Haunted Rayne

11 | The Eyes of Eden

Dorian Matthews dreams of rain, pelting the roof of a luxurious modern home centered in the Pennsylvanian woods. For a moment, dream-Dorian studies the streams as they trickle down his bedside window. Perhaps this is the segueing image that had transitioned him from one dream to the next—from falling over the edge of a cliff to observing a single raindrop streaming down a frosted windowpane.

Dorian stands confidently, as men often do in dreams, and slips out from beneath the silken, maroon duvet. The moon shines through floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the eastern wall, and there is an alarm clock on the nightstand that reads 10:39 p.m.

Wearing a long-sleeve Henley shirt and a pair of navy boxer briefs, Dorian ambles from the bedroom to the kitchen. He will not realize until morning that he has never before seen this house, for as he dreams, Dorian feels familiar within the structure; in fact, it seems as though dream-Dorian calls this place home.

In the living room, the aft wall is constructed of another floor-to-ceiling window, allowing the outdoor precipitation to feel as though it is flooding the home. A brunette stands in the kitchen wearing a lace-trimmed satin robe. Her hair is long, reaching the middle of her spine, and the ends of her short kimono expose the bottoms of her cheeks and tanned legs. With her back towards him and her gaze upon the window, it appears as though the woman is admiring the view.

Dorian approaches her, a dreamlike intuition telling him who she is even though he has not yet made the connection within his real-world subconscious. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her back close to the plains of his chest, allowing himself to breathe in the floral fragrance of her shampoo. They gape in awe at the sight before them: moonlight, bathing droplets of rainwater with a mystical shimmer, illumining the expanse of pine trees that tower over their secluded home.

Through the blurry, rain-dripped reflection, Dorian sees the woman's face, and only then, does he realize who he was holding. Startled, he takes several steps backward.

"He knows," she whispers.

Rayne Foster turns around, and it is evident that she is a girl no longer. She is a woman now, appearing as though she has aged ten to fifteen years. Fine lines begin to crinkle the corners of her eyes; smile lines etched deep into her skin.

She steps toward him, one smooth leg slipping through the folds of her satin nightgown. A manicured hand extends toward him. "Don't be shy," she says, offering a lustrous Pacific Rose apple. Something slick suddenly slips down his fingers; Dorian can hear its steady drip-drop-drip against the birch wood flooring and trains his eyes downward. When he lifts his hands and surveys his palms, he discovers they are smeared with blood.

Rayne stands before him now. Toe to toe. The rapid quiver in her eyes and lips challenges the violent rattling of an eastern diamondback. The apple falls to the floor. As Dorian's gaze falls upon her, the golden hue of her skin begins to pale in patches, like a rash spreading across the surface of her flesh. Thin, black veins pebble her forearms, her collarbone, her cheeks, and she whispers, "Oh, God. He's found us."

Like moonlight gleaming off the internal facets of an emerald stone, Rayne Foster's brown eyes suddenly flicker a dazzling green. Dorian does not have long to recognize the shade, for as soon as the irises invoke a long-since forgotten memory, the woman before him thrusts a blade into his chest.

◢✥◣

"No!"

At half past three in the morning, Dorian Matthews awoke in a panic, clutching the breast of his T-shirt. It took a moment for Dorian's eyes to adjust to the darkened dorm room. For several heartbeats, he simply sat still, steadying his rushing breath until he could muster the energy to travel from his mattress to the mini-fridge in the corner. The staff's living quarters, located on the upper floors of the South Hall, were not nearly as extravagant as the student dormitory, however, they did possess a few luxuries the students did not (fridge, microwave, private bath, etc.).