The Hidden

“Don’t you get bored?”

“Time passes quickly for me, remember?”

I closed my eyes and nodded, snuggling deeper into the pillows. “If you’re sure.”

“Don’t you want me to stay? I can always leave-”

“Don’t.” I yawned. “Don’t leave. I like it when you stay with me.”

“Then, that’s enough for me,” he said. “Sweet dreams, Astrid.”

And that was the last thing I heard before I drifted down into the dream.

Around me glass crunched, and sharp edges bit into my hands. I was on the floor, kneeling among the bits and pieces of my life. Scattered dreams surrounded me.

“Pay attention, Abbey. This might just save your life.” Vincent Drake leered down at me, and I felt sick.

“No … Don’t …”

He grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. My knees screamed as glass slivers ground deeper and deeper into my open skin.

I reached for a piece. Slid my fingers around that cool, sharp edge and held on. Then swung.

A spray of blood erupted from Vincent’s cheek.

I looked down at my hands covered in blood. His blood. “This isn’t …” I dropped the glass to the floor. “This isn’t how it goes. It didn’t happen like this. I didn’t stab you.”

My eyes turned red, and I realized that blood was dripping down into them. Hot and sticky, it stung as I tried to rub it away.

“Isn’t this how you like them?” a voice whispered in my ear, and then he was pushing me toward the bed. Horrified, I tried to get up. Tried to see.

The bed was surrounded with flowers. And candles.

Vincent appeared in front of me, a rose clenched between his teeth. “For you, a dance!” He crossed his arms in front of himself, and kicked his legs high. Around us the candles flickered. They looked strange, and I noticed that they were thick and heavy. Old-fashioned. And covered in cobwebs.

The stench of dying flowers overtook me. It’s too much … I can’t breathe … Can’t … breathe …

All the while, Vincent danced. Crazy, jerking moves at first, but then his pattern changed and he acted like a puppet on a string. Stiff, and controlled. “Want to jerk my strings?” he taunted. “Oh, wait. I forgot. You like the dead ones.”

He stooped. Head bowed, arms splayed wide. And waited for my applause.

“This didn’t happen!” I screamed inside my head. “None of this happened. This isn’t how it goes!”

He moved closer. In his teeth the rose was no longer a rose, and I stared at it before I realized what it was.

A bone.

Vincent brandished it like a prize, then tossed it away. “Too much?” he asked. “You didn’t like my performance, I see. No clapping. I’m upset by this, Abbey.”

He planted a hand on my back. Forced me toward the bed again. His features changed. Eyes turned huge and black, as craggy, dark wings sprouted from his shoulders and his teeth grew long and sharp.

“And now, the piece de resistance!” he shouted.

He threw back the covers. The candles swelled, the flowers were overwhelming, and there … was a body …

I sat straight up in bed, my blood racing and my face covered in sweat. My heart was thumping so hard, it felt like it was going to burst right out of my chest. The clock said 3:12 a.m., but that couldn’t be right. I’d been asleep for only a couple of minutes.

I kept staring at it. Blinking. Trying to bring it into focus and force it to make sense.

“Abbey?”

I heard Caspian’s voice, but I couldn’t see him. My eyes weren’t adjusted to the dark yet, and I had the strangest feeling that he was floating all around me.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

My dream came flooding back, and suddenly the room seemed smaller. The air thinner. My chest tightened painfully, and I tried to suck in a breath. “Caspian? Where are you?”

A faint tingle on my arm flared, then died.

“I’m here,” he said softly. “Right here. It was only a dream. Are you okay?”

“I don’t know. … Stay with me.”

“I will. I’m here.” Moonlight filled the room, and I could see the worried look on his face. “Was it about Vincent?”

“Yes.”

Caspian got up and turned on a small lamp. Instantly I felt better as the shadows receded and light flooded the room.

My T-shirt was clammy, and I pulled it away from me. Swinging my feet to one side of the bed, I stood up. “I’m going to change. I’ll be right back,” I said.

I padded over to the closet and pulled the door shut behind me. My stuffed animals were piled up in one corner, and I sat beside them, looking blankly at the wall. I must have been lost in my thoughts for a while, because a soft knock eventually came on the door, and then Caspian said, “Abbey? Is everything okay?”

I struggled to my feet and peeked out at him. “I’m okay. Just thinking about everything. I’m going to get changed right now. Be out in a minute.”

He nodded and closed the door. I went over to the pajama section of my closet and reached for a pair that was light blue and covered in white fluffy clouds. I slid them on, and then returned to bed.

Caspian sat down beside me. “Want to talk about it?”

“Yes.” I shivered. Then changed my mind. “No.” Drawing my feet up under me, I hugged my legs to my chest. “I don’t know.” I wound the sheet around my fingers. “I don’t even …” I shook my head.

“What?”

“It doesn’t do any good to talk about it. It was just a stupid dream. It doesn’t mean anything and it doesn’t change anything.”

“Sometimes it helps to talk things out.”

“But my dream didn’t make any sense.” I told him what I could remember of it. “In real life I didn’t cut Vincent with a piece of glass. Or even try to defend myself.”

“Maybe that’s why you had the dream,” he said. “To act out a different course of action.”

I laughed. “Yeah. Right. Because I have a hero complex.”

“It’s not a hero complex to want to defend yourself, Abbey. He came into your space and hurt you. You didn’t get the chance to do anything about it then, so let yourself do something about it now. Even if it is only in your dreams.”

“What I’d really like is to dream about saving Kristen,” I mused. “To stop her from meeting Vincent. Or going to the river.” I thought about it for a minute. “Actually, you know what’s weird? I haven’t dreamt about Kristen at all lately. Not in the hospital, or here at home. The only thing I’ve dreamt about so far is Vincent. Violence. And death.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” he said.

“Dreaming about violence and death?”

“No. I meant not dreaming about Kristen.”

“Why would that be a good thing?”