Page 11 of Beautiful Prey

“No,” he said in a low, more serious voice. “If we do this, I don’t want to be recorded.”

I stilled, looking at him. I wanted to argue, but knew I could lose any chance to talk with him otherwise. “Alright,” I say, straightening. “But can I at least take notes?”

He tilted his head to the side in that odd way as if someone was whispering in his ear. “Fine,” he said after a moment.

I took out my pen and pad and scribbled in the corner before writing Emery SESSION TWO at the top. “So, Emery, how have you been?”

The chains slid across his seat as he moved his feet back. “Better.”

I glanced at him and raised my brows. “That’s good. Care to elaborate?”

He tilted his head, mulling it over. “I’ve found a new interest. It’s kept my mind occupied for longer than most.”

“Oh yeah, like what?”

His hands clenched and unclenched. “A story.”

I watched him, confused. “Is this a new book you’re reading?”

“No, it’s one I’ve thought up in my head.”

“Ah.” I made a note of that. “So, you want to write a story?”

His quiet laughter caught me off guard. “No, I prefer to keep this one in my head. I don’t want to share it.”

I shrugged. “That’s totally fine.”

“But it’s been turning in my mind since you left. Gotten more complex. It’s vivid. Truthfully, it started as a dream. I don’t usually recount my dreams; they aren’t usually nice.”

“You have a lot of nightmares?”

His eyes locked with mine. “Yes. Every night. Most times, I don’t remember. I just wake up yelling or screaming. It’s annoying.”

“Are they about anything in particular? Recurring?”

“Yes. They are always the same. But it doesn’t matter. This dream was different, it was…beautiful. Like nothing I ever felt.”

“What did you feel?”

He bowed his head, looking at his lap. “I can only describe it as warmth. Like being hugged as a child by someone who cares about you. The darkness is gone and there is only comfort. No more fear or pain. Like heaven. I didn’t want the dream to end so I held on to it when I woke. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”

I wanted him to continue. “Did anything change in your day that you think might have brought this dream on?”

His gaze was piercing, and for some reason, I started to feel flushed. “Something…” he said distantly. Unable to hold his gaze, I wrote down what he said. He blew out a breath andleaned back in his chair. “Maybe it was just the kittens they brought in last week. Cute little fuckers…”

“Well, I hope the dream returns in your sleep,” I said, actually meaning it. “Maybe it’s a sign of the better to come. That whatever brought on your nightmares is passing.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I lived with them for so long, it’s hard to know what’s reality. Even with the dream.”

I straightened in my seat, trying not to look too eager as I asked, “What made the nightmares real?” His eyes told me he already knew how curious I was so I continued with, “Anything you tell me, Emery, will stay in this room.”

He glanced at my hand with the pen pressed into the paper, then his cold eyes turned to me. “Until it's noted down to be examined later,” he whispered, “and rewritten into some baseless article on the deranged and twisted mind of a madman, right?”

I lifted my pen and shut the notepad, dropping it into my bag. “I promise.”

For a moment, he looked uncertain. He shifted in his seat, gripping the fabric of his pants, as if recounting the memories pained him.

“There’s so much…”

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