Dreamscape (15 page)

“Sure.” Sam shrugged. He slipped by Jackson and out the door. He glanced back over his shoulder with the look of wanting to question them, but thought better of it when he looked at Jackson. He followed his wife. Jackson smiled inwardly. Sam hated being left out of anything.

Callie waited until husband and wife disappeared down the hall. She drew in a deep breath and she stood up. “Don’t know what you want, Jackson, but I have a dinner to get to.”

He blocked her exit. “No, I don’t think so. What’s going on? Whose smiley in there?”

“Why the hell do you think it’s your business? You made it perfectly clear what you thought of our relationship, or lack of. So you gave up your right to ask anything out of me. Haven’t you taken enough?”

“What’s your problem? I thought we had something good. We were just taking it slow.”

“Slow? Slow, Jackson? That was you. You never asked me what I wanted. I was willing to be patient, but Jackson, you haven’t called, texted, emailed me since you left. Did it ever occur to you that I might have needed to hear from you?”

“I didn’t mean…Callie, I thought you knew. I have this case. It’s consumed all my time, all of it. I haven’t had any time for personal issues. I thought you’d understand.”

She shook her head. “Don’t give me that. It’s insulting, Jackson. If you really cared, really, you’d have made time. It wouldn’t have been something you had to think about. Jackson, you just don’t get it, do you? If I did matter to you, wouldn’t you have thought of me during the holidays? Did I hear from you? No. Better yet, I didn’t know you were back here in Tampa. Even if I was a fleeting thought, you’d have called to say you were in town. Again, nothing. Don’t worry, Jackson. Technically, it’s probably just a bit of jealousy seeing me with someone else. It’ll pass, probably as easy as when you left my bed and flew away.”

He reached out to stop her from leaving the room. She trembled at his touch and looked up at him. “Don’t.”

He let go. She brushed by him and out the door, leaving him to his thoughts.

* * * *

Jackson sat in his hotel room. He took a sip of coffee as he kept digging. The pieces in his mind began to fit together, but he found it hard to concentrate. His mind wandered, bothered by seeing Callie today. He hadn’t realized how he’d feel seeing her again. Like he’d gotten punched in the stomach. She’d been right in her assessment that he hadn’t called intentionally, but wrong in assuming he hadn’t wanted to. He told himself he’d done her a favor, but maybe he’d run from her. He didn’t want, nor was he looking for anything serious. She scared him. He could deal with work easier, chasing a serial killer, rather than dealing with his personal situation. She’d been correct. He’d taken the coward’s way out.

He yawned. The time grew late. He’d wasted enough time. He stared down at information on the Crandell murder, all the files spread across the floor. Under one of the murder files lay a file on Franklin, the recently deceased psychic Sam had used for years. He saw the look in Callie’s eyes. She didn’t believe in psychics, had no use for them.

Jackson had nicknamed Franklin Alligator Man. He had no doubt that Franklin had been the tiny man Ramona spoke of in her vision. He picked up the file and began reading. Interesting. He hadn’t even realized how detailed Alligator Man had been and how much he’d helped Sam. Jackson couldn’t put the file down, nor could he put his finger on what bothered him.

A nameless CD fell out of the folder. He studied it for a moment and placed it in his laptop. His screen showed Franklin in a hospital bed. His face bandaged. Sam had felt the need to film Franklin before he died. The poor guy had been in bad shape, his face ripped on the right side, his right ear set a tad lower than his left. That side of his face had no muscle tension—nerve damage. A patch hid the loss of his right eye.

Off screen, Sam carefully questioned him. “Is there anything else you can tell me, Franklin?”

Franklin’s response came in not much more than a whisper. “My time has come. My purpose is complete. Another will walk. You need to find her to catch this evil. Beware—looming on the horizon is a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled, one that doesn’t need to be forgotten. Find the Dream Walker before it’s too late.”

“I don’t understand, Franklin. You have to explain,” Caldwell said from behind the camera.

“All have to come together with her. The Seeker will find her in his search. The Pathfinder will stand tall.” His voice trailed off. Sam tried in vain to uncover more clues, answers. Franklin passed on in the still of the night, unable to give badly needed answers. Jackson felt he had more questions than when he’d first started.

* * * *

Jackson stepped onto the small porch not far from the dry dirt road that had led to his destination. His footsteps produced creaks. Earlier, he’d laid down, tried to rest. Unanswered questions tormented him, and sleep hadn’t come easily. The answers he sought brought him here, tired and weary, leaning his hand against the frame of the doorway. The house had long ago seen better days, old and decrepit now. The small box ranch house cried for attention, in dire need of repairs. White paint peeled away from the weather-beaten planks. A rusted and bent chain-link fence surrounded the small area, and a TV antenna leaned over the battered roof. Dog food containers, dog-dug holes, and garbage littered the dirt yard.

He waited only momentarily before walking around the house following a path into the woods. No more than a few hundred yards in he saw the river where Franklin got attacked. The sun filtered through the cloud-filled sky. Not normally how he would spend his Christmas day.

Brush and debris lined the bank of the river. No problem for an alligator to lie in wait for his prey. Franklin had to have known that alligators swam wild and free in the water. Not much anyone could do about it. The state of Florida protected its wildlife. Did Franklin believe that his dogs would have scared the predator away?

“Not unusual,” Sam had said, dismissing Franklin’s choice in leaving his house. “People do it all the time. It was a hot summer day. No air conditioning. Seemed like a good idea to Franklin at the time.”

Jackson walked back toward the house and surveyed the area. He shook his head. Not only had Franklin fought off an alligator attack, he’d trudged—had to be over a mile—to his next neighbor’s house. Jackson walked through the back gate. The back door was locked, but he easily wrangled the lock. Moments later, he entered the kitchen.

He tried the switch. No electricity. He opened the curtains. Dust swirled. The sink held two empty vodka bottles. Beer bottles lay on the counter; the fridge’s only occupant also a lone beer bottle. Unconsciously, he picked it up.

“You could say he had an issue that he was dealing with,” a voice said from behind Jackson.

Startled, Jackson dropped the bottle. It shattered over the old linoleum. Liquid oozed over the floor. Jackson spun around. An elderly woman stood in the middle of the room.

Her manner indicated no alarm at his presence. A petite woman with a delicate air about her, she’d pulled her dark hair back into a bun. Her outdated dress seemed clean but tattered on the hem.

She motioned Jackson to the living room and spoke in gentle tones. “I’ll clean that later. Not that it’d make much difference now, would it? Poor Franklin. Not much for tidying up. Never was.”

Apprehensive at first, Jackson followed, not wanting to admit her appearance had taken him by surprise. He found his voice. “I don’t believe I know you.”

A smile emerged on the aged face. “I suppose you don’t, which may leave you at a small disadvantage, for I know that you are Special Agent Jackson Dunn and why you’re here.”

Jackson stared at the old woman in an effort to read her thoughts. She moved a few newspapers off the couch so he could sit. Magazines and newspapers dating back decades cluttered the room. He took a seat on the old worn couch, coughed when a dust cloud materialized. The elderly woman sat on the rocking chair beside him.

“You know me? Who are you?” He choked back the dust.

“Does it matter? You say you believe in dream walkers and now you question how I know. You question, yet you search for the easy answer.”

“Easy answer?”

Her tone didn’t waver, and her face showed no emotion when she spoke. “Agent Dunn, you’re looking for a message from Franklin to explain how to catch the demon you’re after. You believe that it’ll give you the answers you seek. That’s why you came here.”

He glanced around the room trying to put the situation in perspective. The room itself seemed normal enough. Something wasn’t right, though. He sensed it.

“Take a good look. You don’t trust much,” she said. “Nothing wrong with that. But for the answer, remember there’s a price to pay. There’s always a price. Why do you think Franklin lived as a recluse?”

Jackson’s senses peaked. “I’m listening.”

She smiled again. “Good. Good.” She stood and walked over to the window, stared out at the front yard. “Consequences. In walking there is always a chance something could go wrong. Franklin got caught in one of his walks. Trapped, he saw and endured unspeakable horrors. You judge him by his addiction. It was the only peace he found after. When he was at his peak he was the best.”

For the first time she hesitated. “The one you need has done this before. She can walk where you need to go. Her fear has masked her ability.”

“Ramona? She has seen. She stopped an abduction, the killer.”

She shook her head. “Then you don’t understand,” she said firmly. The gentleness dissipated, replaced by an emotional tone. “To obtain your goal she has to overcome her fear.”

“Fear? Isn’t it natural? She lost her husband. She has a child to protect.”

“That’s no excuse to lose faith,” she stated emphatically. “She has fear of death, losing her life? Her child’s? One cannot lose what is not hers to lose.”

Jackson’s mind raced trying to put together the old woman’s words. “It is her life.”

Again she shook her head, disappointed. “Faith, Agent Dunn. Unquestioned faith. A belief that every life has a purpose. When that purpose is served, no matter how short or long, their time is fulfilled.”

He disagreed. “No one wants to die. Every instinct within us strives to survive.”

“Yes, Agent Dunn, in that you’re right.” She nodded. “We grow up God fearing. We believe in Heaven and Hell. We’re told that there is a life beyond this and if we stay the course we’ll be rewarded, that there is a better life without tears, a mansion of gold.”

She paused. Her eyes warmed. “But in life one’s instincts are to live, and with every breath one struggles to survive. Our character demands it. Our nature is one that values life. Life is precious. Even with our deep faith, one wants to live.”

“What are we supposed to feel then?”

“There is nothing wrong in striving to live, have love, family. To grow old with a partner in life. Life isn’t always like that; it’s full of challenges and decisions.”

She walked around the room, her gaze remaining on Jackson. “Think, Agent Dunn. If you ask a parent that has lost a child, no matter how much they want to believe that there is a better place, they want, yearn for their child to come back. There will always be an empty space, a hole that in this life can never be filled, not until it’s their time to move on. Yet they continue to live this life. They hurt, they ache, yet they live. Why?”

Jackson stood and walked over to the tiny woman. He took her by the shoulders. “I don’t have time for this. You want to tell me something. Tell me.”

“The answer,” she said, staring straight into his eyes, “isn’t in this world. One has to face what is given. To complete one’s purpose. To understand that no one has control over the rest of the world. To survive you have to have faith, unquestioned.”

He released his grip. “I don’t understand.”

She tilted her head, and a small smile appeared. “Faith to lead you to accomplish your purpose. Without it, Ramona will never be able to succeed, the Pathfinder will never be able to discover the path, and you, the Seeker, will never be able to find. You will need all.”

“Seeker? Me?”

Her hand extended and caressed his cheek as a mother would her child, a grandmother, her grandchild. “Answers drive you. Answers about crimes, your father, your mother.”

“My father? Mother? What do you know about them?”

The old woman backed away, turned her head as if she’d heard movement in the distance. A wind blew; its gust caught her hard and pushed her against the wall. Jackson struggled to keep his footing. The wind wailed. Furniture scraped across the floor.

“What the hell?” Jackson fell to the floor, scrambled to the side of the room, and yelled, “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

With one look at the old woman’s face, Jackson realized the trouble that encompassed him. Her breathing heavy, she stood frozen against the wall in anticipation. She gazed straight ahead. As if to herself she said, “Damien. He must have jumped.”

“Jumped? Who? What do I need to do? Damn it. What do I do?”