Page 1 of Dreamer

1

Family names are often the best names. This is how little girls get names like “Piper” or “Carlisle”

The water got higher. It was cold, so cold, pushing on her legs first, then her waist. Though she tugged and cried, the car door wouldn’t open, and the windows didn’t work. Everything had to be too wet for any electrical connections. What she wouldn’t give for that old beater car with the crank down windows that her dad had taught her to drive on.

The touch button amenities were literally going to kill her.

She couldn’t get out.

Unable to stop herself, she screamed in terror. Then she screamed again.

But nothing changed. No one could hear her. The car was entirely underwater, and she’d been alone on the road before she veered off. If she was going to survive, it would be from inside the car. Pushing frantically at the seat belt release, she started to panic.Shewasstuck!

Trying to calm the panic that was taking over, she searched frantically for something useful. Did she have a window cracker? She did not. She was going to die because she was stupid. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. The last thing she needed was more water!

Gulping a hysterical laugh, Carlisle felt her wishes turn to regrets. She hadn’t told her mom that she loved her. Her brother was still off in a foreign war. She hadn’t talked to her twin in months. At least she’d seen her dad yesterday.

She had to live!There was no other option, though she was pretty sure fate had other ideas. Twisting, frantic, panicked, and desperate, she looked into the back seat. The white caps of the two-liter sodas she’d bought for her nieces’ party bobbed in the murky water, taunting her with the end of her life.

Sucking in the cold night air, Carlisle bolted upright, her lungs heaving, her heart pounding in her chest.The memories pressed in, but at least now she could start to place them as memories. She was in her own bed and she wasn’t actually dying right now.

Even knowing that didn’t change her body’s reaction, didn’t peel back the fear. Though the dream was starting to slough away, it was something else that had woken her.

This had to pass. Didn’t it?

She’d survived. She was thriving, wasn’t she? Jane even had a brilliant idea, all because Carlisle had to be rescued from a sinking car. The pothole that had made her overcorrect and sent her into the water had been filled in. The streets were getting some much-needed repairs as a benefit from her accident, too.

She tried to talk herself down. Carlisle picked up the squeeze ball from the side of the bed. Ignoring the sweat that trickled between her shoulder blades, she began passing the ball from hand to hand, swinging the motion wide. It wasn’t like there was anyone else in her bed to hit, so she got a little aggressive.

With more deep breaths that worked but didn’t feel any better, she told herself not to spook so easily and tried to get her racing heart to calm the hell down.

She repeated to herself,I am okay. I am alive. I am safe?—

Something pounded at the front door.

Her head snapped to the side where her clock told her it was 2:30 am.What the hell was that?

The second time it came, she recognized it as knocking—dramatic, desperately needing attention.

Who would even be here?

Her heart rate kicked up again. This couldn’t be healthy.

She’d lived in dorms, and in apartments with roommates, and for the last several years she’d had a unit of her own before buying this house, but she had never truly felt alone like this. There had always been someone on the other side of the wall.

Throwing off the covers, she snuck down the short hallway and peeked through her own living room. Through the sheers she could see the silhouette of a man standing on the front porch, short dark curls blowing in the night wind, a long coat wrapped tight against the chill. He looked back over his shoulder and then tried to peer inside.

She was about to tell him to go away when he called out, “Are you okay?”

Shit. He was being nice.What had she done?

This was when her heart rate decided to slow.Stupid nervous system. She knew better than to answer the door to a stranger in the middle of the night, but the chances that he was a serial killer were low. Or so Carlisle told herself before opening the door to let him know she was fine. The sharp cold of the air slapped at her and reminded her she was in only a night gown.

Great.

She could see the headline, “Local nurse survives car drowning only to be hacked to bits by serial killer weeks later.”

Stupid.

---