Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64366 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64366 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Even as sure as I’d been that my uncle was meddling in the communication lines between Jamie and me, and that he was probably intercepting everything we said to each other even when Cameron had called my phone, I wasn’t prepared for the mind-blowing effort that had obviously been put into the operation. Things were more serious than I’d imagined, and that scared the ever-loving shit out of me.
We lay there in silence for several long minutes, listening to the distant sounds of wee-hour traffic. Then Jamie asked the question I’d been dreading most.
“So what was your dream about?” His voice was wrapped in the most transparent attempt at nonchalance I’d ever heard, and the fact that he was concerned enough to try to act unconcerned put me on the defensive.
“Hell, I don’t know. Don’t remember. I can never seem to remember my dreams, can you?”
“Sometimes. Especially when it’s a recurring dream like you seem to be having.”
“Yeah? What kind of recurring dreams do you have?” The question was a way to get the focus off of me and onto him. Besides, knowing what kinds of things were created in Jamie Atwood’s subconscious seemed like a new level of intimacy I wanted to reach.
“If I tell you, do you promise you won’t laugh?”
“I don’t know. I can’t make that promise.”
Chastising me with a lift of his brow, he began his story anyway. “The dream always starts on a cruise ship. You ever heard of that old show, The Love Boat?”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
“See? I knew you’d laugh.” His bottom lip jutted out into one of his signature flirty pouts, and I resisted the temptation to sink my teeth into it.
“Just tell me the damn dream. I won’t laugh.”
“Anyway…” he huffed. “I’m on the deck of this enormous cruise ship, and all of these girls are hanging on me. There’s no sound at all, as if the dream is on mute. Every detail of the ship is solid white, like a plastic model that hasn’t been painted yet. Then as we’re all just standing there on that too-white, too-silent ship, this barge comes floating by. There’s a priest in a brown robe standing at the front of it. The only sound in the whole dream is the priest’s voice as he reads from the Bible. I can’t understand what he’s saying, because it’s in Latin or Aramaic or something, but whatever it is freaks me out so badly that I jump off the ship into the water.”
“You jump?” I asked, more surprised than I should have been, considering it was just a dream he was talking about. “That was off the top deck, right? Do you drown?”
“No, that’s the weird thing. I always expect to drown, but I don’t. Instead I sink slowly down through the water, and I’m feeling fine, you know? I’m not breathing, but it’s like I don’t need to. After a while I see the ocean floor coming up to meet me, and I’m just sinking in slow motion. When my feet finally touch bottom, I get this tingly feeling that starts in the soles of my feet and spreads all the way up my body. As soon as it reaches the top of my head, I die. It’s like I can feel death creeping over my body.”
“That’s disturbing. What do you think it means?”
“I think it means that I had a pointless dream once that was so strange it stuck in my mind, and now I think of it every now and then while I’m sleeping. That triggers it again. I figure every time you have a recurring dream, the possibility that you’ll have it again increases exponentially. Sort of like how getting struck by lightning changes your electrical makeup, so that every time you’re struck, you’re just that much more likely to be struck again.”
“That really happens to people?” I asked. “That sounds like one of those urban legends.”
“No urban legend. It’s science. I think some people eventually just become like human lightning rods, and it’s only a matter of time before they receive the fatal strike. Look it up if you don’t believe me. ”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I conceded, celebrating inwardly at how far we’d meandered from the original subject of my nightmare. Maybe if I tried hard enough, I could turn it into a political or religious debate. “Is that what you honestly think about your dream? You don’t think it means anything, like you’re looking for love in the wrong places, or you hate the church or something?”
He laughed. “No, Kage. I’m not that deep.” He lifted up on his elbow and looked straight into my face, which was exactly where I didn’t want him to look. “What are we even talking about? It’s your turn. I want to hear about the recurring dream that makes my big, bad fighter cry. What’s it about?”