Read Online Dream Lover by Kristina Wright (ed) - Free Book Online
Authors: Kristina Wright (ed)
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work, so she scrunched her knees up to her chest and dug her chin into them. Had she ever been scared like this in her life? She didn’t think so.
And all over a nightmare. It was just a nightmare, right? Just some crazy, random shit her brain had dredged up from too many weird movies. It was probably caused by the heat, except she was shivering her ass off. Faith rolled over and turned on her bedside light. Once its glow pooled across the room, she crawled out of the bed again and went to turn on the overhead light. She went around turning on every light she could find and the TV
sets in the bedroom and in the living room even though the air conditioner was already chugging and wheezing like a smoker with COPD. She made herself a cup of instant cocoa, loaded it up with extra sugar and tossed a couple of ice cubes in.
Outside, the strong wind was rattling and tearing around like a hooligan kid on roller skates. Despite the heat of the apartment and the half-warm cocoa, Faith started shivering again.
This was craziness. She was scaring herself over nothing. Droughts happened. She only had to go to the library; fuck, she just had to pull up the Internet and read about the Dust Bowl. Whether it rained or it didn’t had shit-all to do with her. The face in the clouds—the face she thought she’d seen—had been imagination, a fantasy.
She’d been at her grandmother’s weeks before, trying to get the laundry in before the rain they’d thought, hoped, was going to start. It hadn’t, of course. But she’d been on the last sheet, tugging it off the line, when she looked up. As if a screen had suddenly been drawn back, she’d seen the face: dark eyes, saddle-leather skin.
She couldn’t visualize his hair now, only that she’d wanted to run her fingers through it, and while she could picture the shape of his lips or his nose, she couldn’t think of how they fit together. They were like pieces of scattered glass in one of those cardboard kaleidoscopes the kids got at the dollar store, except that the pattern never fell quite right.
Maybe it was not a fantasy. She could picture her grandmother, Linda Jade Brewer, standing with her hand on a hip and her lips pursed, disapproving of Faith’s lack of faith.
Rubbing her arms, Faith paced around the living room, parting the vinyl shades to look out into the flashing lightning before letting them fall back and going on to the next window.
“Not a fantasy,” she said aloud. “Not a crazy, cockamamie…
son of a bitch!” She jumped as the lights in the apartment flickered and then resumed while thunder boomed outside and the refrigerator gave a loud belching hum.
“Okay!” she yelled. “Okay, I believe it! I believe it! But what the hell am I supposed to know? What am I supposed to do?”
She didn’t get an answer. The wind just kept on howling, the lightning and thunder kept on raging, and through it all there wasn’t a single drop of rain.
Faith tasted the ozone tang of the thunderstorm in the air for days. It lingered like smoke even after the sun came out and the air turned dry and cool. She knew that somewhere, just out of reach, the storm wasn’t over. Because she dreamed it.
Skeletons parched under sun. Strange hollow faces wove through her subconscious like wraiths. They called to her, but she couldn’t answer, and she woke up crying.
Then he came to her, dark eyes and leather skin. He squatted down and held his hands out and she held her hands out through wind that moved like cold water over their fingers.
“I need your help, Faith girl.”
“My help? But I don’t know what to do!”
She didn’t.
Once upon a time she’d told her grandmother about the pictures and patterns she found in clouds and rain and sometimes wind-tossed leaves. Linda Jade had taught her how to tell idle fancy from something that might be important, how to pay attention and see things that weren’t there to be seen. But that had been long ago. She’d been a kid
And all over a nightmare. It was just a nightmare, right? Just some crazy, random shit her brain had dredged up from too many weird movies. It was probably caused by the heat, except she was shivering her ass off. Faith rolled over and turned on her bedside light. Once its glow pooled across the room, she crawled out of the bed again and went to turn on the overhead light. She went around turning on every light she could find and the TV
sets in the bedroom and in the living room even though the air conditioner was already chugging and wheezing like a smoker with COPD. She made herself a cup of instant cocoa, loaded it up with extra sugar and tossed a couple of ice cubes in.
Outside, the strong wind was rattling and tearing around like a hooligan kid on roller skates. Despite the heat of the apartment and the half-warm cocoa, Faith started shivering again.
This was craziness. She was scaring herself over nothing. Droughts happened. She only had to go to the library; fuck, she just had to pull up the Internet and read about the Dust Bowl. Whether it rained or it didn’t had shit-all to do with her. The face in the clouds—the face she thought she’d seen—had been imagination, a fantasy.
She’d been at her grandmother’s weeks before, trying to get the laundry in before the rain they’d thought, hoped, was going to start. It hadn’t, of course. But she’d been on the last sheet, tugging it off the line, when she looked up. As if a screen had suddenly been drawn back, she’d seen the face: dark eyes, saddle-leather skin.
She couldn’t visualize his hair now, only that she’d wanted to run her fingers through it, and while she could picture the shape of his lips or his nose, she couldn’t think of how they fit together. They were like pieces of scattered glass in one of those cardboard kaleidoscopes the kids got at the dollar store, except that the pattern never fell quite right.
Maybe it was not a fantasy. She could picture her grandmother, Linda Jade Brewer, standing with her hand on a hip and her lips pursed, disapproving of Faith’s lack of faith.
Rubbing her arms, Faith paced around the living room, parting the vinyl shades to look out into the flashing lightning before letting them fall back and going on to the next window.
“Not a fantasy,” she said aloud. “Not a crazy, cockamamie…
son of a bitch!” She jumped as the lights in the apartment flickered and then resumed while thunder boomed outside and the refrigerator gave a loud belching hum.
“Okay!” she yelled. “Okay, I believe it! I believe it! But what the hell am I supposed to know? What am I supposed to do?”
She didn’t get an answer. The wind just kept on howling, the lightning and thunder kept on raging, and through it all there wasn’t a single drop of rain.
Faith tasted the ozone tang of the thunderstorm in the air for days. It lingered like smoke even after the sun came out and the air turned dry and cool. She knew that somewhere, just out of reach, the storm wasn’t over. Because she dreamed it.
Skeletons parched under sun. Strange hollow faces wove through her subconscious like wraiths. They called to her, but she couldn’t answer, and she woke up crying.
Then he came to her, dark eyes and leather skin. He squatted down and held his hands out and she held her hands out through wind that moved like cold water over their fingers.
“I need your help, Faith girl.”
“My help? But I don’t know what to do!”
She didn’t.
Once upon a time she’d told her grandmother about the pictures and patterns she found in clouds and rain and sometimes wind-tossed leaves. Linda Jade had taught her how to tell idle fancy from something that might be important, how to pay attention and see things that weren’t there to be seen. But that had been long ago. She’d been a kid
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