Dreamscape
By Chistie Rich
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Barnes
& Noble Edition
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Dreamscape
Netherworld Book I
Copyright © 2013 by Christie
L. Rich
Edited by
Kristina Circelli
Cover Art by
Amber McNemar
Formatting
by
JT Formatting
Published by Tarser Publishing
All rights reserved. This book is protected under the copyright laws of
the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the
material or artwork herein is prohibited. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic, digital, mechanical, photographing, screen-capturing,
recording, or otherwise, or delivered via the Internet or a web site without
prior written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations
for the purpose of critical articles and reviews, or as is provided explicitly
by the sharing features of this application.
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events; to real
people, living or dead; or to real locales are intended only to give the
fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Names, characters, places, and
incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is
entirely coincidental
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To every reader who takes a chance on
my books. I am so thankful for you!
May your lives be full of blessings
and happiness, and may you be blessed to live many lives through the books you
read. I know I do.
Varner’s voice cuts through the
front door just before three juddering bangs reach me. “I know you’re in there,
Amelia. If you’re not gone by eight, I’m coming in.” His voice lowers, probably
to avoid wandering ears. My spine stiffens more with each word. “You’d better
be ready for me if you decide to stay.”
I’ve already packed my stuff.
Pitiful as it is, one beat-up suitcase sits by the door.
“Amelia!”
I turn up the volume on my MP3
player until it won’t go any higher, clutching Justine’s picture to my chest.
“Yeah!” I yell, my voice tight with anger. Hot tears cut a path down my cheeks.
I scrub them away before they can slide any farther. To take my mind off the
pit in my stomach, I grit my teeth until my jaw hurts. I need more time, but
I’m not about to give Varner what he wants for it. “I got it. Go! Away!” I pull
one bud out of my ear to make sure he’s leaving.
He says something about not signing
leases with old ladies before his voice fades into nothing. The lecher thinks
he’s got me.
Ha. No one has me, especially not
him. And to think I used to consider him cute.
When I told Varner ‘no’ earlier, he
didn’t exactly take me at my word, until I landed a good hit to his jugular. He
shoved me down, and I let him go. On his way out he made no pretense about
eyeing what’s left of Justine’s china doll collection. The minute he was
through the door, I smashed the majority of them rather than have him get his
hands on them. I really don’t have room, but I couldn’t destroy her favorite.
She said it looked just like me.
I sold everything else to make last
month’s rent, but I ran out of time with the dolls. I was hoping for a
collector.
It doesn’t matter now.
Even though I’ve tried to pick up
extra shifts at the diner, tips have been awful. I have two hundred bucks in my
account, which Varner is not getting a penny of. I need everything I have to
find a place to live. The reality of the moment sets in. This is my final night
in Justine’s apartment.
The shabby place shouldn’t mean
anything to me, but it still smells like her. She had this sweet perfume that
she liked to slather on. I got used to it after a while. She wasn’t exactly
old, either. Varner’s just too strung out to know the difference. He doesn’t
even own the place, but he’s way better to deal with than his psychotic uncle,
who likes to call me his chipmunk when nobody else is looking. One way or
another, I’ll be out of here by six.
Justine used to say, “Stay sharp,
kid. No one knows when their time’s up.” Well, she sure didn’t. Justine was my
grandma. She died last month at only fifty-eight. She didn’t even get a lousy
funeral. They stuck her in a furnace and handed me her remains. I took her up
Provo canyon to Sundance and watched her float away on the wind. The cremation
was expensive enough that I couldn’t afford a separate plot for her. I couldn’t
have brought myself to visit the cemetery anyway. Besides, we all crumble to
dust one way or another. She is better off flying.
No matter what my life becomes,
Justine saved me from tumbling around the foster system. I had a few years of
stable, and I’ll never forget what she did for me. She helped me to see there
are other ways of living. Although we didn’t have much to live on, we were
never short on love.
I miss her fiercely. If she were
here, she’d tell me to get over it, so I’m trying.
Thank my lucky stars she waited
until I got my diploma to ditch me; although, I’m not quite sure how it’ll help
me now. I’m alone in this world.
My mom only made it to twenty-one
before she overdosed on crack. My dad lasted to a ripe old age of thirty. He
got killed in some weird accident when I was twelve. I never saw him anyway, so
my life hasn’t been much different since he bit it. As far as I know, he was
short on family too. If he does have family stashed somewhere on this planet, I
probably wouldn’t want to know them. He never did a thing for me, so why would
they?
Justine was my ticket to normal,
and she left me with no money, no prospects—unless you count the hazy offer I
got from Roberto.
I hang out with him when I have
nothing else to do. When I told him the news he graciously asked me to share
his pad under the viaduct. I gave him a swift ‘no thank you’ even though I
should have told him not even if I weren’t half his age and he had most of his
teeth. I couldn’t hurt his feelings like that. One day, once I’m settled and
he’s still around, I’m going to do something to help him.
If I hadn’t just turned eighteen I
might have found somewhere to camp in the foster system for a while. As
horrible of a thought as it is, being homeless is probably better than wading
through families until one stuck or I got kicked out again.
With nothing else to do, I try to
sleep. Try is the operative word. Ever since my grandma went, I can’t seem to stay
in slumberland. It doesn’t help that I haven’t seen Jason, either.
Although Jason is a figment of my
imagination, he’s helped me through some rough times. I’ve dreamt of him every
night for nearly four years now, at least I used to. I haven’t had that
particular dream in two weeks, and as stupid as it is, I miss him. After
Justine died, he held me on the grass while I cried, listening to the beat of
his heart and the thrum of the waterfall behind us. I’ve wished him alive or
that I could join him in that place for good so many times. I cry every time I
wake up without him.
Maybe it’s for the best that he’s
gone. Dreams aren’t real, and a dream boyfriend can’t help me find a new place
to live.
I shift onto my side, adjusting my
pillow, trying not to think about the dingy beige carpet under my arms. It
prickles my skin, but everything else is gone. Even if I hadn’t already packed
the one I kept, it’s too hot for a blanket.
Focusing on the beat of the music,
I sway, Justine’s picture lying beside me, and will myself to sleep. Somewhere
between my thoughts about tomorrow and dawn I drift away.
My dreams shift and whirl until my
mind rests in the familiar oasis I’ve sought out for years. Finally.
The afternoon sun warms my
moistened skin as I take in the jagged cliffs in front of me and the thick
jungle that surrounds the pool, trying to locate him. The breeze brings an
intoxicating aroma of tropical blooms. Every time I come here, I’m wet, yet I
don’t know how I got that way. “Jason?” I call.
No answer.
Where is he?
My teeth clamp onto the inside of
my upper lip. I’ve never been away from the water, but I need to find him. He
has to be here.
If nothing else, I’d like to tell
him goodbye…thank you. I have no idea if I’ll see him again, and his absence
presses in on me. This world is not right without him.
The cool grass bends under my bare
feet while a breeze blows wet tendrils into my eyes. I glance up at the falls.
Last time I was here, Jason dared me to dive from the top of the waterfall.
Here, I can do anything. Fear is meaningless, or is it? Strangely, tension
prickles my spine.
A foreign tremor rushes along my
skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. I scan every inch of the
landscape until my eyes meet someone else’s gaze.
It is not Jason.
The man is tall with dark hair like
Jason, but everything else about him is wrong. He’s standing twenty feet away
from me at the edge of the jungle. The wind picks up, blowing his brown locks
around his chiseled features.
As he steps closer, I glance behind
me to the pool, judging the distance. I should be able to get away from him if
I need to.
When I face him again, he’s
standing directly in front of me. My heart explodes and my body coils to run.
He doesn’t move to touch me, but
his eyes hold a warning his lips confirm. “We have no time. He’s coming for
you. Learn all you can then find me. Prepare yourself!”
I jolt upright, my fingers digging
into the carpet. I’m breathing so hard I have to wait a minute to stand up.
What the hell kind of dream was that?
Somehow, I always thought the oasis
was mine and Jason’s, as if no one else existed but us. That guy violated our
sanctuary. A gusty laugh comes out of me from the thought. A dream man violated
my dream. His warning still echoes in my throbbing veins.
A bit unsteady, I make my way into
the kitchen. My fingers fumble for the light switch, but nothing happens when I
flip it. Yeah, I forgot. The power was shut off yesterday. At least the water
still works.
I hope.
Clutching my cup, I fiddle with the
sink until I finally get the knob to twist. The tepid water eases my dry
throat, but it does nothing for my nerves, or my belly. It groans at me again.
I’m going to have to eat soon, even if I have to check the dumpsters behind
Fred’s Bakery. There’s no point in checking the fridge. I found the final
remnants of food the day before last. For not the first time, I wonder what I’m
going to do when tomorrow comes. Two hundred dollars aren’t enough for
anything. Even if I use it only for food, it will disappear before I get paid
again, and that’s assuming I don’t get canned for not having a mailing address.
Even though it’s three AM, I’m
gonna head out. I have a lot to do today, and since I can’t sleep, I might as
well get started. When I find the faucet again and shut it off, my ears prickle
with an unwelcome noise.
A door creeks open and I stiffen
where I stand.
Varner.
All I’ve got to defend myself are
my fists, my feet and my plastic cup. My knife is in my bag. Light from the
living room filters through the doorway. He probably thinks he’s gonna blind me
with his flashlight so he can get his greedy hands on me. Not in this lifetime.
I inch my way to the doorway and
peek around it. What meets my gaze doesn’t make any sense.
A man stands opposite me, framed by
the closet. His big body could never be mistaken for that of Varner Walsh.
The light behind him comes from a
roaring fire that somehow spans forever. Orange flames dance and flicker,
casting his face in shadow while haloing him in gold.
I’m dreaming. I have to be.
I’ve had some weird ones lately,
but nothing has been as real as this. When I dig my nails into my palms, the
dream theory disintegrates with the pain.
Maybe he’s a fireman, but where’s
the smoke? Why aren’t the flames burning anything? Where’s his gear? He’s wearing
a suit for hell’s sake.
His face turns as if he’s scanning
the room, so I take the opportunity to scurry to the opposite wall.
My pulse pounds in my ears and
sweat drips down my back. From here, the front door is four, maybe five lunges
away. If he goes into the bedroom, I might be able to—
“Amelia?” he calls, his deep voice
somehow familiar.
That’s impossible. I don’t know
him, but even if I did I wouldn’t stick around. Who told this guy I was here?
He can’t be with Child Protective Services. I no longer qualify. My mind flits
back to the weird fire. I’m not sticking around to figure out his magic act.
I make my move, jetting through the
near-empty living room. My fingers fumble with the bolt before I move for the
lock on the knob. I’m taking too long. He’s going to—
Arms clamp around me, hauling me up
against a wall of muscle. The shock nearly makes me pee myself. My mouth opens
on a scream, but he whirls me around and tosses me over his shoulder, cutting
off my air.
I kick and punch and bite into
cloth. He twists around, making my head spin on delirium.
I scream for help, but my throat
thickens immediately. I struggle to breathe. I can’t think.
He bends until my face is right
over his rear end, but he stands up before I can sink my teeth into anything substantial.
As if he’s getting comfortable, he jostles me around. My pulse quickens while
my head hurts from the rush of blood and fear. When he moves toward the closet,
I find my voice.
