sorts of specialists, and I’d never seen him again. Last I’d heard from our mutual high school buddies, Drew’s whole life revolved around therapies. He’d never even contacted me, though I held hopes he would someday.

Still, those were not valid examples. Their probabilities worked. However, the likelihood someone would actually find me worth harming ran slim. Or so I felt.

The ICU required cell phones be turned off, and I’d forgotten to switch it back on when I’d breezed out of there. So I hurriedly turned it on. As I drove, it started buzzing. It was Sarah.

“Where are you?” She sounded flustered.

“I’ll just meet you at the bank. Something came up.” I’d driven down the block.

“What?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“I’ve broken all my nails punching your number. At least pick up your phone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Have you forgotten your clothes and stuff you have to change into?”

It
had
slipped my mind. I had to change into the new “me,” which needed to look as “un-me” as possible, so that when I did the bank interview the interrogating officers wouldn’t think Sarah and I looked in any way alike. The basic idea was to present myself as Humpty Dumpty. So that when Sarah turned into Brianna O’Mara and got fingerprinted as me, it would be easier for us to switch identities and fool the bankers—even their cameras, if it came to that. It wouldn’t do for anyone there to register subconsciously that we looked similar to begin with, Sarah had stressed.I had no idea how Sarah was going to pull off looking pudgy. She was thinner than a beanpole.