Dark Side of Dawn: The Nightmare Chronicles (10 page)

“Promise me you won’t do anything,” he said softly, a gentler tone than he’d used outside of Amanda’s earlier, when he asked basically the same thing of me. “He’s not worth the trouble you’d get into.”

I couldn’t promise to not do anything. And part of me was perturbed that he asked. He would do something if he could. There’d be no stopping him. “I promise I won’t do anything to get into trouble.” I hoped.

He pulled me tight against him. “I mean it, Dawn. I don’t want to find out that you made him jump off the Brooklyn Bridge or in front of the six train.”

“I wouldn’t do that!” Death was too good and too quick for the sonuvabitch. And someone would have to clean the track up afterward.

I felt the tension ease from his body. “Good.”

“You don’t think much of my common sense do you?” I cast a wry glance at him.

He nuzzled his face against my hair. “Of course I do. It’s your sense of justice that worries me.”

I laughed—I had to. “
My
sense of justice? You’d beat the snot out of the guy if you had half a chance.”

“That’s different.”

“Give it up.” I scowled, but I was glad I hadn’t told him about meeting Durdan. “It is not.”

“Is too.” I could hear the grin in his voice and I could have smacked him for it. “Beating a guy up might land me in jail, but if you do something you could end up having your life altered forever. No one’s worth that.”

He was. That thought hit me crisp and clear. It was because of him that I did much of what I was doing. Sure, I did what I could for Amanda, but a lot of my motivation lay in trying to keep Noah from feeling responsible. Forgive me if I sound like a broken record, but I was really afraid that he was getting something
he needed from Amanda that he couldn’t get from me. It had nothing to do with sex or love. He could be all protective of her. She needed someone to look after her. I didn’t. Part of me couldn’t understand how Noah could just let that go, given how much he needed to be a hero of sorts.

I looked at him—really looked at him—and saw nothing in his earnest face that gave me any cause to doubt his feelings for me. He was mine and I had no reason to question that. So why did I feel I had to do so much for Amanda? Why did I personally take it upon myself to bring her attacker to whatever justice I could bring him to?

I guess Noah wasn’t the only one with a hero complex.

“I think I just fell a little more,” I whispered.

His eyebrows came together for a second, before smoothing out in understanding. He smiled that crooked smile that made my stomach do flip-flops. “I’ll catch you,” he promised, raising his hand to cup my cheek.

Then his lips were on mine and my last thought before I shut off my mind completely was that I hoped Noah would forgive me when he found out I lied. I really would try to stay out of trouble. But I had to do
something
.

And now I knew what.

Because of my unique abilities, I could consciously control my dreams right down to the last detail. Usually I didn’t do this because it really sucked all the fun out of dreaming—and really, I had issues to work out just like everyone else. Tonight, however, after leaving Noah, I put myself into darkness. It wasn’t a room or a box, or even a cave. It was just darkness—like standing in the sky on a night with no moon and no stars.

Then, with nothing to distract me, I focused on the information I’d taken from Amanda’s memory, and my own recollection of having seen Durdan in person. I concentrated on how he “felt” and followed that vague sense. Once I’ve met a person it’s relatively easy for me to latch on to their dream self. It’s hard to describe—it’s not exactly a feeling, or a taste, or a smell, yet it’s like all three. Let’s just say that every human has a signature within the Dreaming that makes someone like me able to track them down. So, once I got a whiff of Durdan, I picked up the trail and followed it with my senses until I located the point of origin. Then, I followed, until I let the darkness drift away and found myself standing inside a shop. His shop.

Polished, dark planks gleamed beneath my shoes. It was clean, not a dust bunny or speck of dirt to be found. A large counter in the same wood appeared before me,
complete with antique cash register. The debit/credit machine was new, however, as was the computer off to the side.

The rest of the interior filled in, and I stopped to take a look at my surroundings. And what I was surrounded by was dolls. A hundred faces ranging from stark white to chocolate brown stared at me from beneath glossy, fully styled hair.

When I turned the corner of one showcase, I noticed a young dark-haired boy sitting in a large leather armchair—one of two—not far from the large front window.

He had a doll in his hands. She was dressed like a flapper, complete with sequined headband around her shiny black bob. Her fringed dress had no doubt been beaded by hand. The boy peered underneath the skirt—and looked disappointed at what he found there. I almost smiled.

Footsteps from the back of the shop grew louder—
clomp, clomp, clomp
. They were heavy shoes—the kind with a thick heel, but I could tell from the brusqueness of the stride that it was a woman coming toward us.

“What are you doing?” she demanded in a harsh voice as she stomped over to the boy. “Sitting here, playing with dolls when there’s work to be done?” She snatched the doll from the boy’s hands.

The boy was silent. He didn’t even look at her. But it was obvious that they were mother and son—the resemblance was uncanny.

“I swear, you’re going to end up like your father.” She shook the doll in the boy’s face. “Did you look up her skirt?”

Her son still didn’t look at her, but he took the doll from her once again. He didn’t really have a choice, she was practically forcing it on him.

“Yeah, just like your father.” She sneered. “You’ll probably run off too some day and leave me to take care of this shit hole by myself. Don’t know what we’ll do when we run out of dolls.”

She glanced around the shop and her pinched expression gave way to one of calculated relief. “You know how to make dolls, don’t you?” She gazed down at the boy with a mixture of greed and contempt.

The boy nodded and she laughed bitterly. “Looks like you’ll prove more useful than he ever was.”

So this was where it started. She overpowered him, bullied him. That kind of experience—an overbearing, abusive female figure—was bound to have an adverse affect on a young man.

As if following my thoughts—which was impossible, wasn’t it?—the dream changed. When I turned my head to look at the boy again, the child had been replaced by a teenager—lanky and sullen. He still had
the doll in his hand, and the shop was much the same as it had been, though there were some different dolls on the shelves. These dolls were even more amazing than the others.

The woman was beside him now, touching him. She was older too, but still thin and attractive in a bitter kind of way. She stroked the young man’s hair and face in a way that made me feel like an eel was slithering down my spine.

“Come out back, little man,” she purred. “There’s something I need you to do for me.”

Shit. Not only a bully, but she molested him as well. He tried to shrug off her hands. “I’m busy.”

She made a sound like a sob. “Don’t you love your mama?”

Oh, this was so very twisted—like something off a soap opera. You know it can’t possibly be right, but you can’t change the channel.

The young man looked up, and suddenly he didn’t look so sullen anymore. He looked guilty and strangely eager. “Sure I do, mom.”

And she smiled prettily—her tears all gone—and offered him her hand, he took it, letting her lead him into the back of the store.

I didn’t want to stick around for what came next, but something compelled me to pick up the doll he’d left discarded on the chair. Her little beaded dress wasn’t
as pretty as it had been before, and it looked as though some of her hair had come out.

I froze. Some of her hair had come out. There was a small bald patch on her white skull.

Suddenly I knew I had to look under the dress. I didn’t want to—no way did I want to. Swallowing, I pinched the delicate silk beneath the beads and lifted. The side of my thumb brushed a powdery-soft thigh and I shuddered. This was seriously creeping me out.

Holding my breath I looked under the sparkling beads. Heat rushed to my head.

Someone had painted a realistic vagina between her legs. I didn’t need to guess who that someone was. He’d even attached pubic hair. From the appearance and the slight odor coming from it, I’d guess it was real pubic hair. Gross.

But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that her thighs were streaked with something the color of rust. I wanted to think it was paint, but I knew it wasn’t. Just like the pubic hair, I knew the stuff painted on this doll’s delicate thighs was real as well.

It was blood, and I was willing to bet it had come from his first victim.

If I were the heroine in a movie or TV show, I would have a friend at the police department to whom I could give the information I’d uncovered so far in Durdan’s dream. As it was, I didn’t know anyone in the department, except for Bonnie’s boyfriend, and I don’t really think I wanted to go down that road—even if there was a snowball’s chance he’d believe me.

I suppose I could pretend to be psychic, but I had my doubts that they’d believe that any more than they’d believe I actually went into the asshole’s dream.

Or maybe I could call in an anonymous tip, give them Phil’s name and the address of his shop. Tell them I had seen something weird, but that wasn’t a sure thing either.

What was a sure thing, was me.

So maybe I was acting in a “too stupid to live” manner by taking such a risk, but I couldn’t let this go. I wasn’t trying to be stupid. I just wanted to do the right thing.

And as long as I didn’t hurt him, everything would be okay.

I followed down the hall where Phillip Durdan and his mother had disappeared. I really hoped they were done with whatever it was they were going to do. But just in case, I sent a little nudge out into the Dreaming. When I opened the last door at the end of the hall, I crossed my fingers and hoped that time had moved on.

Phil was alone in what appeared to be a workshop. Doll parts were all over the place—it looked like an Alice Cooper stage show. He was washing something at a sink. I looked over his shoulder to see a length of red hair in his hand. The water running down the drain was brown. Blood.

He hummed as he worked, and I could feel the serenity of his mood. Whatever demons drove him were calm right now as he gently shampooed and conditioned his trophy.

I looked around—it was either that or try to take his eyes out with my fingers. On the table, a doll body was
laid out, a selection of clothing beside it. Its head was bald, waiting for the hair he cleaned, and would eventually style.

I glanced over my shoulder at Phil. He still hadn’t noticed me. I needed a moment. Needed to figure out how to do this. I already knew the best way to solve this was to convince him to confess. But how? My brain was whirling now, adrenaline started whishing through my veins. Verek and I had played around with shape-shifting—something most Dreamkin could do, but I’d never done it under this kind of pressure or circumstances. To be convincing I would literally have to become another person, not just a reasonable facsimile.

I could make myself look like one of his dolls, but he might like that. He wasn’t afraid of his dolls—they had no power. Ditto for his victims. If I turned into Amanda, he would probably look at her fondly. He certainly wouldn’t be afraid of a woman whose power he had already taken.

But what about the woman who had taken
his
power away?

Yeah, that would do it. But could I?

Time to find out if, like Morpheus, I could change my appearance so completely I became another person. Closing my eyes to better focus, I drew her out of his subconscious, her every expression, word and touch. I
let that essence flow over me, cover me, seep into me. I became her with surprising ease. I felt her venom. I felt every twisted little emotion.

Somewhere Jackey Jenkins twitched in her sleep as this aspect of myself leapt to life once more, gleeful at being released from its cage. I knew because I felt that little bit of her that still had my hooks inside it.

If every human had a Shadow archetype, this was mine. This was the part of me at home in the dark corners of the Dreaming. The part of me that knew what it could do and liked it.

I tried to push aside the pleasure I felt and concentrate on what I needed to do. I couldn’t harm him—I
wouldn’t
harm him.

God, I wanted to. I wanted to tear at him with razor teeth, remind him of the damage this woman had done. I wanted to fuck him up so badly he’d spend the rest of his life drooling and whimpering—trapped inside a never-ending nightmare. I could do it. I could make sure he was never the same again.

But I knew the better course would be to make him aware of the terribleness of what he’d done.

“You’ve been a very naughty little boy, Phillip,” I said in that smoke and glass voice I’d heard her use.

Phil stiffened, his shoulders snapping back. He didn’t turn and I tasted the tang of fear on my tongue. It tickled me like downy feathers in the sweetest spots.

I approached him, feeling my hips move in a haughty sway, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. She hated him. Hated him and depended on him. He represented everything she despised about her missing husband. And yet, Phillip looked so much like the man she had fallen in love with. Having him sexually was like having his father again. And it made sure he would never leave her—yet it made her despise him even more.

Shit, I couldn’t stay this woman for long. I shouldn’t have taken so much of her into myself.

My hands uncurled to come down on his shoulders. He was so warm and muscular beneath my palms. So deliciously young and strong. I was shorter than him in this form, but I felt as though I was ten feet tall. “Look at me, Phillip.”

He didn’t move.

“Phillip.”

Slowly he turned. I lifted my hands from him, running them down his arm as he came to face me. His face, which had looked average to me before, now looked so handsome and vital as his mother.

His
mother
. God.

“What have you been doing?” I asked.

“N…nothing.” But I saw the lie in his eyes.

I smiled at him. “Don’t lie to mama. I know about those girls.” It was the right thing to say, because Phillip’s face lost all color and his eyes grew very large.
They had fought about girls before. His mother didn’t like it when he looked at other girls. Didn’t want him dating other girls.

“No one wants you but me, Phillip darling.”
I heard her voice in my head as clearly as Phillip heard them in his own. She had told him that time and time again.
“I’m the only woman who loves you.”

Now I knew where Phillip got his particular brand of crazy. Not very professional of me, I know, but I wasn’t myself at that moment.

“I didn’t mean to…”

“Shhh.” I put my finger to his lips as he tried to explain, pushing so that I could feel the hard wall of his teeth behind the soft flesh. He trembled. “Don’t lie to me.”

He nodded—like his neck was stiff—and I took my finger away. Part of me wanted to wipe the moisture that clung there on my clothes, but I fought the urge. “Mama” wouldn’t do that.

“I couldn’t help it,” he said.

I smiled and patted his shoulder. “I know. You’ve never learned how to control yourself. I thought I taught you better.”

And the things this woman had taught him about “control” made my spine slither. Ugh.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Phillip.” As I spoke I combed my fingers through his hair. It would have been
a very maternal gesture from anyone else, but I felt menacing as I did it. “You’ve been a rotten little man, and now someone has to clean up after you—again.”

That slipped out of its own accord as I followed the dream as Phillip dictated. What had he done that she had to clean up after him in the past? How much did his mother know about his crimes? And why the hell didn’t she stop him?

Maybe because knowing gave her more power over him.

He hung his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it this time, Phillip.” I kept saying his name, knowing how he hated it. “This time you have to be a man and take responsibility.”

Faded eyes lifted and met mine. He looked like a scared little boy. “What do you want me to do?”

“You have to go to the police and tell them what you’ve done.”

He shook his head, jaw set mulishly. “No. I won’t. You can’t make me.”

“Phillip.”

He kept shaking his head as he pulled away from me. “No!” His face contorted into a mask of frustration and rage. “I won’t! I won’t!”

I slapped him—hard. My palm stung and his cheek blossomed with crimson. He was calm.

“You have to,” I told him. “I’m not cleaning up after
you this time. They know it was you. They’ll be easier on you if you confess.”

“They don’t know it was me.” He was shaking his head again. “No one knows.”

For a second, staring into those eyes, I knew true emptiness, and it terrified me. “The police know, Phillip.” I sought to take control again. “They found evidence. They know what you are.” It was a lie, but he didn’t know that. “They know what you did. You have to confess.”

If he shook his head again I was going to back hand him. He did. I did. It felt good—too good. I had to end this soon. “You will confess,” I said.

“No.”

I grabbed his jaw in my hand, forcing him to look at me as I snarled in his face. “You will, or I’ll tell them all about you. I’ll tell them what you did to me, you rotten little bastard.” And I knew as soon as the words left my lips that “Mama” was dead. I was very much afraid that Phil had killed her.

I bet somewhere in this workshop there was a doll wearing her face and hair too.

He was shaking now. Tears welled in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, you know that.”

That’s when I knew I had won. I let go of his jaw and wrapped my arms around him. “I know, baby. I know. Shhh. That’s a good boy.” I held him against me as he
sobbed into my shoulder, feeling far more self-satisfied than I should have. “You know how you can make it up to me, pretty boy. Don’t you? You know what will make me happy.”

He nodded, and when he lifted his head, his tears had stopped. He looked dejected, like a kicked puppy—or a sorry little boy.

“What are you going to do?” I asked softly, stroking his hair again. “What are you going to do for Mama?”

“Go to the police,” he replied hoarsely. “I’m going to tell them everything.”

And he would too. I smiled in pleasure and hugged him again. “That’s a good boy.” And then my lips were searching for his and I knew I had to get the hell out of Mama before this dream finished playing out.

I shucked her off as quickly as I could and left the dream. Phillip was too busy screwing his mother to notice my departure.

I woke up, my eyes snapping open in the darkness. I eased out of bed and headed for the bathroom. I needed a shower.

Problem was, I wasn’t sure if I would ever feel clean again.

Just before sunrise I heard Phil Durdan in my head. Whispering to his mother, he told her he would confess just as she wanted. Wasn’t he a good boy?

Before I could stop myself, I answered that yes he was—or rather his mother answered. It was me, but it wasn’t. I had been so convincing that when Phil sent out his little “prayer” to Mommy Dearest, I was the receiver. That creeped me out.

But, I wasn’t going to let weirding myself out ruin this good news! I jumped out of bed, cleaned up, put on a spectacular face, if I do say so myself, and hightailed it over to Noah’s.

He had sleep in his eyes when he answered the door, and his hair stood straight up on end. He never looked better to me. He left me in the kitchen and went off to shower with little more communication than a grunt. That was okay. I had woken him up after all, and it wasn’t even seven thirty yet.

I was pouring myself a cup of coffee when Noah sauntered back into the kitchen a little while later. He took one look at me and stopped in his tracks.

“What did you do?” he demanded.

I looked up from pouring him a cup from the carafe. “What do you mean?” My expression was all innocence, I was certain.

That I was guilty of something, however, seemed obvious to Noah. “You’re up before me and ready for work. And you made coffee. Either you’ve done something, or you’re not really Dawn.”

Since he’d already tussled with one faux me in the course of our relationship, it wasn’t really an odd thing for him to say. And having seen the pounding he gave that fake me, it wasn’t a big surprise when I caved.

“I talked Phil into confessing,” I blurted.

That explanation only made him look more bewildered—and annoyed. “Who the hell is Phil?”

I stirred cream into my coffee, unable to meet his dark gaze. “Amanda’s rapist.” I held my breath.

Silence echoed in the kitchen. Then, “You’re on a first name basis?”

I braved a quick glance at him. He was still as a statue, in nothing but Batman pajama bottoms and a frown. “Sort of.”

Suddenly, he was beside me, his hand on mine, stilling my stirring. “You’d better tell me all of it.
Now
.”

A deep breath later, I turned to him. “I didn’t hurt him. I didn’t do anything the Council could take me to task for.”

Noah closed his eyes and took a breath. When his eyes opened, he looked calm and serene. “What did you do, Doc?” He couldn’t be that mad at me if he was using his nickname for me.

“I went into his dream and sort of talked him into confessing.”

Noah’s jaw tightened. “Go on.”

“I pretended to be his mother and I convinced him that he had to confess.”

He stared at me. “You convinced him to confess by pretending to be his mother?”

I admit it sounded pretty farfetched. “Well, I sort of became her—as he saw her.”

His brow furrowed again. “Became her?”

I sighed. I needed a drink of coffee. I lifted my cup and took a sip. I could see his impatience, so I didn’t keep him waiting any longer. “I used residual dream matter from his subconscious and made myself into the perfect image of her. I even thought like her.” I winced at the memory.

Noah saw my reaction and reached for me. “You can do that?” And then, “Are you okay?”

I leaned into him and wrapped my arms around his waist. “Yeah. She was one sick woman. Her son’s worse.”

Warm hands rubbed my back. “And you’re certain he’s going to confess?”

I lifted my head to smile weakly at him. “As certain as a mother can be of her son.”

He didn’t share my humor, however dark it was. “You took a big chance.”

“It’s worth it if it works.”

When he didn’t immediately agree with me, I felt foolish, as though I was missing something.

“How did you know how to find him?” There was
a stillness to his tone, a hesitancy that told me he was bracing himself for the answer.