Dream Weaver (Dream Weaver #1) (3 page)

             
“No…” The wail burst unbidden from my throat. Reality beat itself against my brain, an unrelenting ocean, as comprehension of what he did to me emerged like a developing photograph in the darkroom. Even in the privacy of my own head, I couldn’t think the word. The word that made women cringe. A trespass nearly as brutal as death, yet an eternal torment left for the lifetime of the living. An unspeakable offense, yet now the word would be wrenched from my lips, a confession my heart preferred to keep in silence.

             
God! Why? Haven’t I been through enough already?

             
With aching hands, I re-covered my battered body and dragged myself across the bare cement floor, groped blindly back to the light of the stockroom. As my quaking hand reached for the door, a flood of fear gushed through me.
What if he’s still out there? What if he’s waiting for round two? I don’t think I can survive round two.

             
My racing heart thundered blood through my head. My brain throbbed. I curled up on the floor, cradled my head in my arms and relinquished myself to the darkness again.

*              *              *

              Finally, a fuzzy light pushed through my darkness and stayed. How long had I been unconscious? Minutes? Hours? Surely the attacker had slunk away by now—content with his conquest.

             
I shambled back to the stockroom, and scrabbled under the wooden shelves where I was sure I’d heard my radio clatter to the floor. My fingers, swollen and bloody, found only air and dust bunnies. And this little effort exhausted me. I stuffed myself into a corner, wrapped in a tight cocoon and sobbed into my knees.

Chapter 3 Chemical Dreams

             
A soft creak penetrated my grief and my eyes darted to the door. The silhouette of a man prowled toward me. The man?

             
“Oh, God.” I raised feeble hands to fend him off. “No. Please don’t…” The words a strangled mewling of an injured animal. I struggled, powerless and pathetic as his hands clamped my wrists. I had nothing left to fight him off, but refused to surrender without at least some sort of resistance.

             
Oh God. Please. Not again.

             
“Please!” I begged. “Please don’t…” I sobbed, struggled—uselessly depleted. Resistance was futile, fighting was useless. I bowed my head and bawled, relinquished myself to my nightmare. I surrendered myself to the tow of the darkness.

             
“Emari. Sweetie.” Someone gently hushed me.

             
Ice and hope froze me.
Sweetie? Only my friends use that endearment.

             
The hands held my wrists gently, carefully not hard and confining. “It’s okay, Em. It’s me, Jesse. I won’t hurt you, honey. I promise.”

             
I squinted up into his face, searched the blur before me through the swollen slits of my eyes. Jesse found me as I slogged through the mire of my head, grappled back to the light of day.

             
I whimpered and cringed like an abused animal as Jesse kneeled in front of me, and coaxed me to safety. Finally, I fell into the shelter of his arms. “You’re safe now. I got you,” his reassuring voice bathed my wounded heart and his arms became a place of asylum. My body quaked uncontrollably, but his arms held me tight, kept my tremors from ripping me apart.

             
Finally, when the convulsions and my breathing ebbed, he stroked my hair and whispered, “Em. I need to call someone,” as if even this small sound would shatter my crystalline composure.

             
“I know.”

             
“I’ll call Blake…”

             
“No!” I batted weakly at the radio Jesse raised to his mouth. “No. Not Blake.”

             
“Okay Sweets, but I gotta call someone. You need to go to the hospital,” he gently protested.

             
“Collin. Please. Just Collin. I—I don’t want anyone to know…” I pleaded.

             
His body solidified around me and his warm brown eyes burned dark and fierce, as he realized the extent of my damages. Rape had not yet occurred to him. His eyes focused on something deep in the caverns of his own heart and an unfamiliar pain contorted his face. Tremors heaved through his body as he wrapped himself around me, as though to hold himself together as well. My heart grieved, sorry for him that he was here to endure all of this. When the shuddering around me stilled, he cleared his throat, regained his composure. He radioed Collin to meet him in the stockroom.

             
While we waited, Jesse tore open a pack of boys cotton t-shirts. He wadded one up for me to hold to the back of my head to help control the blood that continued to ooze down the nape of my neck.

             
“So, what’s up?” Collin asked a few moments later as he entered the room. A festive grin that matched his tie played on his calm, fatherly face. Jesse gazed into my eyes and nodded encouragingly. He forced the corners of his mouth up and moved aside so Collin could see me. The grin slid from Collin’s face like thawing snow from a roof.

             
“Emari?” The question in his voice spoke volumes. Just how unrecognizable was I? Confusion then rage raced across his face in quick succession. “I am so sorry,” the words so bloated with grief they stuck in his throat. His eyes turned liquid blue as he scanned my bloodied, battered face. “It was
him
, wasn’t it? He got to you.” For all of his safety measures, he hadn’t kept me safe.

             
Change and keys jangled in his pocket as he fished for his cell phone. After his 9-1-1 call, Collin called Blake to direct the police and paramedics.

             
Tears stung my face and convulsions racked my body anew as the comprehension of all I had yet to endure manifested in my aching head. Despite my overwhelming desire to creep invisibly out the back door, the impending circus loomed, inescapable.

             
I leaned into the safety of Jesse’s arms, my head on his chest, mesmerized by the thunder of his heart. A distant, haunted look filled his eyes each time I was brave enough to look into them. The solar bright confidence that normally exuded from him faded, all but extinguished, his effervescent personality quenched. More of my heart crumbled as everything I had ever known Jesse to be vanished, replaced by a cold, heavy cloud that virtually shrank him.

             
Still more pieces disintegrated as I listened to Ivy outside, trying to get in to me. Near-hysteria pitched her voice, high and loud. No matter how she begged, pleaded, reasoned or bribed, the cops remained steadfast and wouldn’t let anyone else in to disturb the ‘crime scene.’

             
“Jess, I wanna go home.” My voice was small, destroyed.

             
“I know, Sweets, I’m sorry,” he whispered back, “But the police need you to go to the hospital to check you out.”

             
A quiet sob lurched through my chest. I didn’t want tests or doctors or questions. I just wanted home, seclusion, a scalding shower, a bar of soap—and maybe a little bleach. I wanted to yield to the darkness that pressed in on me from all sides, urged me to succumb to its call.

             
I cringed against Jesse as a female officer and a male paramedic entered the room, and his arms drew me protectively tighter against him. His trembling hand stroked my hair. “It’s okay, Sweets,” he hushed me. The cop stopped a few feet away, her eyes locked on mine. The medic stood quietly behind her, his eyes scanned my face and body as he assessed me from a distance.

             
“I’m Officer Molly Elliot, Miss Sweet,” she said and kneeled in front of me. “This is Mike Walker. He’s a paramedic,” she continued with a flick of her thumb behind her. “I’m sorry we don’t have a female medic available, but I’ll stay with you. We just need Mike to examine you and get you ready for transport to the hospital. Okay?”

             
Okay? Did it really matter if it was okay with me?
I nodded and as Officer Elliot stood and backed away Mike glided forward with silent steps. He set his gear down and knelt in front of me.

             
“Hello, Miss Sweet. Can you tell me your first name?”

             
“Emari.”
Like the nail file.

             
“Emari.” Like most people, Mike had to roll my name around in his head a couple of times. “Well, Emari, I just need to do a basic exam, to make sure you’re ready to go to the hospital, okay?” Calm, quiet reassurance filled his voice. I nodded my agreement and Jesse reluctantly moved away to give Mike room to take my vitals.

             
Mike’s pen light jabbed like ice picks into my eyes and when he leaned closer to me to check my ears, a rogue whimper escaped my throat. He backed away, showed me his hands. “I apologize, Miss Sweet. I’ll explain everything I’m doing, and touch you as little as possible.”

             
I nodded and he smiled apologetically.

             
“Did you hit your head?” he asked nodding at the stained t-shirt.

             
“No.
He
hit my head.” I didn’t know why I felt the undeniable need to be specific.

             
“Can I take a look?”

             
Another silent nod.

              He gently moved the wadded up t-shirt from the gash at the back of my head to get a quick look at the wound. “Ouch,” he hissed quietly through his teeth. “Did you lose consciousness?”

             
“I think so. I don’t—remember—a lot.”

             
“Well, you’ve lost a lot of blood, but head wounds bleed a lot.”

             
“Yeah. I’ve heard. First Aid 101.”

             
Mike gave a small laugh. “Pretty much. But let me know right away if your head starts to hurt worse or you start to feel faint or anything, all right?”

             
I nodded and allowed the corner of my mouth to twitch up, but it took too much effort to pretend to be tough. I fell back into silence.

             
Officer Elliot continued questioning Jesse and scribbled notes in her note pad. She paused, her left arm rested on her radio with her note pad in her hand, and her right hand, pen protruding, rested on her holster. Such a cop kind of pose, I mused in a lame attempt to distract myself. She glanced over at me and asked Jesse another question that froze his restless fidgeting. He threw an anguished glance at me. Deep lines corrugated his brow, he closed his eyes and turned away, nodded helplessly.

             
My heart raced, air ripped from my lungs as my eyes drifted over Jesse from head to toe for the first time. I choked on a strangled yelp, utterly horrified by what I saw. Blood, my blood, smeared on his face, hands and shirt. “Jess!” I wailed. He flew to my side.

             
“What? What?” he begged, and clasped my hands.

             
“I bled all over you.”

             
Jesse looked down at himself, noticed the blood and grimaced, but quickly rearranged his features. “No sweat, Sweets. It’ll wash. Okay?”

             
I nodded. “How’s Baby? She hasn’t seen you, has she? She’s gonna freak if she sees you.”

             
“Not yet, but I think she’s already freakin’ out out there.”

             
“I need her. Will you tell her to come to the hospital after work?”

             
“I’ll make sure she knows. I doubt she’ll wait ‘til after work, though. She’ll tell Collin where to ram it first.”

             
Jesse squeezed my hand and retreated again with Officer Elliot. My eyes remained locked on his face. For the moment, he was the only familiar anchor I had, despite the unfamiliar expressions that darkened his eyes.

             
The gurney bumped and rumbled up to the stockroom door, too big to fit into the compact room. Two fireman screened the doorway from rest of the store with a large, yellow sheet for my privacy. Mike helped me to stand and shamble to the gurney, painstakingly guarded of the location of his hands on my body. He lifted me up and helped me to recline, then draped the yellow sheet over me before fastening a belt over my thighs.

             
Dozens of voices whispered and rumbled around me as the medics wheeled my battered body past, and cops escorted Jesse out like a suspect. Yes, I had definitely drawn a crowd of people who gathered to gawk at the spectacle.

             
I scanned the sea of faces for the one I needed, the one I had saved. Ivy. Her pretty blue eyes filled with tears and her sweet, heart-shaped face contorted in horror. Her hand flew to her mouth to suppress the wail of grief when she glimpsed my bloodied face; her hand clamped over her mouth to subdue another, or perhaps to hold back vomit. I stretched my battered hand and crooked my stained fingers at her. “Come,” the single word rasped through my throat. A broken sob escaped her chalky lips, then Ivy whirled around and fled.

             
I must be a holy mess
.

             
Overall, I liked my face okay. I hoped for less than utter destruction. It sure felt destroyed.

             
The hospital was only a few blocks away, so close they didn’t even bother with the sirens. With lights flashing, we sped down the street, barely getting to emergency speed before we had to slow down. Everything moved so swiftly it all became a blur around me. No doubt, the conk on the head and loss of blood had something to do with it as well. Jesse remained in the waiting room at the insistence of the investigating officer, but Officer Elliot and Mike continued into the exam room with me. Mike rattled off my stats and injuries to the nurses who fluttered and scurried alongside the gurney.

             
“Is there someone I can call for you? Your parents?” Officer Elliot inquired once my gurney rolled to a stop in exam 12 and the flurry of activity began.

             
Sure if you wanna hold a séance.
“No,” I stifled a sob. “My parents were killed in a car crash last April.”