Weaver of Dreams (13 page)

Had she imagined the man in the gray hoodie?

God help her, maybe she really was losing her mind from the lack of sleep for all these months. A couple of good nights didn’t make up for months of sleep deprivation. A prickle of unease crawled over her, making goose bumps pebble her flesh.

Had she imagined him at the high school too?

Oh Lord, maybe she really was cracking up.

Leigh gave Maggie a hug, patting her back. “You sure you’re going to be okay, Maggie?”

Maggie forced a weak smile and nodded. “Sure.”

“I could cancel my dinner meeting, if you want. We could go to dinner instead or better yet, we could make a night of it and go to dinner then a movie.”

She couldn’t let her friend do that. “I already took you away from work earlier today to come shopping with me. I’ll not let you cancel your plans for tonight.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I know, but seriously. Go. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Now go silly.”

Leigh appeared to weigh her options. “Okay,” she finally acquiesced. “You take care of yourself. All right?”

“I always do.” Maggie forced what she hoped would be a reassuring smile. The look on Leigh’s face told her it wasn’t.

“Go, Leigh,” Maggie said when Leigh didn’t move. “I’ll be okay. I just need a good night’s sleep.”

Leigh gave her another hug. “Okay then. Call me soon.”

“I will,” Maggie promised, then watched Leigh head to her vehicle after a quick wave goodbye.

During the brisk walk out to her car, paranoia crept up Maggie’s spine. As she climbed in and started the engine, her spidey senses went off, making her heart beat hard against her ribs. She pulled from her parking space and headed for home. Knuckles going white, her hands tightened on the steering wheel.

She glanced into the rear view mirror. Behind her at the light sat a blue BMW. Behind that, a white sports car revved its engine—as if that would make the light change any faster.

Anxiety made her tap her finger on the steering wheel. Why was this light taking so long? She just wanted to get home, behind the safety of her locked door.

The episode earlier left her rattled. She’d been sure the weirdo from the high school peered through the large window at the dress shop. She couldn’t mistake those eyes, those haunted, dead eyes. Just thinking about them sent a shiver down her spine.

Her eyes darted from side-to-side, watched for any sign of the beat-up green car. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, her gaze returned once more to the rearview mirror.

“No way!”

She squinted, trying to focus harder. No. It couldn’t be.

There, four cars back, sat a car with faded green paint. She couldn’t see the sides to know if they were rusted through, but she’d bet her life it was the same car from earlier.

Fear made her heart pound faster in her chest. She wasn’t crazy. She was being stalked.

Maggie glanced at the stoplight. Still red! Why wouldn’t this light change?

She was at the head of the line. Once it turned green, she’d floor it.

Her eyes darted back to her mirror.

Wait, the green car had disappeared. Where did it go?

Maggie turned around in her seat to look. The blue BMW and white sports car were there as was the red minivan, but the green car was nowhere to be seen. She turned her head from side-to-side searching for any sign of the vehicle.

On the sidewalk, a mother carried her tow headed child. Across the street, a couple locked lips in a very public display of affection. Her eyes roamed the area, looked for anything unusual.

Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, she realized reluctantly, turning back around to sit in her seat.

She took a few deep, calming breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In. Out.

The sound of a horn behind her made her jump and Maggie looked up at the light.

Green.

“At last!”

She punched the gas and knew a moment of relief. Now that she was on the move, Maggie could relax a little. She simply wanted to get home—wanted to feel safe.

She’d been sure the green car had been behind her at the light, than it disappeared. “Just as I was sure the guy in the gray hoodie had been staring at me through the store window before the security guard didn’t find anyone,” she reminded herself.

Could she be cracking up? Had she imagined the man and his car? If she had imagined him, she had done so on three separate occasions. That couldn’t be a good sign in regards to her sanity.

Didn’t she read somewhere people who were crazy didn’t know they were crazy? Maggie hoped that was the case. If so, it was a good sign she thought she might be going crazy.

Okay, now
that
sounded insane.

Her thoughts jumbled in her mind, going round and round like clothes in a dryer. She needed to focus, but she’d lost the ability to focus months ago when she stopped sleeping through the night.

She really needed some sleep, she supposed. A few good nights of sleep would help. It would definitely keep her from seeing things.

If
she was seeing things.

Having reached her driveway, Maggie exited her car, glancing over her shoulder as she did so. Yep, just as she hoped, no green car or man in a gray hoodie.

A relieved sigh escaped her lips.

The trip to her front door was a short one. Her legs went at a pace just slower than a run, sending her open coat flapping behind her as she went. Maggie clutched her purse to her chest and kept her eyes darting from side-to-side as she moved, while she fished her keys from the purse.

With a shaky hand she unlocked the door, and entered her home on swift feet. A quick kick of her foot behind her and the door closed with a solid thunk. She’d made it home safe and sound. Of course, it would be safer with the door locked.

She turned around to lock the deadbolt, but found her movement hindered. Panic flooded her body. Something had her coat.

As a scream left her throat, Maggie flung the jacket off her arms and ran at a full sprint into the kitchen. She riffled through the drawer until she found the largest butcher knife she owned.

Holding it in both hands, she stood still and listened. Waited.

Any second now something, someone would come around the corner after her.

She shifted her weight to the other foot. Her heart raced, whether from the run or from fear she wasn’t sure which.

Her fingers clutched the knife, trepidation tightening her grip. The fat blade shook in her hands.

All was quiet. Too quiet.

Maggie didn’t hear anything moving.

She put one foot in front of the other, slowly made her way out of the kitchen. Walking as quietly as she could, she headed for the door. Thank goodness she recently carpeted the wood floors so they no longer squeaked.

She turned the corner into her entryway. Surprise made her straighten her spine as Maggie lowered the knife to her side.

Her coat hung suspended by its hem from the door. In her haste, she must have closed the damned thing in the door.

She laid the knife on the credenza, mentally chastising herself for her stupidity and allowing her imagination to run away with her.

After removing her coat from the door, she closed and locked the thing forcefully. How could she have been so stupid? She’d panicked, like some scared little girl.

On her way back to the kitchen she grabbed the knife.

Tossing her jacket over one of the wooden chairs at the kitchen table, Maggie put the knife down on the counter. Her stomach chose that moment to growl and her hand splayed over the noise. Incredulity rolled her eyes when she realized she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.

Maggie pulled a meal from the freezer and popped it in the microwave. When the timer dinged, she laid it on the table. Grabbing some silverware and a glass of wine, she sat down to eat.

Each bite seemed bland and tasteless, while she ruminated about her day. Had she imagined the stalker? She glanced out the kitchen window to be sure. Only her car and lawn were visible. No stalker. No rusty green car. Was her mind playing tricks on her?

She obviously imagined that something had grabbed her coat. Was it possible she also let her imagination run away with her at the shop and the stoplight?

Didn’t sleep deprivation make you see things? She vaguely remembered seeing a TV show about how people who were sleep deprived suffered hallucinations. So maybe she was hallucinating. She definitely suffered from chronic sleeplessness.

Her fork stabbed the plastic plate and she looked down to find her entire meal eaten. How had that happened? She didn’t remember the meal at all.

Boy, she
really
needed some good rest. Maggie scrubbed a tired hand down her face, drawing the skintight.

She glanced over at the clock on the microwave. 7:57 p.m. If she went to sleep now, she would get nine hours of sleep. That would surely help.

Wow, nine hours, what a concept. But knowing her, she would probably wake up after only a few hours of sleep.

Unless . . .

Maggie looked over on the counter. A bottle, which promised a restful night’s sleep, sat next to her vitamins.

She didn’t like to take the sleeping pills, because she found it difficult to wake up the next morning, which explained why the bottle sat mostly full, despite the fact her doctor had prescribed them over a month ago. But a few nights, like tonight for instance, she just needed a good night’s sleep and they were a great way to get one.

She poured a glass of water and downed one of the pills.

Leaving the few dishes in the sink to deal with in the morning, she passed through the living room and trotted down the hall. After a quick shower, she dressed in her nightgown then crawled into bed.

Maggie settled under the sheets, and drew them up under her chin. The languor of the drug and the lassitude from her warm shower combined with the feel of the cool sheets to pull her under. She would not need the TV to occupy her mind tonight. Sleep called to her, begging her to come into its open arms.

Grateful slumber had come, Maggie closed her eyes, and allowed the blissful darkness to take her.

Amnon emerged from the portal into the woman’s room. She lay in her bed with the covers pulled up to her chin, sleeping peacefully.

That is about to change.
A wicked grin took his face.

He stalked to the bed on silent feet. Alighting on the edge of the mattress, he reached his arm out before him. His magick emanated from his hand in a soft glow. Amnon felt the connection to her mind snap into place through his magick. He braced for the emotional feed, anticipating the magnificent sensation that would come as her emotions washed over him.

He took a deep breath . . . waited . . . waited.

Nothing came.

He sensed only blackness. A stark nothingness. She did not dream of anything.

Impossible!

Unless . . .

Amnon pushed into her mind, accessing her memories. He watched them play like a movie in reverse. She got ready for bed. She showered. She took a pill.

Hold up
.

He paused on the memory of her holding a pill bottle in her hand, noted the name of the prescription. It was a sleeping pill. Had he really gotten so lucky?

He pulled from her mind. The soft light from his hand faded, leaving the room in darkness. After turning on the light next to her bed, the Dream Stalker pried open one of her eyes. It rolled back in her head. He opened the other eye, noting it too was nothing but white.

Oh this was just too good to be true.

He needed to be sure.

Amnon clapped his hands together next to her ear. She didn’t stir.

Next he pulled one of her hands from underneath the comforter. Holding it high above the bed, he let it drop. It bounced when it hit, but the woman still did not move.

“This is perfect,” he remarked aloud, rubbing his hands together. “The woman’s out cold and, thanks to the sleeping pill, she’ll stay that way no matter how horrible the dream I give her is. I can feed for hours on her fear and hatred, and there’s nothing she can do to stop me.

“I’ll be invincible!”

Looking down on her, he noted her eyes started to dash back and forth under her lids. Sending his magick out from his hand, Amnon pushed into her mind to find her dreaming of a dreamscape that looked bright, a vivid mix of colors very similar to his world. He couldn’t help but wonder if Zane had been playing here, manipulating her dreams, because he knew he’d never shared his world with her.

The woman’s happy thoughts as she danced through the meadow were not going to get him the strength he wanted, so Amnon took control and ruthlessly stripped most of the colors from the landscape. They bled down, changed to dark gray as they melted away.

A bed formed underneath her, rising from the melting colors to meet her. The stalker forced her onto the bed he created, mentally holding her on the mattress when she struggled to rise.

Her fear was like a tiny sip of water—refreshing, but he needed more.

Amnon watched Maggie struggle against her invisible restraints, her arms and legs thrashing about. Careful to remain out of her sight, he looked down at the woman from behind the headboard, and watched her strain her muscles in an ineffectual attempt to rise.

She gave it a valiant try
, he thought.
Valiant, but futile
. Her fear grew by small increments with each passing moment of her restraint, but it wasn’t near enough.

Foster had been a feast and this woman was barely a snack right now. He needed more. Wanted more.

At Amnon’s behest, a spectral figure, as large as the bed, appeared over the woman. It placed one skeletal hand on the headboard, the other on the baseboard, and leaned down over Maggie.

Amnon knew the moment she saw its hooded face, for she let out a scream that would have awakened the dead. Luckily for him, it didn’t wake her.

Her eyes went wide with fright. Her mouth opened to scream again. This time, Amnon stopped the scream in her throat because he knew the inability to make a sound would add to her terror.