Wake to Dream(17)

Shaking her head, she retreated into a haze of emotional numbness. She didn't want to discuss her memory, it had nothing to do with why she was there. "We're wasting time, Doc. We're running out of time." The clock ticked twice before she added, "Delilah is running out of time."

"Time is of the essence, Alice, you have made no truer a statement than that. But I must admit, I don't believe Delilah exists."

Alice looked up, her eyes locking on the doctor, narrowing with the vehemence running through her blood in response to his statement. How dare he question the existence of the one person he was supposed to help her find?

"And if she does exist, I don't believe she has anything to do with these dreams."

Anger became her strength, wrenching her from a comfortable, numbing haze and focusing her on the object of her outrage. The doctor had no right to question whether her sister ever lived. Alice knew she'd lived. She’d been held by Delilah. She'd laughed with her. She'd shared Delilah's elation during their highs in life, and during their lows, she’d shared her tears.

"You haven't let me finish," she argued, her muscles shaking as she straightened her posture on the couch. Swinging her legs down so that her feet slapped against the floor, she bent forward, her eyes locked to the doctor's face, her finger pointing at his chest. "You haven't heard all the dreams. How can you make such ridiculous accusations when you haven't heard the entire story?"

Satisfaction was in the subtle rise of the doctor's brow, amusement playing at the corners of his lips as he leaned forward to accept Alice's challenge.

"I was wondering what it would take to breath some life into you." His posture mimicked hers, his body settling back against his chair as she relaxed against the couch.

The faucet dripped. The clock ticked.

His voice distracted her from both when he finally said, "Prove to me she's real, Alice. Tell me how Delilah has anything to do with these dreams."





"Come back to me, my beautiful girl. Come back."

A low voice, silk over grit, broke into the blackness, the warmth of a single finger slid down the skin of Alice's cheek to run along the line of her jaw.

Blinking open her eyes, she brought her vision into focus, the scuffed, rounded tips of worn leather boots the first thing she saw.

Hands pressed against her shoulders, her body pushed against the uncomfortable wooden backrest of a chair.

"What happened?" she managed to ask, her tongue thick and her mouth parched dry. "Where am I?"

A deep toned laughed answered her, not boisterous and loud, but quiet and cruel. "You're home," the man said, his name slowly returning to her thoughts. "You hyperventilated and passed out."

Her eyes shot up to lock with his.

"Don't worry, my love, you were only out for a few seconds. I caught you before you fell forward out of the chair."

Max. The name came back to her. Understanding of the situation returned. A tremor ran through her bones, her empty stomach cramping as the rush of blood thundered in her aching skull.

Either oblivious to her crushing fear or apathetic of it, Max settled himself at her feet, his hands reaching out to grip around her ankles. "We were discussing your new life. I hadn't gotten far before you panicked."

His fingers slid up her calves, a delicate touch for a man that was twice her size.

"You have no reason to panic. You should be happy with what I have planned for you. There will be no struggle, no worries or concerns. Life will become magic as it should."

Releasing one leg, he reached up, his knuckles barely rubbing against her cheek before she flinched away from his touch. She couldn't move far before he extracted his hand. Rotating his clenched fist up, he released his fingers. Light flashed against a coin held in his palm, her eyes widening as a slight grin pulled at his lips.

"You had something behind your ear," he teased. "A simple trick, but only the beginning of all you can discover."

Alice wanted to retch. "I don't like tricks. I don't like magic. I want to go home."

His fist clenched over the coin. "You are home." His arm flew out, the coin a torpedo across the open room, pinging off the wall before tumbling over the tile floor. Alice watched as that coin seemingly spun over itself, seconds passing before it fell unceremoniously to its side.

By the time she drew her attention back to Max, he'd pushed himself up to his feet, glowering down at her from his full height of six foot four.

It was unknown to Alice why she chose that moment in particular to act out. Perhaps it was an instinct to survive, or anger towards this man for making decisions for her life without soliciting her permission or opinion. It could have been something as simple as a remnant of her teenage rebellion, still alive inside her despite the years she managed to grow and mature.

For whatever reason it was, her next actions came without clear thought, without logical analysis of what could, or could not, be accomplished with violence.

Shooting up from her chair, she took Max by surprise, easily running past him, struggling not to trip over heavy feet. Her balance was precarious, the movement of her legs and arms uncoordinated, but she kept going, refusing to stop for even a second to look back.

Noticeably absent was the sound of heavy steps behind her.

Ignoring the lack of pursuit, she ran to a window, jewel toned sunlight flooding her determined features as she cast aside the curtains to find the shadow of bars beyond the stained glass. Closely spaced and thick as her arm, even if Alice were to break the glass, those bars would prevent her escape.