Only In Her Dreams

HER DREAMS

  Aubrea Summer

  Copyright 2013 Aubrea Summer

   

  Table Of Contents

  Only In Her Dreams

  More From The Author

  Free Sample, Sixteen Seconds

  ONLY IN HER DREAMS

  His fingers gently brushed the curl of dark hair from her cheek. He was cautious not to wake her, unable to disregard the desire to touch her satin skin yet jealous of the proximity this wisp of hair maintained when he could not. She stirred, an unintelligible murmur escaping semi-parted crimson lips. Although his hand drew back, his eyes could not. She was a rare type of beautiful, shrouding him in the need to gaze upon her incessantly, leading him to feel like a mad man behind his ravenous stare. It had been that way since the first moment he laid eyes on her, since the instant she’d entered his life.

   Alessa. Not your average name, but appropriate since she was in no means your average woman. Paul knew he loved her from the beginning, almost two years ago. It was one of those fluke moments; the right time and place. Paul always thought it was like a story from a movie. That unbelievable scenario where two people reach for the same tomato in a grocery store neither of them have ever frequented before, and end up married six months later. She was getting out of the cab, and he was getting in, as simple as that. It wasn’t though. It was so much more than simple.

  Paul spent entirely too many days like this day, piles of documents littered across his desk requiring stamping and signing and filing. He’d taken the job for the pay, never quite realizing it might end up costing him his sanity. He hated it, every waking minute of it. When he locked the office door that evening, not a soul on this planet could have convinced him that this would be the best day of his life. He’d have laughed at them, calling them fools and gesturing madly to the heaps of work he would drown in eventually. He had to see it with his own eyes, and he did. The yellow door swung open and suddenly his entire world was different. The lights were brighter, the sound around him dimmed, and everything pointed him to her. She pulled the long white coat tighter around her thin dress as she straightened her stance. Black curls of her loose hair fell in dramatic contrast over the shoulders of the jacket, framing her face. That face, porcelain skin with satin lips and eyes to rival the stars for their intensity and the oceans for their depths, greener than the heart of jealousy herself.

  That face, the same beautiful countenance he looked on now, nearly two years later, with the same bewilderment and absolute wonder. That face that had last looked on him in anger and disappointment before she’d succumbed to sleep. They’d had a disagreement and now his mind couldn’t rest. Sleep eluded him at the request of his conscience. He’d upset her and it was tearing him apart. They never fought. A harsh word had never been spoken between the two, yet he’d given her reason to look upon him without a smile. He could only hope they would discuss it after she’d had some time to realize his decision was for the best, for both their sakes.

  The little row of homes all faced the street in a similar fashion, small front yards and two car garages greeting the tree lines sidewalk. It was quiet here. Alessa chose the house, third down on the right with the Elm tree in the backyard. She loved the neighborhood, the comfortable safety of the area close to schools and parks. She couldn’t wait to have children, flowerbeds, and barbeques on Saturdays. Paul always admired her determination. She knew what she wanted and he only wanted her to be happy. This was the first time he had failed. Tonight there would be no laughter ringing out from the kitchen through the open window as the fall air blew inside. Tonight there was only silence, broken occasionally by a rustling of Alessa’s blankets on the bed or the soft padding of Paul’s shoes down the hallway, pacing to the top of the stairs and back to the bedroom to check on her sleeping form.

  He passed the pictures lining the hallway walls with his eyes down. He didn’t want to look at the photographs of vacations and adventures, at her smile lighting up the room where there was only darkness now. He shook his head, shooing away the images of the happy young couple standing on the beach as the sun set. He couldn’t back down now. He couldn’t be distracted by the past. What’s done was done and she would have to understand that. Things wouldn’t be that different. She would barely notice. He wondered for a moment if he should have asked her. It was a big decision. He knew she loved him though, he could see it in her eyes still, and he would never do anything he didn’t think was best.

  The hushed banter of a sleeping mind roused Paul from his third stroll down the hallway. He thought he should go downstairs and get something to eat but couldn’t bring himself to make the journey. Alessa’s soft muttering gave him an excuse to turn around. Maybe she was waking up. He knew she wouldn’t want to talk yet. It would take more time than that. Still, he found himself standing at the foot of the bed. She’d rolled to her side, tossing off the blankets, looking uncomfortable but not at all awake. Paul gathered the covers from the floor and laid them back over her.

  Another trip down the hallway and Paul found himself standing, looking intently down the stairs, debating the journey to the bottom. He’d had a hard time finding that light switch before. What if he tripped and fell? What if he landed at the bottom, landed right next to him. Or even worse, landed on him? That would be terrible. Paul couldn’t handle that. He could wait to eat. It didn’t seem that important after the thought. Besides, he had plenty time now. He turned his back on the twisted and bloodied body lying at the foot of the staircase, heading back to the bedroom.

  Alessa stirred on the bed. Paul checked his watch. He still had at least a half an hour. He wasn’t ready for her to wake up yet. He needed a little more time to find the right words, to make her realize he was right and everything was going to be just fine. The closet door squeaked as he opened it, earning an angry yank and sliding off track. Dim light shone from the bedside table that displayed the only lamp in the room. He didn’t need to see to know already these clothes were much too small. He’d never get into anything out of this wardrobe, but at he had to cover the bloodstains on his shirt. It would be easier to talk to her if she didn’t have to see that. He didn’t want her any more upset than she already was.

  He pulled an over-sized football sweatshirt over his head and into place, hiding the mess beneath it, and made his way back to her side. The bottle with the child proof cap beckoned him from the bedside table where he’d left it. Soon he would have to give her another dose. As he reached for the sedatives, he noticed the silver Tiffany’s picture frame on the dresser. Jack and Alessa Forever. It was a charming wedding photo, the two lovers beaming at one another in that moment of absolute bliss when they’d tied their lives together forever. The smiles seemed to fade when he looked at them, turning to horror and fear. Paul knew it was his imagination, laying it down anyway to avoid the accusing eyes behind the glass. He wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore. Jack was gone. Paul would see to the disposal of the body as soon as the night crept to the small hours of morning, as soon as all the lights behind the windows of the neighbors’ houses were snuffed out. Alessa would learn to love him, he was sure of that. Just in case, only to pacify that one sliver of doubt in his mind, he would keep the sedatives around. She could wake and be his forever, love him as she had Jack, or she could spend the rest of her days living only in her dreams. He twisted the cap off the bottle just as her eyes groggily slid open.

   

  The End

   

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  A Sample From Sixteen Seconds

  SIXTEEN SECONDS

  Prologue

  Ten pairs of starving eyes watched their prey move tentatively down the sidewalk. They stayed off the pavement, tucking into overgrown shrubs. Their need to remain silent battled their overwhelming desire to attack. The only sound ringing down the vacant street was the jingle of tiny metal rings against their slightly larger like. One wrong move or one unexpected sound would trigger flight. Prey grew scarcer as winter snuck in. Every kill was important; a matter of living or dying, but this one was small. The pack was larger than the meat would feed. They would have to hunt again later. This would do for now.

  In unspoken commands, the largest of the group ushered the rest into a semi-circle, coming around the brush and locking eyes on their prey. This pack hunted often together, working without the trappings of sound to flank their unsuspecting quarry, forcing it into the corner where two buildings met. They’d found this method of hunting quite successful. The kill wasn’t always without danger. Sometimes the prey would fight back, gnashing teeth and scratching extremities making their best attempt for survival. A few times they’d lost a member at the design of potential prey. Repetition brought skill, however, and they’d learned the most difficult of lessons fast. The smell of blood was always an indicator. Those tarnished with its stain were typically aggressive, while those who were timid and in hiding went without much of a fight. Unfortunately, the easy ones were thin and frail, offering little sustenance or meat. The aggressive ones, the ones with bloodstained footsteps and collars, those were far more plump and often worth the risk. Predators understand risk. Ten against one should prove easily favorable odds, as long as they stayed together.

  Stay together: The unspoken rule.

  The pack rushed in, no longer cautious of being seen or heard. Their prey was suddenly aware, whirling to face the crescent moon of advancing hunger, a shift in the breeze carrying a sensory warning of the progressing danger. Fear was buried beneath age old desires for survival, yet managed to raise an eyebrow, enough to freeze legs needed for running. It simply stood there silent, without a tremor, until the first fist closed around fur and flesh, tearing skin from tissue and meat from bone. If they’d remembered, or ever known what it was, they’d have noticed the worn collar. They never had the chance to learn. They couldn’t care if they had. Food was all that mattered. The tinkling of tiny metal rings against the pavement could barely be heard above the loud snap of the vertebrae that once held the dog’s skull to its spine. Buttons. 72654 Bridgeport Street.