Wake to Dream Read online




  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Wake To Dream: Copyright © 2016 by Lily White

  Cover: Cover Me Darling

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, distributed in any printed or electronic form or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  A psychological thriller by Lily White

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  Author Note and Disclaimer:

  This book is intended for entertainment purposes solely. I have taken many liberties with the subject matter mentioned in the story and this book does not represent a clinical view or realistic interpretation of the psychological disorders mentioned and described.

  Other Books by Lily White

  Her Master’s Courtesan

  (Book 1 of the Masters Series)

  Her Master’s Teacher

  (Book 2 of the Masters Series)

  Target This

  Hard Roads

  Asylum

  12:30 p.m.

  Gray walls.

  Black table.

  Plastic, fake red roses.

  Everything in place, the dust on the tables untouched by human fingers.

  Nothing can change because if anything changes, the room is no longer real.

  …drip...

  "Alice? ... Ms. Beaumont? ... Alice Beaumont ..."

  Fast enough to wrench the muscles in her neck, Alice's delicate and emaciated face shot up to lock eyes with Dr. Chance, fingers of anxious dread tracing along her spine. She found him to be sensitive and sweet, if not for his insistence to return her to places she'd rather remain buried.

  "Is it my time, doctor?"

  He nodded.

  Gray walls.

  White door.

  Dark wood desk.

  White and beige striped couch.

  Still the same. Still safe.

  ...drip...

  "How are you today, Alice? You appear...stressed." His voice was discordant, bits and pieces understandable, but the rest filtered by the white noise of air rushing from the vents in the ceiling.

  "Are you taking your medications?"

  "Yes," she nodded, her lips forming the word, but her voice so weak she wasn't certain she'd spoken.

  "Good," he answered, his assured tone a bare whisper in her thoughts. "Please, sit down."

  Five steps across the room, three steps over the soft, patterned carpet. Four cushions. A white throw draped loosely over the armrest.

  Her jaw clenched, her head ticked sharply to the side. Her body had a mind of its own.

  "I'm having the dreams again. They don't stop." Terror softened her voice before breaking it apart entirely. "They're relentless."

  With a soothing voice to coddle the fragility of Alice's psyche, Dr. Chance asked, "Are the medications helping you sleep?"

  Her head shook, a wild movement that felt impossibly fast. "I sleep too much."

  Thick silence fell, only broken apart by the doctor's gentle voice. "You've never told me about the beginning, you know? All I have to help you are the dreams." Another suffocating moment of silence. "Tell me what happened in the beginning."

  "Can it matter?"

  Seconds passed, the clock ticking oddly from the wall. Why hadn't he answered?

  Had she actually spoken?

  A grumble sounded, her throat clearing away the lump of festering fear that clogged it. "Will the beginning help, doctor?"

  "Yes."

  Violent tremors shook her, the nightmare of the beginning a wash of pure horror across her thoughts. "She was taken."

  "Who...was taken?"

  "My sister. They took her. Those bastards took her." It was as if a finger had pressed the volume button, Alice's voice increasing until it was a feral screech on her lips. "They are hurting her! Don't you understand? We have to find her. I have to find her."

  "I don't want to talk about the dreams today, Alice." Annoyance in the doctor's voice, determination to make her discuss the topic he wanted. "We're going to start from the beginning."

  Hair slapped her face when she shook her head again. Alice's arms were a tight band wrapping her torso, her feet tapping out a rhythm too fast for any sane person. "I don't know if I can."

  Suddenly soothing, the doctor's voice changed as fast as Alice's emotions, his patience vying against her insanity to wrestle her behavior under control. "Let's go back to the beginning, Alice, to before the day Delilah was taken. Maybe remembering where you came from will tell me more about where you are now."

  "It's not pretty."

  ...drip...

  "It's never pretty."

  "Take me there," he insisted.

  "You'll scream, Doc."

  Silence. He always let silence hang there, a thick and obscene shroud that promised death. "I won't scream."

  Hers was a smile that could only be achieved by the insane.

  "They all scream."

  It's often said that dreams are what you make of them. Alice believed the saying; she held onto that belief even as she approached the monstrosity of an old Victorian home covered and crumbling beneath the weight of a rampant, bright green vine.

  Windows that filled the three-story height were dirty and broken. The double doors that had once been a grand entry were barely clinging on to their hinges. For fear she would tumble through the loose and decaying boards of the front steps, she tested her weight first before beginning the climb.

  Gripping the tattered and worn handle of the briefcase her mother had bought her on the day she graduated college, she squared her shoulders and tilted her chin in feigned strength of mind.

  I can do this, she thought to herself, a lie she'd adopted as her daily mantra, a lie that pushed away the nagging whispers that she'd been delegated the worst of the lot.

  Her career, thus far, had never panned out. She kept pushing forward, changing directions as often as an impatient person changed lanes in heavy traffic. Regardless of the career type, she always ended up in the same place: a layperson learning the ropes while being assigned the impossible and daunting task.

  Pulling her phone from her pocket, she dialed a number she hadn't yet memorized, checking the number twice before punching in the last few digits.

  "What's wrong?" Her boss, Sarah, never had time for pleasantries.

  "I think I have the wrong house," Alice explained. "You can't possibly expect me to sell this."

  "Three story Victorian on the corner of Woods Boulevard and First Street?"

  "Yes, that's where I am."

  "Then you have the right one and you will sell it." An intelligent person would understand the veiled threat in Sarah's response. Silence ticked between them before, "I have faith in you. I couldn't
put my finger on it when I first hired you, but I knew something was there. Impress me."

  The door shoved open with a screech, a cloud of dust rolling through the fractured sunlight from within the house. Alice grimaced to find that the interior was as dilapidated as the exterior...if not more so.

  "Oh, and one last thing," Sarah added, her voice more chipper now that Alice hadn't complained further, "there might be squatters, so be careful going in. Call me with your thoughts after you've performed a full evaluation."

  The line went dead, along with Alice's dream of a new and successful career.

  Wrinkling her nose against the thick stench of mildew and mold, the distinct sliver of something that had died but not yet fully rotted away, Alice placed a hesitant foot inside the structure.

  "Hello?"

  Her voice echoed back at her, a haunting repetition of her fear in the one single word.

  Scrabbling feet of a rodent against wooden floors could be heard in response, but nothing indicating that a person was inside.

  Muttering to herself, Alice gingerly moved about the entry room, her body angled oddly in order to peek into what was technically a formal dining room, if not for the tree that was growing up through the floor.

  "There's no way," she muttered to herself, "unless the buyer has a bulldozer to take to the place."

  Vibration from her purse pulled her attention to her phone, but she ignored it, opting instead to keep an open eye on the shadows of the house. Just because she received no response when she called out didn't necessarily mean no person was inside.

  Creeping forward, she cringed each time the floor creaked beneath her feet, the sickening crunch of rotted wood threatening to drop her into the crawl space of the home with each step she took forward.

  And to think she had two more floors to go.

  Quitting this job would leave her in dire straights, but if this is what she had to look forward to, her life and wellbeing was worth more than the possibility of a commission from a sale.

  Another vibration reminded her that someone had called or sent a message, but she ignored it again.

  "Damn it, Alice. Get it together, woman."

  Fishing around in the giant purse she wore crossed over her body, she fingered the can of mace she kept on her after leaving home and living alone. Never before had she used the aerosol weapon, but the peace of mind it afforded her helped her stumble a few more steps into the interior of the antique kitchen.

  Definitely a tear down, she thought, somewhat dismayed that the owner of the house had allowed it to fall into poor shape. Glancing up, she admired the vaulted ceilings and carved wood crown molding. Such a shame that neglect had ruined what would have been valuable features.

  Winding stairs took her up to the next level, bedrooms spaced out evenly through the dimly lit halls where light from the windows could barely penetrate. The floors groaned to take her weight, her fingers clenched tighter to the strap of her purse as she peeked into each room that she passed. Not as worn as the first floor, but still desiccated to the point where it couldn't be salvaged.

  A service stairwell was hidden behind a door at the end of the hall, the hinges falling away from the frame entirely when Alice yanked it open. Laying the heavy partition on the floor, she spit out the dust that had covered her mouth and tongue. Her clothes were smeared with the same dust, patches of spider webs woven into the ancient brown dirt.

  The third floor was nothing more than an attic converted into a spacious room. Possibly a bedroom at the time it was inhabitable, the vaulted roof arched down on the sides, and a small closet door was set off to the right.

  Blankets and trash littered the floor, the smell of human excrement a thick irritation in her nose. Coughing in response to the abysmal state of the space, Alice was thankful that large windows allowed in enough light to let her know she was alone.

  The only task left to do was investigate the closet. In old homes such as this one, doors led to peculiar places, and Alice was unable to ignore her curiosity as to where the three foot doorway led.

  A secret passage wouldn't make the house more valuable, but it would lend a touch of mystery when the potential buyers arrived to inspect the property. If only she could block their view of everything except for the odd, small door.

  Hunched over and dragging the weight of her briefcase and purse, Alice reached out with a trembling hand to pull at the knob, hopeful that the door would open and reveal something she could use to sell the place.

  A gentle tug wasn't enough to loosen the door from the frame and she feared ripping it off entirely if she pulled much harder. Twisting the knob again, she pushed back her fear and...

  "That door tends to stick when it hasn't been opened in a while."

  She was a pile on the floor before the man who'd spoken could catch her fall. His strong hands wrapped her biceps, dragging her to her feet before she could flinch away from his touch.

  "I didn't mean to startle you," he said, "I thought my presence would be helpful. You're the realtor, correct?"

  Alice's suspicious eyes narrowed, her gaze settling on the sharp lines of the stranger's face. "How did you get up here without me hearing you? The entire floor is practically falling apart. You're not supposed to be here. This is private property."

  Inching away from the frightened woman, the stranger held up his hands in placation. "My name is Maximilian Frost."

  Recognition of the name pulled Alice from the terror she felt. "Your family owns the house."

  His lip twitched in response to some unknown thought. "I find it hard to believe my family owns anything, especially when considering they're all six feet beneath the ground."

  Her eyes narrowed more, and he smiled. "May they all rest in peace."

  Shaking off the remnants of her shock, she kept her eyes trained on the man while her hands moved quickly to brush the dust and debris from her clothes. “My name is Alice Beaumont. And yes, I'm the realtor."

  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Beaumont. Have you had an opportunity to walk the entire house?"

  Unable to dislodge all of the filth from her white shirt, she sighed in resignation. It wouldn't please Sarah to know the buyer's first impression of the realty firm was a wet behind the ears agent with dirt covering her clothes. Perhaps the decrepit state of the home they were touring would distract them from Alice's state of dress. "Everything except for this closet. The door appears to be jammed tight."

  Taking the time to study the man's face, Alice first noticed his strong jaw and cutting cheekbones that cast sharp lines of shadow across his cheek. Five o'clock shadow dusted his skin, the hue matching his obsidian hair. A straight nose sat above full lips.

  But that was only half his face. The other half was hidden behind a tragic and disfiguring scar. Mottled and misshapen, his skin was obviously burned, bearing the evidence of attempted skin grafts that failed to completely cover the damage done. Even with the scar, he was a handsome man, character and the need to survive written into the imperfection of his skin.

  Most startling of all were the clear blue eyes that stared back as observant of her as she was of him.

  "I apologize for my reaction, Mr. Frost..."

  "Max," he interrupted, not surprised in any way at the manner in which she studied his face. "I prefer to be called Max."

  Stepping forward, he moved into the sunlight that barely broke through the filth laden windows. Alice sucked in a sharp breath, the scant bits of light illuminating the depth of the color of the man's eyes, the shock to her system a palpable thing.

  "Max," she corrected herself, "are you able to open the door?"

  Not fully a smile, the corners of his lips pulled up in amusement. "I am. Although, I have to ask: Are you sure you want it open?"

  It was an odd question fitting of the odd house in which they were located. Nothing about this experience set Alice's heart at ease. "Of course, I'm sure," she lied, her determination to stay employed vying with the strong urge inside her to
run from the house and never look back.

  He smiled, "It's just that the closet is, most likely, filthy. Just like the rest of the house."

  It wasn't until that moment that she noticed the clothes the strange man wore. They weren't shabby or out of style, just peculiar in their formality. Perhaps he was a businessman, so conditioned to dressing in a suit and tie that, even on the weekends, he couldn't find it in himself to dress in a simple t-shirt and jeans.

  A black button down shirt stretched over his broad shoulders and chest, the wrinkle free material tucked into the trim waistband of his slate gray, linen pants. A black leather belt held the pants loose over his hips, a crimson tie tight around his neck. Not a speck of dust could be found on his clothes. Alice wasn't sure how, in this environment, the lack of dust was even possible.

  She felt a nagging sense of inferiority in comparison to Max. Her income wasn't enough for her to dress well, and the white shirt and navy blue skirt she wore were sale items purchased at the local bargain store. At the time, she'd found them nice enough for the beginning of her new career, but not now that she stood in the presence of a man of obvious wealth and sophistication.

  Her phone vibrated from her purse, the man's eyes dragged to the bag by the noise. "Do you need to answer that?"

  Her lips fell apart on an answer that she couldn’t easily voice. Shaking her head after a few awkward seconds, she forced the answer from her tongue. "No. I'll get to it when I'm done here."

  He grinned in response. "Very well. If you'll allow me to squeeze around you, I'll happily open the door."

  Due to the slope of the roof, two people couldn't stand next to the door at the same time unless one was willing to be on hands and knees. Not willing to stoop in front of a man she barely knew, Alice politely moved aside to allow him closer to the jammed partition.

  The antique handle gave out a deafening clang when Max finally dislodged the door. Dust wafted out, just like every other room in the house. Shadows and cobwebs filled the interior, a single bulb hanging down, swinging slowly as if caught in some imaginary breeze.