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Lakin: Then
I recall the way the room pulsed with light and color. Vibrating waves of red and blue.
I had Cameron’s leather jacket draped over my shoulders. It was a humid eighty-something degrees even in the spring evening, but the biting chill of the situation was making me shiver.
“I dreamed this would happen.” A mantra I kept repeating.
Chelsea’s visit that day had triggered the reminder of the dream. But there was more… More twisted visions inside the dream, beckoning me closer.
A knife slashing. Red streaming. A scream wrenched from the abyss of pain.
An officer glanced my way. I couldn’t focus on details—my mind unable to absorb the scene. But I remember the officer’s tight frown, the way it made him appear older than he probably was. This man who had seen so little was judging my life, disapproval crawling down his features like a surly grub.
“She needs help.” I heard another officer say.
Cameron was nodding, agreeing, giving her statement. My roommate just wanted the two cops out of our apartment. She hated scenes, drama. She hated eavesdropping neighbors.
It had been an eavesdropping neighbor that called the police on me and Drew.
Our fight had escalated quickly.
Heart thudding heavily in my ears, I squeezed my eyes closed. Pressure built at the back of my sockets. A threat to crack my skull.
The flashing brought on a strobe light effect of the dream. Chelsea and a scream…dark water… The past and present were merging into some horrid nightmare that I couldn’t shake, that I couldn’t wake from. I was detached, wandering through a fog.
“What the hell happened?”
Cameron knelt before me. The warmth of her hand on my knee.
She’d gotten rid of the cops. Finally, I opened my eyes, able to take a breath. I shook my head, not knowing where to start, how to explain to my friend.
Shouts. Breaking glass. Threats.
In the end, Cameron didn’t need me to tell her what happened. Rumors were already circulating campus. Social media was abuzz with posts reveling in a tawdry affair between teacher and student.
Once she saw the first thread on her phone, she cursed.
“He’s a dick.” A disgusted noise escaped. “No, dicks are at least useful. He’s a douchebag.” Her eyes turned soft. “Oh, Cynth. I’m so sorry.”
Me too.
But not as sorry as Drew would soon be.
Should’ve locked him away.
When Drew became the prime suspect in my case, that’s what the detective had said, though he thought I couldn’t comprehend from my drug-induced state on the hospital bed.
They should’ve locked them both away.
6
Rivulets
Lakin: Now
Rhys and I, we needed a win.
After our failed trip to Silver Lake, I returned to Missouri, still fleeing a faceless, nameless killer, and I could’ve given up. There was nowhere to go from there. No new leads. And my brave attempt to confront my fear by visiting the scene had failed.
