“You don’t look fine.”
“It was just…” Oh, what does it matter? This stupid dream wasn’t going anywhere now because the wrong hero came. “It was nothing.”
“Well, if you’re okay in here, I’ll go check everything out.” I felt him move away, heard his steps as he crossed the room.
Is he really coming back? Can he just turn into the one I really want? That happens in dreams. People change into other people. Please? I didn’t know who I begged. I guessed my deranged subconscious, which liked to torture me and knew exactly how to do it.
Bizarrely, like a dream within a dream, I heard my mother’s voice from many years ago, as we drove from some city to another. She’d just broken up with yet another man. “Don’t ever let them know your buttons. If they know your buttons, they’ll push them every time.”
My subconscious seemed to know exactly which buttons to push. Of course, it’s not like I could hide my buttons from myself. I just had to deal with the torture.
“Everything looks fine,” Owen said, returning to me. Yep, still had to deal with it. “Do you think you’ll be okay?”
I nodded and said quietly, “I’m so tired. I just want real sleep.”
I lay my head on the desk. Would I simply continue sleeping here? Couldn’t I wake up long enough to get to the bed? Or was I already in bed? I tried to stand up. I nearly fell back down, my legs wobbly and weak.
“Whoa,” Owen said, catching me.
I refused to look at him as he picked me up. His arms were hard and strong. I kept my eyes closed and tried to pretend he was the one I wanted. It’s just a dream anyway, so it should be easy, right? The illusion came easier than I’d expected. A slight electrical current prickled where his arms touched my shoulders and the backs of my knees. As he carried me into the bedroom, I could even imagine the scent of mangos and papayas, lime and sage and a hint of man. I wanted to bury my face into his chest. But I worried my subconscious would turn everything around and I’d end up dreaming I fell into bed with… Nope. Not going there.
“I’ll stay here for a while, make sure you’re okay,” Owen said. He leaned over and I felt the soft bed under me.
“No, you don’t—”
“It wasn’t a question. I’ll keep watch. You just get some rest.” I felt his lips press briefly against the top of my head. I kept my eyes tightly shut, afraid my subconscious might see that button—the bright one that flashed between “Possibility” and “Nearly as Good.” But I felt the movement as he stood back up and then heard his soft steps on the thick carpet as he headed toward the door. Part of me didn’t want him to leave. But I was afraid of what might happen…of the possibilities. Not replacing him!
Then the memory-dream finally returned, my real hero as the star, feeling so close to me.
I lay in bed at 5:15 the next morning, holding onto those memories, onto Tristan’s face. The image had finally been clear enough for me to see him. And now that I was awake, back in my own miserable world, I had to face reality that he wasn’t with me.
As soon as the sky lightened enough to run, I dashed out the door, grateful I’d decided to pack my new running gear. I ran along the unfamiliar streets, heading south, where I knew I would eventually hit water. When I did, I paused to gaze over it. The only sounds filling the air were the waves hitting against the concrete seawall below and seagulls cawing at each other overhead. The scene might have been peaceful if my body wasn’t screaming to move. As I turned to head back down the street, someone caught my eye.
He was still too far away and too hidden in shadows to see his face. Somehow, though, I knew he was the stranger. The same stranger who’d been in my yard and at the park all the way back in Atlanta. And I knew now he was a hallucination. I’d been imagining him all along. He took several steps toward me this time. The gait was painfully familiar. He’s not real. Not real! Panicked by the realization, I ran the other way, as fast and as hard as I could, not paying attention to where.
I wanted to get away from that delusion because it meant I really had lost my mind. I’d been trying so hard to see him, my imagination created false images, like someone lost in the desert searching for water for days and stumbling toward an oasis that’s really just a mirage. I slowed, tears blurring my vision.
And I heard footsteps behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw another runner following my path. He gained on me quickly. I sped up, but he ran much faster.
Daemoni! Evil! Run! Go! Faster!
Shit! Shit, shit, shit! He wasn’t following me…he chased me. I cranked my legs as fast as they could go, digging into the ground and springing forward. A beastlike growl rumbled behind me, way too close. My heart pounded and my breathing came hard, the first time I’d had any difficulty running. But exertion didn’t tax my energy. This was all-out fear. This is real. Just a few more seconds….
At least I’ll be with my love.
I impulsively stopped at the thought and waited. Waited to be caught and captured and possibly killed.
Just take me!
But the footsteps fell silent. I whirled around. The runner was gone. No trace he’d even been there.
I stared down the street in bewilderment and turned in circles. No sign of anyone. Another delusion? I swore he was real…but maybe not. And if not, then I really was falling over the edge, into complete madness. In fact, that was the only explanation because I’d just been willing to give myself up, leaving my son as an orphan. How could I? An evil snicker sounded in the back of my head.
I inhaled deeply, trying to calm my heart and clear my head at the same time. And an invisible, yet crushing weight fell on top of me.
Mangos and papayas, lime and sage.
“What are you doing here?! Get to a safe place!”
My heart and my breathing both stopped. That scent…that voice. That lovely, smooth, silky voice. Tristan’s voice. And not twisted in pain, screaming my name. I’d never allowed myself to hear his voice in my mind, knowing it would be too painful. I couldn’t control scents—they wafted in on their own from innocent sources. But his voice…I would purposely have to recall it. My subconscious did it for me in my dreams—just to hear his last five words I clung to so desperately. But I wouldn’t allow my conscious mind to do it. I could hardly believe it still could.
The smell and the sound overwhelmed my sharp senses and crushed my fragile soul. I broke down in the middle of the street, crying, turning round and round to try to find a source. The street was residential, with big houses, old trees and fences surrounding the yards. Nobody around. Holy hell, I’m going out of my freakin’ mind!
As I continued turning in slow circles, something caught my eye. It was so obvious. A mango tree stood not too far away, baby fruit hanging from its branches over the fence it stood behind. I took a deep, ragged breath and exhaled slowly. At least there’s a partial explanation.
Calming myself with that thought, I began walking down the street slowly, trying to get my bearings so I could head back to the hotel. I focused on the street sign thirty yards away and almost didn’t notice the runner coming from the cross-street. My heart stuttered when I saw him, thinking he was the Daemoni runner again. And then I realized who he was.
He turned down the street I walked on, running away from me. He wore black running pants and a black t- shirt and his brown hair hung down past his shoulders in a ponytail. It’s not who I want. Why would I see him so different than my memory? But I couldn’t help it. Even knowing he wasn’t real, knowing he wasn’t my love, I impulsively chased after him, running as hard as I could. Though I’d gained some speed over the last couple days, I couldn’t catch up to him.
“Wait!” I yelled. “Please! Wait!”
He disappeared down the street. I kept running, tears flowing, not able to see where I ran. So it was easy to get knocked off my feet. Someone grabbed me from behind.
“Are you crazy?” Owen seethed, his mouth close to my ear.
“Ugh!” I moaned. He held me tightly and I let loose on him. “Yes, I am! Actually, I’m beyond crazy. I’ve totally lost my fucking mind, Owen! I’m a basket case. Call the white coats. Tell them to bring the straightjacket and lock me up in a padded cell. That’s where I belong!”
