If I didn’t kill myself, they tried forcing me to choose. The methods they used...I shuddered. I wasn’t sure whose method was worse. Theirs or mine. In all my past lives I died horribly. I thought I understood the messages of the dreams—run. But if that was it, the dreams should have stopped. Instead, they’d changed. Two now had felt like a memory even though I hadn’t merged with anyone. The two about babies.
Last night’s second dream made my need to run sound like there was more at stake than just my death. Not that my death wasn’t important enough to keep my feet moving. That woman made it sound like I didn’t really have a choice.
If I hadn’t connected with any of the women, why would it feel like a memory? My brows rose as I realized whom I overlooked. The infants in the first unique dream. Of course. Six of them just like the six variations of past lives I kept dreaming about. In the first unique dream, they hadn’t been born; and in the second, the newborn hadn’t yet experienced her gift, the things chasing her, or much of anything, really. Perhaps that’s why I hadn’t connected.
So, if those two dreams were still memories, then what that woman said scared me. Would the world truly burn if those dog-men caught me? I shuddered remembering the feeling of the flames consuming my flesh. Thankfully, the searing pain had been cut short.
I stopped that thought and with wide eyes froze under the covers. A gentle hand had soothed me. The kiss. Had it been real? I tried to breathe as quietly as possible as I listened for any strange noises in the room. All I could hear was my own heartbeat. Scrunching my eyes for a moment, I braced myself for the worst. I took a deep breath and quickly sat up, looking around the room.
Everything remained as it had when I’d gone to sleep. The outside door remained securely bolted, and the bathroom door still stood open. I let out a large shaky sigh.
That touch, like the dreams, had felt real yet it hadn’t been a part of either dream. Rather, it was a fragment of the shift between them. That was one of the difficulties with sleep deprivation. The confused haziness between reality and imagination was hard to figure out. Well, that plus the headaches...
Flopping backwards, I scrubbed my hands over my face. Maybe my first inclination to question my sanity had been right. What if all of this was really in my head? I laughed at myself. Of course it’s in my head. But what if it was all just my imagination? That guy in the mall might have really just wanted the bathroom. And my physical reaction to him? Well, he was really good looking, and he had an accent. Who wouldn’t suffer a little tummy tickle over that?
What did I really have as solid proof that something was out there? I cringed. I didn’t have any. That just furthered my insanity theory. My poor Mom. And school. Exams were in a few weeks. I’d skipped so much school my grades were in the gutters. I had enough credits to graduate at semester if I passed my current class load. If I went back now and asked for help, I could still do it. Maybe. I’d probably still end up in a padded room for a while. But, the details of the dreams, and my ability to recall everything—touch, taste, smell—bothered me. It seemed so real. What if all those feelings were memories? If I went back home, would I be setting myself up for another non-choice...where I sacrificed myself?
With a sigh, I flipped back the covers and got out of bed. No matter what I chose, I needed to get dressed first. Padding across the carpet, I stepped into the bathroom to check my clothes. Dry, but stiff.
Dressing slowly, I mulled over my options. Home called to me. I had very little money left and nowhere to go. But I needed to be sure. I didn’t want to go back and bring trouble with me. This was a big enough town. I could find a job and wait out a few weeks. See if the dreams got better.
Gripping my jeans to pull them up, I felt a crinkle in the front pocket. Odd. I hadn’t felt anything when I washed them. Something dug into my hip when I tugged them up the rest of the way.
I reached into the pocket, and my fingers brushed something. Hard plastic. I dug deeper. Paper. A chill swept through me as I wrapped my hand around the items and pulled them out. I stared at the five neatly folded hundred dollar bills, a note, and a cell phone lying in my open palm for a moment before I instinctively dropped them on the tan bathroom tile. Nothing was mine.
The hand wiping the tear from my face...
Icy fear pierced my stomach, and I sat heavily on the toilet seat. With shaking fingers, I tentatively picked up the note. Each crackle as I unfolded the hotel stationary sent a shiver down my spine. The paper had nothing on it but a phone number. No. No way! How had he found me again? Could it be the same guy? I crumpled the paper and threw it in the garbage along with the phone.