Quicksilver Dreams (Dreamwalkers) (12 page)

We’re more relaxed in sleep.
More susceptible to suggestion
,
energy
,
particularly if it’s energy that we recognize.
It’s how you were able to get into my dream last night.
Ryder looked somber as he explained.

Yeah?
Well
,
get out.
I
didn’t invite you in.

Just listen to me a moment
,
Taylor.

I’ve had enough of listening to you.
I’m too trailer trash to listen
,
anyway.
Remembering that I could do anything in my dreams, I jumped out of the car, letting it dissolve in midair, and ran for the side of the road, diving off the cliff before I heard him say anything else. I quickly floated hundreds of feet down the bluffs to the beach with the pounding surf, enjoying the exhilaration of a modified free fall. In spite of the wet rocks, I felt secure standing there, the spray refreshing against my face.

I also didn’t want to feel the pain of his earlier rejection and wanted to just shut off any thoughts or images of him.

I
was angry
,
believing you weren’t who I thought you were
,
and I wanted to hurt you.
He was floating in front of me, not quite standing on the rocks. He’d followed me down to the water.

Congratulations.
It worked.

Don’t you want to know what all this is about?

Not really.
Though I kinda did.

Regardless
,
I
need to tell you.
I
don’t believe the break-ins are a coincidence.
You’re in danger
,
and until I eliminate the danger to you
,
you’re stuck with me.

The hell I am.
You aren’t going to know where I am.
I’ve already got plans to move.
I’m leaving the apartment and finding someplace where I can be left alone.

I jumped and imagined soaring like a bird along the top of the water. Ryder had been right when he said you could do anything in a dream. I was skimming along the top, faster and faster. I did sharp turns, twirls, flips and caught an updraft back to the car I’d started my dream in. It was waiting for me at the top of the bluffs, sunlight shining off the glossy black paint.

Ryder was leaning against it, looking scrumptiously hot and wickedly male with a pair of shades. My body still responded to him against my will, but I couldn’t outrun my hurt feelings. I couldn’t forget that he saw me as lesser. He needed to leave me alone, so I could get on with my life.

I
can’t leave you alone.
His deep voice was a soft rumble.
I
... He frowned. His eyes seemed to be trying to tell me something that wouldn’t pass over his lips.

What?
I snapped.

His expression turned to stone. He tightened his lips in a grim line.
I
need to take care of you.

Gee
,
thanks for all that care.
Even my dream voice was shaky with emotion. I got in my car. With as much sarcasm as I could muster, I said,
Do me a favor and stop caring so much
,
okay?
Stay away from me.

Taylor
,
listen to me!
Will you quit being so stubborn?
I’m trying to protect you!
His deep voice gently rolled over my spirit, making me want to melt, but I had to take a stand at some point, didn’t I? I couldn’t always be a walking target.

You have a funny way of doing it.
I’m going to go look for my mom.
You aren’t invited.

Leaving Ryder by the side of the bluffs, I continued down the long, lonely road by the ocean with the wind in my hair, the sun on my skin and tears on my cheeks. Maybe I could find that place of contentment in Key West that had allowed her to forget her worries. Maybe then I’d be okay. Where was she? Why did she leave me? I just wanted to be able to ask that question. What could I have done to make her stay?

The road was long and continuous. It never ended, even though I always felt like I could see a destination in the distance. Like a mirage, a glint of sunlight glaring off something metal, some kind of city or town just ahead, prolonged my hope and kept me driving. I never seemed to get there though. The road just continued. Alone. Me and the road.

A seagull swooped along lazily, catching updrafts and gliding without having to flap its wings, following me on this fruitless drive, and I silently thanked it for not giving up on me. It was the first time that a living creature had traveled with me in this dream.

I couldn’t help but wish with all my heart that someone in the world would think I was special, but maybe there was the lesson. Maybe I needed to learn that I was special. And if I really learned it, maybe it would be enough.

Chapter Six

My dreams were not restful.

I kept looking for Ryder to crop up, still sensing that he was in my dream. I refused to look at whether I was satisfied or disappointed that I didn’t see him again. By the time my alarm went off, playing “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” I was exhausted and tempted to call in sick. I’ve never called in sick. My attendance in school and at work was, and continues to be, flawless, which is what kept me from drowsing under the covers morosely.

“Act as if,” I muttered, thinking of a Dr. Phil-ism, a useful tool from my TV watching, which was likely the only positive thing I got from TV. If I acted on the outside as if everything was great, maybe I’d start feeling that way on the inside. And maybe Dr. Phil wasn’t referring to a situation where one was robbed, used and abused, but it helped me pull myself out of bed and find my slinky, sexy but perfectly professional office dress. The one that was guaranteed to make the men take notice, which I figured would give my ego a boost.

It was fitted, from the V-shaped neckline that hinted at my cleavage, and was long enough to reach just below my knees. It was a summery olive-green linen, with short sleeves and a hidden zipper up the side. I added a dark brown, wide leather belt and matching strappy platforms, eyeing the effect in the mirror with approval. I looked hot. It made me feel better.

I clipped my hair up, with tendrils loose about my face. My hair isn’t long enough to be in a real bun, and the style I adapted makes me look a bit wild and sexy. Expertly, I applied makeup and perfume. In no way did I want even remotely to feel trailer. I wanted to look sophisticated. Elegant. Satisfied that no one would know what a crazy, flipped-out weekend I’d had, I grabbed my bag and keys.

As an afterthought, I grabbed my mother’s charm bracelet from my nightstand, somehow needing the comfort of it—though why it comforted me, I don’t know. She herself had never been a source of comfort even once in my entire life. But just looking at the bracelet infused me with warmth. Go figure, right? Maybe I kept hoping. Pretty stupid, really.

It was seven in the morning, and like clockwork, Mrs. Myrtle, the elderly woman who lives with her daughter across the street, came out for her walk. She couldn’t see well and her hearing was off, but she insisted on crossing the busy boulevard two blocks down during rush-hour traffic to get to her granddaughter’s school early. She was a volunteer and thrived on tutoring the younger children, reading to them, whatever the teacher needed. Her hair was short and snow-white, shaped in a bob around her face, and she usually wore loafers with slacks and a button-down shirt, every inch the proper lady.

“Good morning, Mrs. Myrtle. How are you today?” I couldn’t let her cross alone. I always made sure to be out by seven because I knew that her daughter and granddaughter somehow didn’t have the time. Ever. Didn’t they know how lucky they were to have her? She was so fragile looking; a fall could do her in. Why didn’t they think of that?

“Taylor, I’m doing very well, thank you.” She had a genteel way of speaking that was at once kind and respectful, though she seemed a bit distracted as she gave me her usual warm smile. “And don’t you look wonderful, dear.”

“Thanks. I put some effort into it this morning.”

I
hope Sara grows out of her tantrums.
It’s how her mother started
,
and I wasn’t strict with her like I should have been.
It’s really my fault Karen couldn’t get along in her marriage
,
and now Sara suffers for it.

I heard this quite clearly and looked up at Mrs. Myrtle questioningly, but it was obvious she hadn’t actually spoken. She was looking down at the uneven concrete driveway, trying to concentrate on maneuvering safely. It left me with a moment to ponder whether or not I was now capable of reading minds. Hearing my own thoughts made me want to laugh.

Read someone’s mind. Yeah, right. This wasn’t some kind of fiction fun house or anything. It was real life. My life. And still, some little part of my brain insisted that I determine if this was actually happening to me. At the club the other night, I’d been overloaded with the number of people surrounding me, their drunken blatherings pouring too much stimulation into me at once, but just one-to-one was a good experiment.

I did a quick mental check. Was my fortified, cemented brick wall still up in my mind? I closed my eyes briefly and saw it. Yep. It was there. And still, I’d maybe been able to hear her thoughts. It wouldn’t hurt to try.

“How’s Sara today?” Sara was her granddaughter.

“She’s finishing up a project this morning. You know how it goes. She had all weekend to finish it, but now it’s the last minute, and she has the house in an uproar. Her mother is not happy with her. It is an end-of-the-year project. Their last day of school before the summer break is on Friday.”

“How is Karen doing with her work? I know you said she was feeling particularly stressed the last few months.”

“Now that tax season is over, she’s able to relax a bit.” Her daughter was a CPA, and a single parent as of a year ago.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it.” I fell into step beside her and offered her my arm, which she readily took. I kept her balanced as we made our way across the quiet intersection first, and then the busy one, under the pretense of walking to my car. It’s true that the first time I encountered Mrs. Myrtle on the sidewalk, I was walking out to my car after having to park it a few blocks up and across the main street. That was almost six months ago.

After that, I just pretended my car was always out there, so I could know she arrived to the elementary school safe and sound. My car is usually not out across the boulevard, and I’m pretty sure she knows it, but we continue to play our parts.

I have to admit that part of this is entirely selfish. She was just so generous with her attention that I found myself wanting to talk with her about things. Over time, she got me to open up a
little
about family, work and past dreams of being an artist.

On one occasion, she saw me walking with a cream-colored canvas bag on which, when I’d had free time and the inspiration of a beautiful spring day, I’d drawn a floral pattern and painted it right on the material. She really seemed to love it, so I made her one. She used it pretty regularly, which I have to say made me proud. She was always so encouraging and just...motherly or grandmotherly, the way I always imagined someone in that role was supposed to be.

With concentration, I was able to get some impressions of what she was feeling, rather than actual words being articulated, which explained why I had “felt” Ryder’s grief so clearly the day before. I could feel she was glad to see me and that she had a sense of comfort, affection and familiarity with me. I could feel her disappointment and worry over whatever was happening at home, and I could feel a low level of excitement surrounding the elementary school. We reached the gates of the school, and I stopped walking, ready to part ways. Mrs. Myrtle, however, had something on her mind and turned to me with purpose. She looked me straight in the eyes.

“Taylor, dear, have you given any more thought to that project I talked with you about last week? Remember the art project? I was hoping to have it done as a birthday surprise for Sara.”

I hadn’t thought she was serious about that.

The seed of excitement, watered with droplets of uncertainty, infused my gut. “I’m not a professional, Mrs. Myrtle. You know you could get someone from one of the local colleges to paint a mural on Sara’s wall for a song. I am absolutely inexperienced...I mean...I’ve never done work on such a large scale.”

“There’s a first time for everything, Taylor. You have to start somewhere. And what’s the worst that can happen?”

“I could make a mess of it all.”

“Then you can paint it white and start over.”

“I know, but...”

“Taylor Lane.” Mrs. Myrtle’s tone became just a bit more firm and motherly. “You need to have confidence in yourself. You do some lovely artwork. Now tell me true if you aren’t really interested, and I’ll find someone else, but if you’re really interested, I want you to talk with Sara about what she’d like on her wall and maybe come up with a few sample drawings for her to choose from.”

“Well...I am interested...but—”

“Then it’s settled. I’ll pay for the materials and for your time.” Her tone of voice held firm.

“You don’t have to pay me, Mrs. Myrtle.”

“Nonsense, dear. One of the most important lessons in life is to know your worth, and don’t let anyone talk you out of it. Now, I know you need to get on to work and your car is back down the block, so you better hurry. I don’t want you to be late.” She winked and gave me that warm smile that was so addictive.

Such a lovely girl.
I
hope she learns to trust in herself.
That I heard clearly in my mind, and it made me glow at the same time I got goose bumps. First, I really was hearing her thoughts, and second, if this was the encouragement that most people got to experience growing up, then I had truly missed out.

“Thanks, Mrs. Myrtle. I’ll be glad to do this art project.”

“Excellent. You’re a kind girl, Taylor. Thank you, dear, for walking with me. We’ll talk later.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Though I had plenty to think about that was new and exciting, my thoughts circled back round to Ryder and what had happened to me the last few days. I could picture his brooding green eyes and his sexy lips whose taste I was already craving. Somehow he’d managed to imprint himself on me. Easily, I could bring his masculine image to mind, and it was almost like he was there with me, which was equal parts bitter and sweet.

Sharply, I turned my thoughts to the break-in at my car and the break-in at my apartment, which successfully turned my amorous musings sour, but posed a valid question. Who in the hell was trying to cause me grief? I didn’t have anything valuable. I lived a fairly normal life of work and more work with a little exercise and play in there. I mean, really. What was all this about?

At the same time, I find out that this hot guy has been coming to me in my dreams (still not ready to go there), that Cynthia isn’t all of who she says she is, and I’m also starting to be able to read minds, if that’s the right way to phrase it. The world I grew up in was fading away to be replaced by this bizarre, surreal place where I had no idea what was going to happen next.

I walked into the office at my usual time. Reggie wasn’t there. I suddenly remembered my gaffe with his boyfriend/partner and wondered what torment that was going to bring me. I so needed more pain in my day, right?

When Reggie did arrive some twenty minutes later, dressed in an impressive dark gray pinstripe suit, with his dark goatee looking trimmed and fashionable, I opened my mind, so I could “hear” if there was a problem with Frank. If Frank had been upset with me, maybe I’d get a heads-up on it, which might give me just enough of an advantage that I would be able to keep my job.

“Mail.” I followed Reggie to his desk, the view of Sunset Boulevard from his tenth-floor office window spectacular as usual. I placed the envelopes in front of him.

“Right.”

“Peter left a long message. Wanted to thank you for dealing with the studio so efficiently. He’s sending you a box of chocolates.”

“Fine.”
Good.
Taylor got the money for Peter.
She’s a fucking godsend.
He’s such a prick.
If he weren’t such a fucking amazing writer I’d tell him to go fuck himself
,
the fucking diva.
No room for this shit in business.
His thoughts came to me as clear as a bell, and I was warmed by them, thinking that he really appreciated me.

“Updated call log.” I handed him our traveling clipboard. He usually spent the morning returning calls. Throughout the day, I collected and updated his call log. Just one of the many pleasurable (sarcasm here) duties I performed.

I continued to stand there, trying to get a quick imprint of his baseline mood, see if there were any wayward thoughts about Frank, but general impressions were coming back to me instead of specifics. Low-level stress, which no one needed special powers to see in him, a sense of excitement over a new client he was going to take on who he thought would be successful and a growing irritation that he wasn’t alone in his office. At that point, he looked up at me impatiently. I’d been standing there staring at him too long.

“Was there something else?”

“No. That’s it.”

“Then go do what I fucking pay you to do. I’ll let you know if I need anything else.” I sensed an immediate guilt over the explosion. His thoughts followed.
Maybe Frank’s right.
If I keep acting like an animal
,
Taylor might leave.
She’s got the connections now.
I
need to bump up her responsibilities.
Make sure to give her a raise at her next review.
Can’t afford to lose her.

I caught this as I turned to leave the room and felt like I’d hit pay dirt. Frank wasn’t after my head. Cool. He was batting in my corner or something. Who knew? People usually had their own agendas, which were nearly always self-serving. I didn’t know why he was sticking up for me and didn’t care. What was important here was that Frank wasn’t going to be a prick about the whole Friday episode. I’d exaggerated the event in my mind, clearly, as he didn’t seem to be looking to do me in. Beyond that, it just didn’t matter.

The day felt a bit off, unreal, even as I went through my to-do lists and marked off completed tasks, feeling only some of the usual satisfaction of accomplishment. I didn’t really know what was going on with Cyn. I had no idea where she was, what she was doing or why she’d needed to leave, really. Somehow she was connected to Ryder, that much was certain. She knew Nick, who knew Ryder, and I just don’t believe in coincidences.

And what in the world did Ryder want with me? Who were his goddamn people that he kept mentioning were being somehow warred against?