Wake to Dream(8)

How had she gotten here? Where was here? And why was he with her?

Reality crashed into the nightmare. Worlds colliding for no understood reason.

Maybe it wasn't a dream, after all.

"Are we in the Vic-" Her words felt scrambled, but she forced the question. "The Vic-" Shaking her head slowly, she had to get the question out. "The house I'm selling?"

"No," was his simple answer.

"Then where?" Her throat closed on the question, her body coming to life as the drugs eased off, but still revolting into spasms, the muscles learning how to function as they once had.

"You walked through a door, Alice."

Settling himself on the concrete at her feet, he studied her silently before adding, "and now you're here."

After uncapping the bottle, he grabbed her chin, sliding his thumb along her bottom lip before pulling her mouth open. The lip of the bottle met her mouth, tilting up to pour cool water over her tongue as he said, "Swallow."

Alice didn't trust the contents of the bottle, but the liquid slid down her throat anyway, a soothing balm against the burning flesh, and she swallowed fervently, greedily, until only a few drops were left.

Pulling it from her lips, Max recapped it and tossed it to the side, the plastic ricocheting off a wall that only existed in Alice's peripheral vision.

Her head fell back against a wall, a thick blanket of silence sliding between them until his smooth, deep voice broke it apart completely.

"I have something I'm going to show you." He paused, looking Alice over with a critical eye. "You can't walk. I'm going to carry you."

Terror should have filled her, but familiarity had bred acceptance. She knew this man. He'd presented as someone she'd easily converse with in a public setting. One that, despite the disfiguring scar, would be pulled into the fold of the respectable and admired.

This was not the type of monster that lurked in the shadowy realm of her dreams.

"Did I fall?"

It wasn't until her words echoed back to her from the walls of the empty, desolate room that she knew she'd spoken them aloud.

"No." A grunt escaped his lips, his strong body lifting her from the floor. Heat was thick across his skin, uncomfortably so.

Caged against what felt like cushioned steel, Alice’s heart jackhammered beneath her ribs. Fear crept in, the threat of death seducing her into compliance despite her desire to fight his hold.

It's wrong...it's all wrong.

His steps were labored over the cement floor, his thick leather boots creaking with every small movement of his ankle; the sounds amplified by the pervasive moments of silence that came between.

Reaching a second level, Alice clenched her eyes shut against the onslaught of bright, white light that bathed the room. She opened her mouth to question him about where they were, but speech failed her, the words thick on the tip of her tongue.

As if sensing her struggle to fill the deafening silence, Max spoke, relieving her of that small part of her anxiety.

"I'll give you time to regain your strength. We'll need to discuss why you're here."

Kneeling down by a couch, Max dropped her weight on the cushions, keeping his eyes on her while busying his hands with something outside of Alice's field of view.

He stepped away after climbing back to his feet and crossed through into another room, disappearing from sight.

Widening her eyes and narrowing them again in a futile attempt to focus her vision, Alice curled up on the couch, her movements slow and delayed, but becoming stronger as time wore on. Minutes passed, each one returning to her some portion of her senses, some better functioning of her arms, head or legs.

The room was the same style as the Victorian she was selling, but rather than the state of decay of that house, this room was meticulously cared for, the wood gleaming in the light cast by ornate, overhead chandeliers. A warm glow bathed the room, a rainbow of muted colors glimmering from the sunlight shining through stained glass windows.

Elegant furniture was placed about the room, the types and colors of the textiles used blurring in her vision so much so that she couldn't quite make out the luxury of the interior design.

Eventually, Alice regained the ability to sit up. The room stopped spinning. Sound was no longer muffled and disjointed.

Panic set in when her mind cleared. Alice didn't recognize the room in which she was sitting, and there was a noticeable heaviness on her ankle. Logically, she knew better than to look down at that cold heaviness on her skin. Once she saw what she expected to see, she couldn't return to the belief that anything about this strange situation was normal.

However, every instinct in her, every knee jerk reaction, forced her head down and her eyes wide, terror coursing through her veins at the sight of light flashing off the dull, silver metal of the leg iron locked above her foot.

She screamed, her voice hoarse as a result of the drugs from which she was still recovering. Max entered the room, his footsteps measured, his expression horrifyingly neutral; he wasn't affected at all by her fear.

Her screams died off and he grinned.

"Welcome home, Alice."





12:30 p.m.

Gray walls.

Black table.

Plastic, fake red roses.

Everything in place.

"Alice? ... Ms. Beaumont? ... Alice Beaumont ..."