The Last Symphony

Chapter Three

The streets were dark by the time the Jackal departed into the shadows. She drifted into the night light on her feet, unafraid of the cold and barely lit sidewalks. Out there, she was the predator. 

I breathed a sigh of relief, and probably a bit of mold judging by the current state of the kitchen. I glanced at the mark on my wrist, the small rodent a reminder of my future. Up close, I made out the thin lines. The chosen rodent of a magical assassin was, in fact, a gerbil. How right that felt.

I doubt the Jackal had access to a background check on me. True, I knew next to nothing about her, whether she was human or a creature of some sort, though I would guess the latter. But the gerbil reminded me of fifth-grade, which felt so minor and insignificant in comparison.

And while I may not be lucky, a freeing sort of emotion settled in my stomach, knowing when I would die meant I still had time. A year left to live. Plenty of time to spend it how I wanted. Fitting somehow. I would talk to my brother in the morning, ask him about work and his new relationship. I'd need to cover up the tattoo, he'd probably search for it tomorrow, but I had makeup for that. I couldn't let him find out. I didn't want him blaming himself once the time came.

The stray cat meowed, reminding me I still had things to do. I filled her makeshift food and water dish, aka off-brand plastic containers. I swore I'd never adopt her, but that didn't stop me from saving up any spare change I had to purchase the better-reviewed, special diet cat food.

Once she settled in with her meal, I decided to skip dinner and save it for tomorrow instead. I went upstairs to prepare for bed. Sleep would come restlessly tonight, too much for my mind to contemplate, but I had to make an effort.

There had been nothing to worry about because as soon as my head touched the pillow, sleep embraced me in a warm dark hug. Instead of the past days or weeks haunting my dreams, I found myself in a new vivid dream, unlike anything I'd ever experienced.

Across from me sat a table, an old oak desk from the looks of it, with an empty office chair on the other side. The seat beneath me was plush and comfortable as I tilted side to side. I scooted, and noticed that the chair was wider than I imagined. A couch or bench. But it didn't have the same masculine allure of the dark office chair next to me.

I left my cozy place on the couch and tried the new chair for myself. I swiveled in the seat, finding that the laws of physics didn't exactly apply in this dream space. The chair spun and spun. With my head tilted back, I drifted back into childhood memories. It continued until I became dizzy and disoriented and I lowered my legs to stop. My toes skidded across the ground, slowing my pace. Once still and breathless, I took in the room around me.

This was someone's office, like their personal space. Bookshelves lined the walls and a lit fireplace on the other side of the room invited me closer. The flame danced in the hearth and I could swear heat licked my face.

But something left me unsettled. Something about the room that screamed at me that this was a dream and not the real world. It took a moment before I recognized what my mind was trying to tell me. The room had no door.

I was trapped. Trapped in this room, trapped in my sleep. No point in panicking, this was a dream, so I let curiosity take me. The bookshelves caught my attention again and I stepped closer to examine the book titles. Would they be blank or filled with my mind's own creation? What a fascinating way to explore my subconscious.

"What are you doing here?" A deep voice cut in behind me and my body tensed. Yet, I still didn't wake. I turned around to meet my dream visitor.

Black hair, like the Jackal's, surrounded a handsome face with sharp emerald, green eyes. They reminded me of spring leaves and fresh grass. He had tanned skin, like an Egyptian, but no blemishes marred his body. Youngish and breathtaking but no other discerning features. He had to be someone my subconscious created, perhaps a friend of my brothers, judging by his age, but he had no scars or wrinkles. Perfection and emptiness all in one package.