Dream Walker

Chapter 7 | Close Encounters of the Cold Kind

The smell of books transported Callie back to a childhood spent in libraries. She never had a preference among school libraries, public libraries, or bookstores, as long as she was surrounded by endless stacks of books. Her mom once said that everything Callie needed to know about the world could be found on those inked pages.

As a girl, she learned how to escape the world with a mystical fantasy or care more deeply about her fellow humans with an emotional memoir. Reading about the tragedies and triumphs in the scientific field had sparked her interest in science. Seeing the bruises that frequently decorated her mom's skin had turned that interest toward medicine. Her mom also devoured books and could often be found curled up in bed lost in the pages of one. Callie began to suspect as an older child that her mom no longer wanted to know about the real world. She only wanted to escape.

Although she had less time to read for fun since starting college, Callie still enjoyed being in the presence of so many books. The university's main library had numerous floors filled with books of various subjects. While the first few floors were heavily trafficked by students, the upper floors were rarely visited, and Callie liked to find secluded spots on those floors when she needed to study for hours without disruption.

Even if that was her favorite way to study, she found herself sitting at a round table on the main floor of the science library. It was filled with people, and the slight murmur of voices was more of white noise than a distraction. She could be productive enough in this room, but the presence of so many people made her skin itch and canceled out the comforting feeling the books normally gave her. However, she had no desire to study with this Alex guy in a private location, and no one needed to know about her secret library hideouts.

Alex had texted her a few hours earlier to tell her when he would be free. His voice had been just as unreadable over text, though that was likely due to the medium rather than the person. She had awoken that morning almost refreshed, since passing out drunk was the only way she could remain unconscious for more than a few hours before the dreams started.

Sipping on a few more drinks at home while watching a movie had not been enough to block out the uneasiness she had felt after her interaction with Alex at the sports bar. Lyn's not-so-subtle attempts to set her up with the guy were merely annoying. The fact that he suddenly kept showing up everywhere in her life was discomfiting. Her gut said his interest was not platonic or romantic or even sexual, and that left few other options.

She could feel herself spiraling and tumbling in an avalanche of anxiety over all the recent occurrences. Between the horrific murder of that girl—poor Eva, whose only crime had probably been her resemblance to Callie—and Alex's attempts to wriggle himself into her life, her desire to finish this year with no major problems seemed futile. Overthinking would be the death of her, if no supernatural monsters took her out first.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a chair being pulled out from under the table. Her gaze landed first on the large hand resting atop the seat, then flicked up to see the rest of the person. Alex was already sliding his lean frame into the chair. She only had a quick glance at his outfit, joggers and a sweatshirt.

His posture was loose, and she noted that he looked more relaxed than he had last night. Then again, he had been trying to fit in with a certain group. Now he could be himself, or at least another version of himself. Maybe no one else would have seen these changes in his behavior, but she was already on high alert. Every slight alteration made her nerves tingle.

Alex's grin was boyish, charming in a simple way, and he looked at her like a friend would. "Hey, Callie, how are you?"

As he spoke, he began removing his laptop and a notebook from his bag. The return of his gentle lilt was more comforting than the drawl he had used the night before. Perhaps the change was only situational—he talked like the rest of those guys when he spent a lot of time around them.