To Dream Again

To Dream Again

  By Matthew D. Hay

  Copyright 2013 Matthew D. Hay

  For all who imagined stories in their minds and were brave enough to pen those emotions, those crazy ideas—those fantastical tales.

  Preface

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  In this world, there are few who can dream.

  When people rest their eyes and fall into slumber, sleep is all they experience. This is the reality we find ourselves in. It wasn’t always like this, but there is very little any of us can about that now. Instead, a remnant of us remains who can dream—Dreamers we call ourselves.

  We are special, more than human.

  A lost, dwindling race of beings that have the evolving ability to go places and experience memories when we fall asleep.

  We are Dreamers.

  It is time, I believe, that we let the rest of the world know this.

  -Munroe Adams, 1937

  Prologue

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  I could feel the cold water rushing around me, enveloping me in its icy maw. I closed my eyes, opened my mouth and took in a deep breath. Instead of life-giving air rushing down my throat, I was inundated by frigid water. I could feel it spreading everywhere, locking up my body as if I’d swallowed cement.

  This was my purpose.

  I would fulfill it gladly, for it was what I deserved.

  Though I would no longer exist in a world I’d once called home, someone else now could. A brief smile came over me as I thought of who I’d freed.

  Still, the bitter, wicked part of me felt deep fear of the fate I was now destined for. As the dark, relentless waters poured into my body, I thought of the sins that had nailed me to this particular cross.

  I ran out of the burning room as flames and smoke took over the house. I pressed a damp, cool cloth to my mouth, took in a breath and then used it to wipe my sweat covered forehead. Underfoot, the floorboards were catching fire as I tried to run out of the ensuing inferno.

  Ahead of me, the front door was hanging by one hinge and slightly ajar.

  I kicked it down, raised my pistol and stepped outside.

  Words could not explain how incredible the cool night air soothed my aching, burning lungs.

  I tossed the damp cloth behind me and it caught fire.

  “Thomas Newman!” I stumbled down three concrete steps before I started running down his front lawn. Behind me, a portion of his roof collapsed, sending flame and smoke upwards. Sparks and embers fell on the grass around me—one of them bit my shoulder before I slapped it away.

  “Thomas Newman, you cannot run from me forever.” By squinting my eyes, I could see the man jogging down the road, one kid in each arm. One of them was crying loudly, while my old friend tucked the child closer to his chest.

  “He won’t have to.”

  By the time her voice had registered, a plastic truck, about the length of my arm, rammed into the side of my head. She was standing behind me, holding the toy truck in her hand, bashing it against my skull.

  Admittedly, it hurt like hell.

  Unfortunately for her, she’d have to do a lot more than hurt me.

  “Damn it!” I rubbed my head with my free hand, groaning in pain. I frowned when I saw her terrified expression. She stood outside of her house, holding the toy truck in her grip. Without batting an eye, she came at me again, swinging.

  I stepped easily out of the way, raised my gun and slammed it against her face. I heard bones snap and crunch as I hit her again, wishing that I had bullets in my gun for a quicker kill.

  “I’m sorry Melissa.”

  Thomas’ wife, her face now covered in blood, dropped the toy truck.

  The sirens I’d heard a minute ago were growing louder. Neighbors were rushing out of their houses, most of them gathering on the street, watching in horror. I found it funny that these same people, thinking of me as a cruel murderer, were the people I was inadvertently saving.

  Saving by killing.

  Before any of them could gather up enough courage to be a hero, I picked up the unconscious woman by her neck and dragged her to the burning house. Stuffing the gun in my belt, I picked up Melissa with both hands and threw her back into her burning home.

  I hesitated, saw her body catch fire and ran down the stairs. Several people, who’d been watching, were now running towards the burning house, most likely shouting at me.

  I didn’t stick around to see what they wanted.

  I needed to find Thomas Newman and his two kids, and then I would do to them, what I did to Melissa.

  I didn’t like it, but they would all burn.

  Chapter One

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