Beautiful Dreamer

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

I screamed until my throat went raw, until spots danced in front of my eyes and sweat poured in torrents down my face. I screamed until my door was thrown open and the lights sparked on and Juliette and my mother appeared in front of me, shouting.

“Parker!” Mom barked, standing stiffly by the side of my bed. “Parker Sage Elway, stop that right now!”

I couldn't stop. I didn't, until my mother's hand shot out and clamped itself over my mouth. Abruptly, my delirious shriek cut off into silence. I stared at my mother, wide-eyed, panting into the cool flesh of her palm. Her touch reminded me of the figure, its icy dark fingertips caressing my cheek, and I had to fight the urge to recoil.

“Juliette,” my mother said briskly, “what happened?”

My friend was perched at the edge of my bed, the end of the comforter bunched beneath her chin. I might have laughed at the way her makeup was smeared on one side, except that we were both shaking too much for anything to be funny.

“I-I don't know,” Juliette uttered helplessly. “I just woke up and she was howling and I didn't know what to do! I-I'm sorry!”

Through glazed eyes, I watched my mother's sharp face clench, her nose scrunching slightly. Even now, having been roused from sleep, her demeanor was tight and severe. She drew her hand from my mouth very slowly; every move she ever made was deliberate, precise. Her gaze flickered over to me, and she pressed the heels of her hands into her hips.

“Are you done?” she demanded. I nodded emptily. “Then tell me what happened.”

I looked my mother in the eye, some of my confidence returning as I straightened up. Even still, I felt the ghost of frosty fingers against my face.

“There was something in my room,” I said, my voice as still as I could make it. “It was right there, right in front of the television.” I pointed, remembering the inky shadow. “It was this big, black figure, and I couldn't see a face or anything, but it was there. I swear, it was there. I would have screamed or called for help, but I—I couldn't move.”

I fisted my hands around the comforter, my bony hands being swallowed by the plush fabric. My hair fell across my eyes, and I knew I looked like a mess. God knows I felt like one.

Juliette, a few feet away, was staring me down with blue-eyed incredulity, her expression conveying complete disbelief.

“Parker Sage,” she began gently, “don't you think I would have seen if there was someone in the room? You must have just been dreaming.”

I turned on her sharply, glaring, and spat, “I was not dreaming.”

My mother didn't even look at Juliette. Her eyes were on me, unblinking, as she calmly stated, “Juliette, maybe you should leave.”

“But Ms. Elway!” Juliette protested immediately. “It's nearly four o'clock in the morning, I can't—”

“Juliette,” my mother repeated, more forceful this time, “maybe you should leave.”

Mom was looking at me, and I was looking at her, but I distinctly heard Juliette gulp down a huge swallow. She knew better than to argue with my mother. No one argued with my mother.

“I'll let you out,” Mom stated, calm and stiff. She rose, her firm stare bringing Juliette to her feet as well. My friend grabbed her sweater, raking a hand through her hair. She still looked confused and groggy, but she shuffled over and squeezed me in a one-armed hug, murmuring something about picking up her stuff later.