Viator (The Viator Chronicles Book 1) (26 page)

“Gwen!” Erin called.

“Here I come.” Gwen’s muffled voice came from above. Erin waited another ten seconds and then bounded up the stairs just as Gwen hustled out of her room, pulling her sweater on.

“It’s about time.” Erin ran down the stairs after Gwen. “Did you brush your teeth?”

“Yeah. I’m all done,” Gwen said. She stopped. “Is that dress new?”

“Yes, it is new. Do you like it?”

“Yeah. You look pretty.”

“Thank you.” Erin had chosen her new blue dress to wear to work that day. She had even spent a little more time on her hair but told herself it wasn’t to look good for lunch with Michael. A feeling of discomfort had settled in her stomach, and she convinced herself that looking her best would cheer her mood.

Erin dropped the children off at school, and when she got to work, she dusted and polished the instruments and counters as usual. The sidewalks were wet with drizzle, and the morning sky hung low with dark clouds. She glanced at the people walking past the store with their open umbrellas and looked at her watch. She had some time before her next lesson, so she went into her studio and played a few songs on the piano. As it neared eleven o’clock, she worked on finishing the lesson plans for her afternoon students and started putting away the new sheet music. The phone rang.

“Anacortes Music, this is Erin.”

A man’s husky voice said, “Erin Holley?”

“Yes? Can I help you?”

Silence.

“Hello. Can I help you?”

Erin heard a click as the caller hung up.

She hung up the phone and frowned.
Who was that?
She looked around the store, opened the door, and scanned the street. Two women were window-shopping, and a man was walking his dachshund a block away. A white Subaru drove past.

She shook her head as if to shake away her fears and went back to her studio. She needed to concentrate on going over new music for her students. After a while she sighed and looked up. Michael stood watching her, one shoulder leaning against the doorframe. She clapped her hand to her mouth. “You startled me. How long have you been standing there?”

“Only a minute. Can you break free from work?”

His eyes were warm and his mouth curved in a small smile, and although every time Erin saw him she felt a thrill of fear, she also felt a sense of warmth and familiarity.

“I can go as soon as Ed gets here. He should be here any minute. I’m starving. I didn’t realize how late it was,” she said.

“Good. I have lunch ready for us at home—I thought we might like more privacy than a restaurant can offer.”

Erin took a step back.

He saw her confusion and smiled. “For a good conversation.”

She felt her face grow warm. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

“Not at all. I love to cook.”

Ed arrived, and they left the store and walked the half block to where Michael had parked. He opened the door, and she slid into his car. The now familiar scent of spicy pine greeted her. Michael eased himself into his seat and pulled out onto the road. Erin glanced at him; the scent brought to mind the feeling of his neck against her face. She tried to shake the feeling away.

He kept his eyes on the road and asked, “Did you have a good night?”

“Yes, I did. It was all quiet.”

They sat in silence for a few blocks.

“How is your book coming?” she asked.

“Very well. My agent is excited about it, and of course, I am, too.”

They reached his house, got out of the car, and went inside.

“I’ve got lunch nearly ready—would you like some iced tea?” Michael asked.

“Sounds good.”

Erin looked around while he went into the kitchen. The weapons on his walls were fascinating, but she walked to the piano to look at his sheet music. The pieces by Schubert were there, as well as a few other classical compositions. She sat down on the piano bench and played part of a melody. Arranged on top of the piano were several small photos, and she stood up to look at them more closely. One photo was of a wiry boy, maybe five years old, with dark hair. Another photo was of a younger Michael, a big grin on his face, holding the laughing little boy when he was about three. A photo of a cabin in the woods leaned beside another picture with Michael, Bruce, a tall, slim, dark-haired woman, and a younger man with lighter hair. The family resemblance was obvious.

Michael came back into the living room with two glasses of iced tea.

“Are these your brother and sister?” she asked.

He looked at the picture. “Yes, that’s Elizabeth and Sean. Elizabeth’s married and lives in Portland. She’s a couple years younger than me, then Bruce next. Sean was the youngest.”

Erin smiled. “You all look alike. I have one older sister, and we don’t look anything like each other. She lives in Spain with her husband. I don’t get to see her often.”

She picked up the photo of the boy. “Your son?”

He nodded, his eyes on the boy. “Yes, that’s Colby.” He glanced at Erin. “This was taken only a week before he died.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Again, he nodded his head. He picked up the picture of both him and his son. “Portland Zoo. Colby fell in love with elephants that day, and after that, all he wanted was toy elephants. His mother loved elephants, too, so that was fine with her.”

Michael picked up the last photo, the one of the cabin. “This is the cabin I built near Mt. Hood.”

She took the photo from him and studied it. “It looks so familiar.”

He raised his eyebrows and said, “Maybe you’ve seen it.” He started to walk back to the kitchen.

“What?” she asked.

He glanced back at her with a grin. “Let’s eat lunch.”

Michael brought the food to the dining room—a huge seafood salad, rolls and butter, and slices of cantaloupe.

“This looks wonderful,” Erin said. “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”

Michael sat opposite her at the large cherry-wood table, and they served themselves. They ate in silence for a few minutes. She eyed him curiously. “Do you always fix such great food?”

“Only when I want to impress someone.”

“You want to impress me?” The thought hadn’t occurred to her before.

“Of course. But more than that, I want you to be comfortable. I want you to feel free to talk to me.”

She ate another bite of salad. “I don’t know you very well.”

His eyes clouded over.

“You invited me here today because you said you might know something about my dreams.” She frowned. “But I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?” His voice was quiet.

“How you could know anything about my dreams. And why you think it’s important.”

Michael helped himself to another serving of salad. “You’ve told me how your nightmares wake you. Have you ever woken with an injury or scar?”

Erin’s fork paused in midair, and she didn’t feel hungry any longer. She wasn’t sure what she should say. She was afraid he’d think she was losing her grip on reality if she said too much. She nodded her head.

“Tell me what you remember about the dream you had when you woke with a scar. That’s a good place to start.”

She frowned and looked out the window, debating what she should tell him. She looked back at him. His face looked expectant, patient, accepting, and she felt reassured. She took a deep breath and said, “I don’t remember much. I was running through a forest, searching for someone. I don’t know who. Then I was attacked by some dark …” She paused, her eyes searching. “Monsters. In my dream they hurt me. One of them stabbed me through my back—it hurt so much.”

“Do you remember anything more?”

She didn’t want to tell him she had dreamed about him. “Only a little.”

“Do you remember how you got away?”

She stood up and walked to the window, looked out at the garden. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Try, Erin,” Michael said.

She faced him. “I am trying.”

“So did you wake up with the scar? Right where you were pierced with a sword?”

Erin nodded her head slowly.

“Is there any possibility that you were with someone who hurt you, but you just don’t remember?” Michael asked.

She frowned as she looked at him and punched out her words. “No, I wish that were the case, but it’s ridiculous. I don’t forget what happens to me when I’m awake. I went to bed alone and woke up with bruises and a scar. Even stranger, by the end of the day the bruises were almost gone. The scar—I still have it—but I know I didn’t have any scar before I went to sleep that night.”

“Just wanted to rule out that idea.”

“I didn’t tell you it used a sword.”

He raised his eyebrows. “No, but it did, didn’t it?”

Erin felt a shiver run through her, and she took a step back.
How did he know?
“Yes.”

Michael got up from the table, stood beside her and gazed out the window at the garden. “When did you start having these nightmares?”

She groaned inside. “Around the time my husband, William, died. They wake me up in the middle of the night. I don’t remember much of them, but I can’t get back to sleep—they leave me shaking and shivering. Lately, though, I’m remembering more. Are you sure you want to hear about this?”

Michael nodded, a small smile on his face, and she felt easier about telling him.

“I do remember more of the dream I had that night. Please don’t think I’m crazy. The … monsters outnumbered me, and they … beat me with long poles, until one of them ran me through with a sword. I fell.” She paused and closed her eyes.

“Then what happened?” Michael whispered. He reached out his hand and grasped hers. Erin opened her eyes and studied his face as she continued.

“In my dream, you and Bruce appeared. You fought them, and you picked me up and carried me away. You took me to your cabin. And you healed me.” Her eyes strayed to the picture of his cabin at Mt. Hood, and she looked at Michael’s hand holding hers.

Michael didn’t take his eyes from her. “Do you think the dream was real?”

She looked at him like he was crazy and pulled her hand away. “What do you mean, real? Sure, it was a real dream, but dreams are, well, all in your head.”

He turned around. “The other night Bruce dreamed that he was stabbed with a knife and you helped him. He still had a scar when he woke, too.”

Erin’s mouth dropped open.

“This doesn’t make sense, Michael. You told me you might have some answers—that you might know something about these dreams. I was really hoping you would tell me something. I was hoping you could help me. But you’re just giving me more questions.”

“I’m not sure you want to hear my answers,” he said.

“Are you telling me you have answers, but you won’t tell me what they are?” She turned around and walked toward the door. “I have to get back to work.”

He crossed the room and stood in front of the door, blocking her way. “Stop, Erin. It’s not that easy. You’ve had the answers all along, and for some reason you won’t let yourself see. If I tell you, you might just think I’m nuts. You might not believe me. It might not help.”

His eyes were earnest, almost pleading.

“Tell me what you think,” she said.

“I’ll just tell you this, and you can come to your own conclusions. When you dreamed I picked you up and carried you to the boat away from the shadows, I also dreamed I did that. I remember everything that happened in your dream, because I was there, too. When you dropped into the cavern to help Bagley and first met me, I dreamed that, too. I remember when you followed me to my cabin and held a knife to my throat.”

Erin backed away from him. She thought back, trying to remember those dreams. “How? How can that be?”

“It’s the way it is,” he said. He walked back into the living room and sat on the sofa.

She followed him. “Why?” she breathed.

“Fear, anger, hatred, guilt—these can become monsters inside of people. We are open to a whole different world in our dreams, and these shadows—mortifers—prey on the vulnerable. To put it simply, we help other people overcome their monsters.”

Erin sat down on the chair facing him. “We? Who? Does everyone do this?”

“No. There are many of us, but not enough.”

“That’s the answer?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She shook her head. “Then why the scar?”

“There’s a lot more to the dream world than imagination.”

“Are you saying it’s real?” she asked. This conversation was starting to seem surreal. It was frightening.

“It has its reality,” he said slowly.

She shook her head and closed her eyes.

“Most people who do what we do remember their dreams and know who they are. It doesn’t change daily life—at least not much. At least not often. I don’t know why you have such a difficult time remembering.”

What Michael was saying sounded ridiculous. They sat in silence again while she thought. If this were true, then Bruce really was injured a couple weeks back. And Michael actually had saved her life.

“Do you have any scars from your dreams?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Erin’s skin crawled as she thought about Michael’s scarred back. This couldn’t be true. She looked at him and shook her head, remembered his scent and the feel of his neck against her face. Did he remember how she had embraced him in her dreams?

She stood up. “I have to go.”

Michael looked at his watch and said, “You still have fifteen minutes. You’re running from me.”

She turned away. “I should get back.”

“Will you think about what I told you?”

She looked up at him. “It’s so strange.”

“Just think about it. I’ll take you back to work.”

They were silent in the car on the way back to the store as Erin grappled with what he had told her. He parked the car on the street in front of the store and turned to her.

“Anytime you want to talk, just give me a call,” he said. He smiled a twisted smile. “Even if it’s in the middle of the night, after a bad dream.”

“Thanks. But how do you know what you’ve told me is true? Don’t you question it?”

“I’ve lived this for years. There are many of us. You’re not alone.”

Erin’s brow knotted into a frown. “You might be crazy,” she murmured.