“Why would she be dreaming actively about you two six years later, if you cleared her mind so she wouldn’t remember who she was?”
Casting his eyes toward the floor, Memphis was reliving a moment that felt like a lifetime ago.
“Memphis Carter.” Nyx seethed at him, and he felt her energy expand outwards, toward his mind.
“No!”
Throwing up his mental guards was a slap in the face to her, and cringing at the impact, Nyx staggered back. In the same instant, his bookcase started to shake, a cracked brown book started to float leisurely toward him. She caught it in a fluid motion, eagerly reading: Dreamscapes: A Guide for Telekinesis’s
“I never thought...” he scrambled.
“You never thought what, Memphis?” Her voice was a dangerous whisper.
“She is one of my best childhood friends. After I saved her, I studied how to place memories and images in another receiving party’s dream subconsciousness. I was fifteen and only tried a couple of times. There were too many unknown variables at play. She was in another world, for instance, and I didn’t even know if it would work...” His voice trailed off in the obvious answer.
Nyx’s face contorted, as she spat, “Don’t insult me, Memphis! Childhood friends? You are in love with her. I’m not blind, and neither is anyone else. You are going to condemn us all by being blind.” With a flick of her purple hair, Nyx strutted toward the door. She threw back one more remark at him, “I have to start my watch. You can babysit your dear friend here.”
With a click of the door, she was gone. Sinking into the nearest chair, Memphis was lost in the impossible. There was one key element he had kept from Nyx, but it seemed she knew all along—when it came to manipulating a dreamscape, one thing ruled: emotion. It formed the shape and being of what the sender was trying to convey.
Guilt made his stomach flip. It was a child’s jealousy; he so desperately wanted her to have an echo of him within her, and now, it was the only clear memory she had.
So far.
Angry tears stung his eyes, and Memphis chucked the book across the room. The minutes slipped into hours as he tried to figure out a way to fix what he had done. How could he explain to Brokk why over the last six years he had made sure Emory would be afraid of him- would hate him. In the dark corner of Memphis’s heart, the answer lay- if he couldn’t have Emory then no one would.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Emory
It was as if her body had been ripped into a thousand different pieces. Her lungs burned, begging for relief. Emory heard the soft crackle of fire. Her head was a spinning mass; it was its own continent.
Squinting, she tried to focus. Blinking slowly, her surroundings came into view. Her pulse picked up.
She wasn’t in her room.
She wasn’t in her home.
The metal world around her seemed to have one purpose. To keep people in. To keep her in. The last twenty-four hours rushed over her in a flurry of confusing memories. Him... Memphis. The name rolled around in her mind, familiar yet unfamiliar all at once. Her eyes flashed open, her heart thrumming with adrenaline.
Heavily, Emory sat up, trying to pull her thoughts together. For now, the room was empty, her captors gone.
Now. This is your chance to escape. The thought clambered through her wildly, and she acted.
Standing from the bed, Emory stumbled, her legs weak, her clothes dirtied. Breathing heavily, Emory ran to the door, pushing the handle down as it opened. Containing her surprise, she slipped into the hallway. What kind of criminals would keep their prisoner in an unlocked room?
Walking fast, Emory pushed the thought down, keeping her head down as she tried to locate how to get out of this place. The hallway was quiet, and Emory didn’t pass anyone else. It had to be late into the night, and she sent up a thank you to whoever was granting her such luck.
Trying not to run, she turned left, passing more shut unmarked doors, but slowly, the hallway slanted up. Heart pounding, her palms slicked with sweat as she tried to stick to the shadows, walking faster now. Ahead of her, doors loomed, and panic bloomed in her chest. Running now, Emory tried to hold back the tears burning in her eyes. She reached the massive doors, pulling them open, and the night air slammed into her.
Gasping, she sprinted, rushing out into the rolling field. The air was brisk, a sweet aroma hanging on the wind, the crescent moon tucked in the midnight blue clouds. Ahead, a massive forest loomed, and she frantically looked for any sign of modern civilization where she could find help.
There was nothing.
A stitch laced through her side, and her converses lost footing. Emory slammed into the damp earth. Rocks sliced through her palms as she tried to break her fall, blood welling in the cuts.
Tears slid down her cheeks as she got up, whispering, “Keep moving. C’mon.”
Looking back, she expected to see the place she had been taken to, but dread pooled in her stomach as all she saw was open field—no sign of any building whatsoever.
“What the hell?” Emory whispered, fear making her thought process choppy. Sprinting again, she pushed toward the woods.
If she could at least not be captured by these psychos again, then she could find help. Sucking in deep steadying breaths, Emory pumped her arms, and broke through the
