The Ill-fated Lovers

Chapter 3

It was the same nightmare again. The first one I got before the other ones came. Every detail of the dream was as I remembered it. The old woman screamed, 'kill the bastard,' and then the man. The familiar man that always appeared was killed and I clung to him as I cried. Then it was my turn to die...

I closed my dream journal and tucked it away in my nightstand. I ran my hand through my hair and stood up from my bed. I drew my curtains and allowed sunlight to filter into my apartment.

I was already dressed in jeans and a black blouse for work. My phone beeped and I picked it up to see Ben's name and my sister Vanessa.

-Vanessa
Home for spring break.

- Ben
I'm outside.

"Oh shit!" I cursed out loud. I scrambled to get my things. My jacket and keys. I've been waiting for Ben for ten minutes. That's why I decided to write in my journal.

I felt like I was missing something about my dreams. It was as if I was looking at a puzzle with a missing piece. I just needed that one piece for it to all make sense.

I locked my apartment door and turned around to be met with a pair of murky eyes and a head full of white hair sticking up in every direction. I shrieked. "Holy- Ms. Rhiamon you gave me a fright," I panted trying to get my heart rate down. Ms. Rhiamon was the old woman that gave me the tv.

Her one eyebrow raised almost touching her hairline."Been having them nightmares every night are you las?" She asked.

A chill ran down my spine as if a ghost walked past me. "Ms. Rhiamon, how do you know about that?"

She took a step forward and looked around. "The walls are thin," She said in a lowered tone of voice before going into her apartment.

Giving her door one last look I made my way down the stairs missing the second stair from the bottom purposely and jumping because the stair was broken.

"Valerie," A familiar throaty voice called before I could walk out the door. Ah frick, I tried to walk faster as to ignore the man. I was trying hard not to swear or use language often, but making it a day without using at least ten swear words was impossible. "Valerie," Mr. Peterson called again and I sighed stopping. I turned around to face him to see he was in a brown tattered night robe and black sweat pants. He had a large coffee mug in his hand but I could bet anything that he wasn't drinking coffee or tea. It didn't smell like coffee or tea to me.

Peterson was a thin undernourished man that drank his tenant's money. His clothes hung off his skeletal body and his pants dragged on the floor. He had dark circles under his eyes and his eyes were red due to his excessive drinking.

Luckily for me my brother Adam bought the apartment he loaned me and I didn't have to give Peterson a penny of rent money. "Don't happen to have any change on you? I promise I'll pay you back," he said and I arched an eyebrow. Like the other ten dollars, he paid back. The man avoided me for a month because of ten dollars. He tried to hide behind a pot plant for fudge's sake.

I had a dollar and fifteen cents in my back pocket. I pulled it out and gave it to him. Hopefully, he'd avoid me for the rest of the year.

I walked out of the building and the spring breeze was refreshing. I took in a lung full and let out a contempt breath. The sun hit my face in the most satisfying way, warming up my entire body. I got into Ben's car. "How the hell is Darth Vader stronger than Voldemort. You make no sense," Ben told Zane.

"By the time Lord Voldemort uttered the Avada kedavra curse, Darth Vader could use the force on him. It's about quickness," Zane retorted. I rolled my eyes as I listened to the two go on.