Rock Star (Dream Weaver #2) (11 page)

             
A raven perched on a branch overhead, his eyes surveying our progress down the ravine. He clicked and cackled at us. His voice reminded me of the little red squirrel I’d seen down here. But—did I really see it? Did I really come down here before Christmas? So much of that time was still a jumbled mess in my head.

             
Finally, I broke the silence that swirled around us like a melting breeze. “Can Caphar turn into animals?” I asked.

             
Nick didn’t laugh. He already knew where this was coming from. “No. Sometimes, they—we mask the memory of our presence by showing you something in nature. Something you’re less inclined to be frightened by.”

             
“I didn’t really bring Eddy down here before Christmas, did I?”

             
“No. You were right. We found traces of you and Thomas in the compound and out in the barn. He manipulated your memories of this place to throw us off.”

             
“I love it down here.” Dead Man’s Creek lured me in when my parents first moved us out of Spokane. Its swaying Ponderosas and shady service berry bushes; the meandering creek that drew deer, porcupine, moose, even bear, was a sparkling adventure to a city girl like me. “I wish he hadn’t tainted my memories of the creek. I feel like I constantly have to look over my shoulder, now.” I thought for a moment as I scanned the muddy bank of the creek. “You can’t, like, remove those images, can you?”

             
“I could.”

             
“But?” I could hear it in his voice.

             
Nick tucked a stray hair under my cap. “Do you remember I told you that every memory is a gift?”

             
“Yeah yeah,” I sneered. “Even the bad ones.”

             
His smile was sad. “Yes. Even the bad ones. Our memories make us who we are, teach us how to behave when an situation is repeated in our lives. Those memories are connected to others. To remove them would leave holes. And not just in your memories but in your reactive learning.”

             
I quirked up the side of my mouth and nodded. “I understand.”

             
“I can, Em. If you really want me to. I just want you to know the truth of what happened, not something I or anyone else manipulated.”

             
“No. You’re right. I suppose that’s the difference between you and them, isn’t it?”

             
Another sad smile. “It’s one of the differences.” He was quiet a moment, his gaze deep and internal, wounded and aching. “But that’s what I ended up doing to you, isn’t it.”

             
It wasn’t a question, like he was asking me if that’s how I saw it. I bit my lip. It
was
what he’d done to me–manipulated and erased my ‘precious’ memories.

             
“Emari. I’m so…”

             
“Don’t! No more apologies.” My anger flared like a match.

             
“But what does that make me?”

             
I huffed a laugh. “I’d say human, but that doesn’t quite apply, does it?”

             
“No,” he said. “Not quite.”

             
“I think—it makes you a man,” I declared.

             
His arms wrapped around me again and his heart thrummed in gratitude against my own. Eddyson plowed into hole in the bank and got stuck. His whimpers brought us out of the tiny universe that held just us two, and back to the world at large. Nick mucked through the puddles, soaking his jeans to the knees in grey sludge to retrieve my wayward dog.

             
“Let’s get you two home and cleaned up,” I suggested.

*          *          *

              Nick sparkled out of the carport while I went inside and peeled off my own wet clothes and put on clean ones. Then, I trotted downstairs to the basement. The washer wafted steam as I added some soap and shut the lid. As I withdrew my hand, I caught a shadowy movement in my peripheral vision. I whirled around and gasped. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

             
He towered over me, head and shoulders, though with my measly five foot two inch stature, that wasn’t so hard. His face was leathered, his eyes sunken pits of tar that captured innocent prey and drew them to their death. A fine angry-red scar ringed his throat like a scarlet lace choker. The last time I saw those eyes, they were glaring up at me from a disembodied head.

Chapter 13 Fake Friends

              Thomas.

             
I calculated my chances of escape. Nil. I could scream. But Thomas saw the thought that registered in my brain and before I could blink, in a wizard-black flurry, he was at my side; his skeletal hand clamped over my mouth.

             
“Tut, tut, my young one,” he crooned. “There is no one to hear you scream. Now, shall we take a little ride, just you and I?” I shook my head. I really,
really
did not want to go anywhere, especially with him. “I have a friend who is most anxious to meet you.” Thomas thrust lascivious thoughts into my brain, and I shuddered despite the heat of his body pressed against mine.

             
“Shall we go then?” He pushed me toward the door. I reached to touch the door knob in hopes of leaving some remnant of panic behind for Nick to find, but Thomas maneuvered me away. “Oh, no. No leaving clues for your boys to find.” He opened the door and swiped the knob with his sleeve, like a burglar wiping away his fingerprints. He pushed me out the door and up the steps to the back yard, his hand still clamped my mouth shut. The inside of my cheeks shredded against my teeth, and a trickle of warm copper spread across my tongue. We crunched through the crust of snow and frozen brush toward Highway 206 that edged the South perimeter of my property. A dark panel van, a shadow against the wintry dusk sky was parked and waiting.

             
The headlights of an approaching car grazed across us as we neared the van, then the blare of brake lights lit the darkness. The warning alarm dinged anxious chimes as the driver got out and left his door gaping.

             
“What’s going on?” he yelled as he rounded the front of the van.

             
I felt Thomas’ glee at torturing this innocent human, a simple good Samaritan who’d risked his life for mine. I struggled against Thomas’ steely grip, shook my head, pleaded for him to please not hurt this man. Thomas only sneered.
No! Please! Don’t hurt him! I’ll go! Just leave him alone!
But the Wraith’s chortle thrummed against my back. My would-be rescuer’s eyes went blank, then flooded with horror. Vague images of the man’s worst nightmares spilled from Thomas to me. The driver stared in terror then ran back to his car and sped away in flurry of gravel and road salt.

             
The side door of the van slid open from the inside and a strangely familiar face peered out at me. How did I know this man? The image of his sandy blonde hair and blue eyes were filed away somewhere in my brain, but I couldn’t locate the file.

             
“Emari, my darling. Greetings. So kind of you to join us this balmy evening.” The blonde feigned amity and oozed danger. “I have waited a long time to meet you, my dear. Come, join me.”

             
I remembered what I heard a guest on the Oprah show say one time, about not letting an abductor take you to a second location, because that generally meant you were going to die. I placed my foot on the door frame as if to get in of my own free will, but instead I used it as a launching pad. I thrust myself away from the van and twisted and struggled in Thomas’ grasp.
If only I could phase away like Nick.
His hand dropped from my mouth and I drew in a breath to scream, but his boney fingers wrapped around my throat. Blood hummed through my ears and pounded behind my eyes. Tiny guttering stars swam at the edges of my vision. The blonde man grabbed my wrists and dragged me into the van like a roll of carpet, scraping my thighs on the way through the door. Thomas hopped in behind me and slammed the door behind him.

             
“Tie her up,” said the blonde.

             
Thomas slid plastic ties out of his pocket and wrapped them around my wrists in front of me. The plastic sliced into my skin as he jerked them tighter. I protested, but he gave me a withering glare.

             
“Now, drive, Thomas.” Thomas squeezed between the seats to the cab of the van and started the engine. He spared an extra derision for me when he glanced over his shoulder to check traffic.             

             
“Who are you? What do you want?” Recognition still niggled at the outskirts of my memories.

             
“Forgive my poor manners, Miss Sweet. I am William Grey,” he said with gallant not of his head, “a long time ‘friend’ of your boys, Sabre James and Nickolas Benedetti.”

             
‘My boys.’ I liked the sound of that. I scrabbled in my memories trying to remember any reference to a William. The image of his face skittered through my thoughts, but I couldn’t quite grasp it and hold on.

             
“And?” Feigned courage and a little snark twisted the word.

             
“And, since Thomas was so inept at destroying them the last time, I have come to finish the job myself.”

             
“Yeah? So what do you need me for? Surely, a Wraith as powerful as you doesn’t need to resort to using young women as bait.”

             
William kneeled in front of me and traced my jaw line with his finger. “Aw, but you see, there is more than just death that I want from you three. Where Thomas failed, I will succeed. I am aware of what covetous gifts you all have. Especially you.”

             
Sabre had the theory that I was a burgeoning Dream Weaver, and that once I became a full-fledged Caphar, I would have the ability to see the future and not just the past. I had my doubts. There was nothing special or extraordinary about me. I was just me, and my life was a hot mess. But the guys, ‘my boys’, and even now William, believed they saw something more in me.

             
The van fell into silence as each of us contemplated our own private thoughts. I could feel the loathing rolling off of Thomas in palpable waves. William just sat, silent and still, the hint of a smile tugging the corners of his mouth. Without the use of my hands, I couldn’t hold on. My body rocked and slammed around the inside of the cargo bay. By the time we reached our destination, somewhere near downtown Spokane, my arms and legs were battered and bruised, and three lumps bulged on my head. I was sure Thomas took the corners so sharply for the sole purpose of damaging me, and William snarled at his reflection in the mirror. My body ached and my head throbbed; and fear gushed ice-cold through my veins. A single quiet sob lurched in my chest. Geez! I was so tired of being scared.

             
Thomas pulled to a stop, then shifted the van into reverse. I toppled over once more, as he backed down a ramp into a dark tunnel. An old Wonder Bread sign flashed by, just before the van was enveloped in darkness. Thomas mercilessly dragged me from the van and hauled me into the deserted bakery. The place still smelled of yeast from decades of fresh bread baked in its now-cold ovens. A thick layer of dust covered every flat surface. The room was gloomy and still, save one small area illuminated by an LED lantern that shed a penumbra of light around two camping chairs in the center.

             
“It ain’t much,” said Thomas, shoving me into a chair, “but it’s home.” I sank into the hammock-like chair. My feet dangled inches above the floor like a toddler sitting in Daddy’s seat.

             
I had no doubts what Thomas would do to me if William wasn’t there. His overflowing memories weren’t difficult to read. I wondered if he was the one who planted the idea of rape in Rico DeLaRosa’s mind; used him as a pawn in his diabolical end game. Thomas just
felt
like the source of it all. But more than that, he wanted me to die—and he wanted me to die suffering the most excruciating pain he could conjure. I wondered what I’d ever done to him to make him hate me so much. Was I just collateral damage in his war against Nick and Sabre? Guilt by association? But who were the bad guys here anyway? Maybe Thomas and William felt justified in their hunt of the boys, just as Nick and Sabre felt justified in their hunt of Thomas and William. But my boys didn’t terrorize people’s dreams and suck out their sanity. My boys didn’t strip other Caphar of their gifts for their own personal gain.

             
William kneeled in front of me. His long, cold fingers wrapped around my thighs and dug into the tender bruises from my ride in the van. I winced and he chuckled, but released his pressure on my legs.

             
“Miss Sweet…”

             
Images pounded so forcefully into my mind, I gasped for breath and choked out a whimper.

             
A ten year old William ran among corn rows playing chase with his beautiful, blonde little sister. The siblings ran and tagged each other until they both collapsed on the sandy banks beside a tumbling creek, gasping for breath. The girl’s flaxen hair fanned out across the sand; her gleaming blue eyes stared into the sky.

             
“Look at that one, there, Willie. It looks like a elephant,” the sister proclaimed.

             
“You’ve never seen an elephant. How would you know?” the young William protested.

             
“Have too,” she argued.

             
“Have not.”

             
“Have too.”

             
“Fine. Where did you see this elephant?”

             
The girl was quiet and thoughtful. “On a handbill in the city when I went with papa.”

             
“Doesn’t count. That’s only a picture of an elephant.”

             
“Does too count. ‘cause a cloud elephant isn’t a real elephant either.”

             
William had to concede defeat. But rather than letting her jubilate in her win, he scurried to the edge of the creek, gathered a handful of icy cold water and splashed her with it.

             
“William Alexander Grey!” she screamed, sitting up in shock. “You got my pinafore wet. Mama’s gonna tan your hide.” But William’s cunning little sister jumped to her feet and shoved William into the creek. William stood dripping as she giggled and ran away.

             
“Sarah Rose! I’m going to make you pay for that!” But William was laughing. The love for his beautiful little sister, who was also his only and dearest friend, calmed his brotherly rage.

              “Sarah Rose,” I breathed. “She was your sister?”

             
William’s fingers wrapped around my throat. I thrashed and scratched at his arms with my bound hands. “Do not ever speak her name,” he hissed between his teeth. “Your ‘friend’ Sabre killed her. And I’m going to make him pay.” That seemed to be his universal slogan. My airway was crushed in his grasp and blood throbbed in my head. I flailed and clawed for my life as darkness pulsed on edges of my vision. Asphyxia loomed like the reaper, but William thrust me away against the chair before the darkness could consume me. I clutched at my throat and gasped for air.

             
“Sabre didn’t do that,” I croaked out, the words minced my throat as they wheezed through.

             
“I
know
he did. Thomas was a witness to the killing.”

             
“Then Thomas is lying,” I told him.

             
Thomas stepped into the aura of light as the words spilled from my mouth. He stepped up to me and backhanded me across the face. Sparks flared in my eyes.

             
“No,” he said, “Thomas is not lying. Sabre took the life of Sarah Rose. Now, he can forfeit his own.”

             
“But I’ve seen…” I started but Thomas raised his hand to slap me again. I stuffed the argument back into my mouth. Sabre hadn’t killed Sarah Rose. I’d seen the memories of him finding her dead, as they leached out of him during his ‘rock star’ weave. The agony that twisted and stripped his soul bare, was s0 vivid and profound. I knew how broken his heart was, not only at her loss, but the loss of the friendship he had with William; the man he considered his brother and kindred spirit all those years ago. Of course, Sabre might have manipulated those memories for his own benefit, done something to them so anyone who happened to see them only saw what he wanted them to see. And I couldn’t claim that Sabre was not a killer. He’d killed plenty of Rephaim over the years. But he didn’t make a habit of killing the innocent. Only the guilty. Only the evil, that savaged Caphar and human-kind alike.

             
Something like doubt skittered across William’s face, but vanished behind his usual frown. For a moment, just one tiny, fleeting moment, I thought, maybe he wondered about the truth; that he missed his old friend, too. Perhaps, the inkling that he’d sided himself with the wrong Caphar, turned Wraith in vengeance, trickled through his mind. But, he turned and walked away. “Keep a close eye on her,” he said. Then, over his shoulder, “and don’t touch her again! She’s mine!” His shadow melted into the darkness.