Dream So Dark

Chapter 1 Dreaming of a golf ball represents upcoming opportunities. The entire course is wide open before you. You have many choices to make, and success in your hands. But be wary. Sand traps and water hazards are lurking, determined to hinder your progress at every turn. So, think carefully about your path as you aim for your true destination. Serenity had chosen life. She’d stood at death’s door and considered what it would mean to cross through it. As she hesitated on the threshold, she knew there was nothing to be afraid of. Rather, peace, the likes of which were unknowable to the living, awaited her. But she also knew that her job on earth was not yet done. She had more work and, perhaps more importantly, more living to do. Eighteen years just wasn’t long enough, especially when she had just met Dair—the Sandman—her own personal living legend. He had slipped into her heart like a thief in the night. But unlike a thief, he had refused to leave. Now, he lived there, abiding in her heart, consuming her waking thoughts, as well as her dreams. He wasn’t just a crush or a passing fancy. No, Dair was forever. Serenity knew that her whirlwind relationship with Dair had happened much too fast. She shouldn’t feel so strongly for a guy she’d met only a month ago. As she lay, barely conscious, in the ICU hospital bed surrounded by the beeping and humming of the machines that monitored her life-force, her rational mind reinforced this sensible knowledge—she should take it slow with Dair. But her rational mind also insisted that the Sandman didn’t exist, that he was just a figment of her imagination. And her rational mind was wrong about that too. Serenity decided to stop trying to explain the surreal events over her life the past month and just accept them. There were some things that couldn’t be reasoned; they couldn’t be deciphered, no matter how many ways she approached the problem. She glanced up at the clock above the door. Five minutes since the last time I checked it. “You didn’t like the dream?” Dair’s voice came from the far corner of the room where he sat in the shadows watching over her. He had promised to stay with her all night and, unsurprisingly, he’d made good on his word. He’d also given her a pleasant dream, just as she’d asked him to. Actually, this dream was much more than just pleasant. She smiled, remembering how he’d held her in her dream, something he couldn’t currently do in her present state lying in the hospital bed. She attempted to push herself up higher in the bed but abruptly stopped when a sharp pain shot through her abdomen. Dair was at her side before she could blink. “Why are you moving?” His voice was harder than usual, but Serenity knew it wasn’t because he was upset with her. He didn’t like to see her hurting and it frustrated him that he couldn’t take away her pain, at least not when she was awake. “First of all…” Serenity breathed out as she paused to let the pain subside. “You know I liked the dream. Second of all, I’m tired of lying in the same position.” “Perhaps, in the future, you could ask for help before foolishly trying to further injure your perfect body.” Serenity loathed having to ask for help. But she wasn’t a fool, and she couldn’t help but blush a little at his compliment. “Okay,” she reluctantly agreed. “Help … please?” She gave him her most innocent smile. Dair chuckled as he gently placed one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back. He lifted her effortlessly and moved her so smoothly that Serenity barely felt anything at all. “Better?” he asked as she pulled the sheet and thin blanket back over her body. “Much, thank you.” Dair bowed slightly before sitting down on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?” he asked, taking her hand in his and lacing their fingers together. Serenity loved his smooth, cool skin against her warmer flesh. She’d asked him once why he always seemed to register several degrees lower than was healthy. He’d told her he was cooler than her because he was a part of the night, the darkness, where warmth did not live. She found it hard to believe that Dair was just a part of the darkness when he’d brought so much light into her life. “Pretty good considering, I guess.” She glanced at the clock again. Seven minutes had passed this time; at least she was making it longer in between glances. “Are you ready for your family to be here?” Dair obviously hadn’t missed her not-so-subtle glances at the clock. She nodded. “I’m mostly ready to see Emma.” One hour and many more glances at the clock later, the door to her room finally opened and Darla, Wayne, and Glory filed into the small space. Dair had decided to remain visible to everyone this time because he wanted them to understand just how strong his feelings were for Serenity. He was not going anywhere, and they needed to get used to that. Serenity had attempted to reassure him that Darla and Wayne wouldn’t have a problem with their relationship, but still, he’d insisted that they be aware that where she went, he would also be. Serenity smiled at the trio who were now staring back at her as if she’d grown a second and third head. She wasn’t sure what exactly they were expecting. Before any of them could speak, Serenity tilted her head, attempting to look past them. Someone was missing. Her brow drew together as she looked back at her Aunt Darla. “Where’s Emma?” ~ The sun rising over the horizon glinted off the shiny hood ornament of the weathered Oldsmobile in which Emma found herself reluctantly riding. She was sitting up in the middle backseat, surveying her surroundings, her lap belt buckled firmly in place. The radio was issuing an old R&B song, and the DHS driver hummed to herself, occasionally glancing in the rearview mirror at the young girl she was transporting. Emma squinted as the car slowed then turned left, bouncing onto a gravel, potholed driveway. She studied the house to which that driveway belonged. It is a house, at least, but it isn’t much of a step up from Mildred’s place. The thought of her aunt caused Emma to pause before opening the car door. She didn’t know what had happened to Mildred. No one had bothered to tell her and she hadn’t thought to ask. She’d been so concerned about Serenity that her aunt—if the woman could actually be called that—had completely slipped her mind. Emma wasn’t sure if she should feel bad about that or not. After all, wasn’t it only natural for her to be more concerned about Serenity, the girl who cared for her and who’d proven that care by stepping in front of a bullet to protect her? Mildred certainly wouldn’t have done anything like that for her niece. The woman didn’t love Emma. She’d made that perfectly plain. In fact, she had made it perfectly plain that her feelings for Emma were quite the opposite of love. “Everything alright?” A deep voice rumbled from beside her. Raphael, her faithful guardian angel, had been true to his word and stayed with Emma the entire four-and-a-half-hour drive to South Arkansas. They had made several stops along the way. Emma didn’t know the reason for these stops, as she’d never left the car except once at a gas station to use the restroom. But through each of these stops, Raphael had remained a steady beacon in the turbulent storm that had become her life. Emma wanted so desperately to be brave. She knew her mamma would expect her to be brave, but she was also scared to be alone. Her future seemed as clear as the muddy water of the Mississippi River, and she wasn’t sure if she could maneuver it on her own. She nodded. “I just realized that I didn’t ask about Mildred. I mean, after the…” Her voice trailed off. It was still too fresh, like a new cut too tender to be touched. “You do not need to concern yourself with her any longer,” the angel informed her. His voice was gentle, but firm, making it perfectly clear that he wouldn’t be sharing any details. Maybe that was for the best, Emma thought. Perhaps she just needed to leave the dark parts of her past where they belonged: in the past. The only parts of her past upon which she needed to dwell were the ones that promised her hope. Darla, Wayne, Dair, and Serenity were her hope. She would hold fast to the memories she’d made with them and trust their light would travel with her. She would need it. Emma could somehow sense darkness was quickly coming her way. She would need the Rile’s family’s light to shine brightly, hopefully, bright enough to light the way in the darkness. Even at eight years old, she wasn’t a fool. Quite the opposite. She’d seen the realities of the world up close and personal, and none of those realities had been pleasant. Emma didn’t expect anything different to come out of her current change in circumstances. As she climbed out of the car and looked up at the dilapidated house in front of her, she didn’t need to be a fortune teller to know that nothing good was waiting for her behind the door. The DHS worker, whose name Emma couldn’t remember, turned and took a step toward her. Raphael was by her side in an instant, his large hand resting on her shoulder, reassuring her that he wasn’t going anywhere. She glanced up at him, unconcerned that it would look strange to the woman, and saw that the angel’s face was frightening in its fierceness as he stared steadfastly at the lady. He didn’t like her, not one bit. “This is your grandfather’s house,” the DHS worker informed Emma, as though she were was too dense to figure out that they’d reached their destination. Emma had felt numb when the lady had informed her at the hospital that she would be taking her to her grandfather’s house to live, as he was her next ‘suitable’ relative that could care for her. “Whoever lives here,” Emma said calmly, “is no grandfather of mine.” The DHS lady pursed her lips at her. It was obvious her patience was being tested. “As I told you, he’s the closest form of family we could find for you.” Emma bit back her first response. Her intellect made her a genius, and it overcame her childlike need to act like the eight-year-old she was. But that didn’t mean she didn’t have the urge to stomp her foot and tell the woman in her best high-pitched scream that she would not be going into that house. Instead, she stuck her hands in her pockets, stared up at the DHS lady, and waited. “You will not be here long, little one,” Raphael said quietly, though no one else around could hear him. She knew that the angel was trying to reassure her, but she still felt scared. She knew Raphael could only interfere if she was in imminent danger of direct harm by a demon. And that wasn’t likely. No demon would mess with her with Raph around. But indirect harm was a different story. If a demon merely influenced another human to act against her, the angel was powerless; he couldn’t interfere. Humans had free will, and if they chose to listen to the demons prompting, then she was in trouble, and there was nothing Raphael could do to stop it. “Maybe he has a cat and a mouse,” Emma said with a wry smile. She felt the angel squeeze her shoulder gently as a soft, deep rumble of laughter broke the quiet of the morning. Emma had the urge to pat herself on the back for getting Raphael to laugh. It wasn’t an activity that he participated in very often. “Rats, more likely,” said Raphael, sobering quickly. Emma frowned at her guardian angel. “Very encouraging,” she said out loud. “What’s that?” The DHS woman spun around and looked at Emma. “Uh, nothing,” said Emma. The woman narrowed her eyes on Emma for a second then turned her back and began pounding her fist on the weathered front door. Judging by the peeling paint, this door had seen its share of different colors over the years, the most recent of which was fading pea green. It took several drubbings of the woman’s fist on the door before it finally opened. The man who stood in the doorway caused Emma to take a step back. Had Raphael not been beside her, she was sure she would have turned tail and run. “I won’t leave you,” Raphael reminded her. Emma wanted to say that his words reassured her. But as she stood and stared into the dead eyes of the man who would be her guardian, she knew that nothing the angel said could truly put her at ease. “What?” the man snapped at the DHS woman who’d had the audacity to interrupt his evening programs. Emma could hear the low drone of a television coming from somewhere inside the house. “Mr. Jones, my name is Frieda Stillworth. I am with the Department of Human Services.” He didn’t say anything. He just continued to stare at the woman, a silent sentry blocking the door, allowing entrance to his dark home to only those he deemed most worthy. What valuables could be hidden in this dilapidated shanty, Emma could not guess. After a few moments, Frieda finally realized he wasn’t going to respond and continued. “I have brought your granddaughter to stay with you. Your daughter, Mildred Jones, has been her guardian, but unfortunate circumstances have terminated that relationship. You are the next relative we have on file for Emma. The only other relative, in fact.” “I ain’t got no daughter,” Mr. Jones said in a slurred voice. The overwhelming stench of stale alcohol wafted from the man, causing Emma to squint and turn her head. The old porch upon which they stood creaked, apparently not accustomed to the strain of having to bear three visitors at once. Admittedly, however, Emma wasn’t sure that Raphael actually weighed anything. Mrs. Stillworth continued, undaunted. “According to our records, you do. You are Reginald Jones, aren’t you?” “Even iffen I do have one, I ain’t responsible for her offspring. If she can’t keep from getting knocked up, that’s her own fault. Don’t be dropping none of her mistakes on my doorstep.” He started to close the door, but Frieda slammed her hand on it with surprising force. “I’m not supposed to bring this up at the beginning, but we are sort of desperate here. You do understand that accepting a ward of the state entitles you to monetary compensation, don’t you?” Mr. Jones’ head lifted just enough to show that, perhaps, he had been a tad too hasty in swearing off all responsibility for his daughter’s mistakes. He paused a moment. Then, for the first time, he glanced down, if only momentarily, at Emma. “How much is she worth?” he finally asked, making a motion with his head toward Emma, though his eyes never left Mrs. Stillworth. “You will get a monthly stipend of $800. This is for her basic needs, food, clothing, et cetera. And anything you feel, in your discretion, that she needs.” “Uh-huh,” he mumbled as he rubbed the weeks’ worth of grey stubble on his face. His eyes had glazed over, and Emma could tell he was already spending the money in his head. “And all I got to do is provide her with a place to sleep?” “Uh, well, you must provide for her basic needs … food, clothing, shelter.” At this last word, Mrs. Stillworth’s eyes momentarily unfocused on the old man and seemed to take in the rickety shack, even attempting to look past Mr. Jones to the dimly lit hallway the old man was still guarding. “We will, of course, check in on her periodically,” Frieda told him. “How long am I gonna have to keep her?” “Well, that all depends. It’s impossible to know in situations like this. Circumstances can change, of course. Emma could be adopted. But, if not, she will need care until she turns eighteen. Unfortunately, older children rarely get adopted.” Mrs. Stillworth leaned forward and whispered the last sentence, though much too loudly to have genuinely attempted to keep Emma from hearing. “But don’t think Emma will be a burden. On the contrary, the opposite is typically true, Mr. Jones. Just think of how much help she could be. She could do dishes, laundry, whatever you need … really, it’s almost like you’re being paid to have a live-in servant. Doesn’t that sound nice, Mr. Jones?” Emma felt Raphael tense beside her. “Does this woman really work for the government?” He practically growled. Emma was lost in her own thoughts. She continued to watch the woman extol the virtues of having a child slave while the old man squinted at her, seemingly considering all of the potential pros and cons of the arrangement. Finally, Mrs. Stillworth came to the end of her sale’s pitch, plastering something between a pained grimace and a hopeful grin on her face. The pair stared at each other in silence for what seemed to Emma like an eternity. Please say no, please say no, the young girl whispered to herself. Take me somewhere else, anywhere else, a foster family, a shelter, I don’t care. Anything would be better than this. Finally, Mr. Jones breathed out a noise that seemed to be both a grunt and a sigh at the same time. “Fine,” he mumbled. “I’ll take her. But if she gives me any problems, I’ll kick her out so fast her head will spin.” Frieda chuckled as if he’d made a joke. “No need to do something so drastic. You can simply call me if you feel she’s too much for you to handle or if you feel … the money isn’t worth it.” She turned and looked at Emma. “Come up here, child, and meet your grandfather, your new guardian.” Emma wanted to tell the DHS woman that this man was no relation whatsoever to her and that she already had a guardian. The man in front of her was more property owner than relative. “Mr. Jones, this is Emma Whitmore.” Emma stepped up the stairs and stood next to the frumpy lady. She looked up at Mildred’s father and attempted to smile. “Hello, sir.” “You’re a scrawny thing,” he replied. “How old are you?” “I’m eight.” He harrumphed. “Well, I’m going to leave you two to get to know each other. I’ll be by later with some clothes and toiletries for her.” Frieda gave a wave with her fingers before hurrying down the stairs and practically jumping into her car. It was obvious she was trying to get away before Mr. Jones could change his mind. She peeled out of the driveway like the hounds of hell were on her tail. Emma turned back around to face the man who was currently frowning down at her. He stepped away from the door, leaving it open for her to follow. “I’ll show you where you can sleep and then give you some work to do so you won’t be getting into trouble. I ain’t got time to be dealing with any trouble.” Emma followed him into the dimly lit house, but she didn’t want to shut the door. It felt as though she was sealing herself into a tomb as she finally clicked it closed. “I don’t get into trouble, sir,” she said as she followed him deeper into the cave-like house. “Don’t be sassing me, girl,” he snapped back. Emma wanted to roll her eyes but refrained. She hadn’t been sassing. She’d simply been telling him that he didn’t need to worry about her being any trouble. She realized it was probably going to be in her best interest just to keep her mouth shut as much as possible while around this man. “I ain’t got another bed, and you sure as hell aren’t taking mine. So you’ll sleep there.” He pointed at the floor in a tiny closet-like room. “I might have a blanket, but I don’t got no pillow for you. Maybe your fancy gov’ment lady friend’ll bring you back one.” As she followed him into the kitchen, he pointed at the counter and the sink full of disgusting dishes. “If you want to eat tonight, then you got to earn it. Git to cleaning.” He barked before leaving the room. Well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Emma thought, considering his daughter had practically said the same thing. She sighed, realizing that the lack of a pillow was going to be the least of her worries. She looked up at Raphael and tried to give him a hopeful smile. “It could be worse, right?” He patted her head and then moved toward the mess. “I’ll wash, you dry.” He told her as he started to clean out the sink so he could fill it with water. Apparently, Raphael wasn’t concerned about Mr. Jones seeing him in the man’s kitchen. If he wasn’t worried about it, she wouldn’t be either. They worked together in silence, Emma lost in her thoughts wondering how Serenity was. She sent up a silent prayer that her friend was alright and that she would get to return to them quickly.