The Dead Don't Dream

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2Tell her what she wants to hear. If you’re going to get out of here, you need to play Katherine at her own game.

Adam had plenty of time now to argue with himself. To second guess his every decision and slowly come to terms with the truth of his predicament. The only way out of this room lay with him.

Meanwhile, his growing need for revenge never strayed far from his thoughts. Adam spent the long hours envisioning the cruel and inventive torture he’d use. But, finally, he settled on a gun, ending Katherine cleanly, efficiently.

But how?

She was never alone with him anymore. Katherine was far too clever to consider underestimating her. Adam figured she’d see him coming a mile away. Any attempts on her life would only end with him getting himself killed. Part of him was ready, almost relieved at the prospect of falling on his sword, as it was—anything to be free. Another part was horrified—his newfound willingness to die scared him. Besides, any plan needed meticulous planning, so Adam continued to mull over the idea. Until he realized it was the only way for him, Ian, and others to be free. Would her guards fall in line if he killed her? Or end him out of loyalty? And what if this amounted to little more than an exceptionally creative form of suicide?

Adam needed Katherine to trust him. So he continued to fight her, noting her requests for his company grew fewer. Earlier, she’d summon him every few days instead of weekly. Adam used his time with her wisely, careful not to give her too much too soon or arouse her suspicions.

The next time they were together, he didn’t antagonize her or return her snide remarks. Likewise, he didn’t rise to the bait when she criticized him. Or made light of his feelings for Ian and harangued him for his immoral behavior. Instead, he fidgeted like a chastised toddler, answering her nervously. And then, as if catching himself doing so, would feign horror—refusing to say more.

As Katherine bought his ruse hook, line, and sinker. He hid his smirk with his shirt sleeve. But, as clever as she was, the whole situation had worn her thin, giving Adam a front-row seat to the cracks forming.

Once, Katherine appeared satisfied with her daily allotment of humiliation and punishment, she ordered Oliver to bring him back to his room. Oliver made a gleeful show of shoving Adam into his room and locking the door behind him.

Adam retreated to the bed. In the creeping and suffocating silence, Adam disappeared, and chaos reigned. Visions of torture and violence tumbled around his troubled mind until he thought he’d go mad.

Several hours passed, and Oliver returned to bring him dinner. He carefully removed the items, placing the tray on the desk.

Adam eyed it. Maybe if he…

“Do you ever tire of being her lap dog?”

Oliver looked up, frowning. “You must have confused me with your boyfriend.”

Adam lifted his chin defiantly. “Ian’s been force-fed this bullshit since childhood. So what’s your excuse?”

Oliver left the desk to stand in front of Adam, his stony gaze sweeping over him from head to toe. “What’s with the smart mouth suddenly? You don’t say boo for weeks, and now you’ve got s**t to say. Well, I’d keep my mouth shut if I were you. You wouldn’t want me to shut it for you.”

Adam refused to back down, hoping to distract him from his task. “You could certainly try.”

Olive grumbled under his breath as he headed for the door. “You’re lucky you’re Katherine’s kid, believe me.”

“Yeah, I’m overwhelmed by my good fortune,” Adam returned. “Next time, bring your friends if you want a fair fight.”

Oliver started towards him but stopped. “So f*****g lucky,” he grumbled as he slammed the door shut behind him.

The lock clicked shut behind him, but Adam didn’t care. Instead, his eyes drifted to the left-behind dinner tray. Made of solid silver, it probably weighed at least ten pounds. Adam flashed his first genuine smile in weeks.

His plan had worked like a charm.

* * * *

Ian had made many dumb decisions in his life, but this one was a real pisser. After following up on a few of Campbell’s leads, he wound up in some townie bar in Jersey City, drowning his sorrows. Ian chose a seat at the far end of the bar. Hidden from sight, he hoped to stay inconspicuous as he rushed through his third Jack and Coke in less than an hour.

The bartender noted his miserable expression and fat wallet and kept them coming. Ian rewarded him by tipping in twenty-dollar bills. Unfortunately, the other patrons hanging out at the pool table were a group of loudmouthed young men—the type who needed to remind the entire room of their presence. Ian decided after this last drink that he’d leave. Their irritating chatter combined with a barrage of heavy metal classics from the jukebox worked his last nerve.

A smaller group of young women were with the young men. Girls in skinny jeans and halter tops, wearing too much make-up and pounding back beers. A skirmish broke out between one girl, a hundred pounds soaking wet, and the dumb jock with a backward cap. Ian assumed he must be her boyfriend by how he waved her away, causing her to huff over to the bar.

She glanced at Ian and smiled. Pink lipstick smudged across her bottom teeth. “You’re new,” she said.

Ian sighed and lifted his drink, wondering what it would be like to be invisible.

“Are you here with anyone?”

“No,” he said, which she took as an invitation to wander over to the stool next to him.

“Monica,” she said and held out a hand, her nails lime green, and filed to a dangerous point.

Ian took the tip of her hand out of politeness and shook it. “Will,” he replied. “Look, I’m not—”

He didn’t have time to finish before baseball cap stormed over, flanked by his much larger friends.

“Hey! What the f**k are you trying to get with my girl?”

Ian nearly laughed in his face. Yeah, not even with your d**k.

“He wasn’t. Knock it off, Billy!” Monica protested, planting herself between them.

“Stay out of it,” Billy snarled and elbowed her away.

The commotion attracted her girlfriends, who paused mid-conversation to check on Monica. From their demeanor, it wasn’t the first time they’d comforted her after a quarrel with Billy boy here.

Ian’s blood boiled as he watched the young woman rub her side where Billy had elbowed her, grimacing in pain. She also sported the faint impression of a fading shiner, now yellowish green. Tearing this asshole apart would be fun. Ian chuckled at the stray thought.

“Something f*****g funny?”

Ian bit back another smart remark, rising from his seat and sliding his glass away.

Billy looked up at him, drunk-glazed eyes widening as he got his first good look. Ian loomed over him, several inches at least. Now would have been a good time for Billy to have read the f*****g room and backed down. But he had a girl to impress, so he puffed up his scrawny chest and crowded into Ian’s space.

“Did you hear me, asshole?” He went to shove Ian’s shoulder.

But Ian had already expected the move two minutes ago. Ian grabbed him by the wrist with one hand, the back of his neck with the other, slamming him into the counter.

The group gasped and jumped back, protesting. Ian gripped Billy in place while the young man fought, shouting at Ian to let him up. He’d definitely have a nasty mark tomorrow to teach him not to be such a d**k. The thought reminded him of Monica’s bruises. Ian jerked the young man’s arm back harder until he cried out, shouting at him to stop.

“Don’t! Please, you’re hurting him!” Monica pleaded, leaping to her sack of s**t boyfriend’s defense.

Her tone gave Ian pause, the tears whelming in her eyes. His heart pinged, guilt so overwhelmingly strong his knees weakened for a second. The flash of memory, the sight he’d never outrun. Adam’s face, the blood-streaked across it, begging him the night he’d shot Edmund in front of him.

Ian let go and stepped back, catching the bartender’s eye as he hovered over the telephone, ready to call the police. The last thing in the world Ian needed right now.

Billy scrambled toward his friends, glancing at each as if he expected them to leap to his defense. But they stood slack-jawed and wide-eyed, swaying on their feet.

What the hell are you doing, Ian?

Hey, I’m not the bad guy here.

You’re not the good guy, either.

Ian shouldered past the crowd without a word and hurried for the exit. He half expected the group to follow him, but no one did. Outside, the world continued. Ian inhaled a lungful of the fragrant night air heavy with grease and garlic from the nearby pizza joint. Underneath traces of saltiness, the nearby sea. He inhaled deeply, letting the cool night breeze cool the red burn on his cheeks.

He couldn’t get on the road fast enough. He barely hit the interstate before Adam’s voice picked up again.

What is the matter with you? You could have seriously injured that guy.

“Yeah, but I didn’t, so you can stop nagging me now.” Ian hadn’t smoked in years, but the urge seized hold right then. The sweet satisfaction, the burn in the back of his throat as he sucked them down to the filter in fistfuls.

How is this helping us? Don’t you remember, Ian? You promised. You promised not to let me down.

Ian pressed down harder on the pedal. The engine roared as the needle climbed higher and higher. Ian fought to steer as his hands shook. But his recklessness was no match for his need to hurt everyone around him, starting with himself. His entire body ached with the urge, the desire. When would it be enough? Enough killing. Enough death.

By the time Ian made the long trek back into the city and found a place to park, all he wanted was a bottle and a hot shower—anything to drown out Adam’s voice, as it doubled in ferocity on the ride back.

Ian’s skull ached, a nasty headache brewing, setting his teeth on edge. Either the lingering remains of this morning’s hangover had appeared. Or, more likely, the result of Adam in his head all day, his tirades growing in volume, demanding Ian listen to him. But phantom Adam or not, Ian didn’t have the heart to hear. Every word was too much for him to bear.

You’re a dead man. Do you hear me? You’re dead to me.

Ian yanked open the door of the liquor shop. Immediately, the stench of stale alcohol and mildew hit him. His nose wrinkled in disgust, despite how the familiar scent eased the panic in his chest.

Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the grimy hue the low yellow lights cast. Ian shuddered as if the seediness had seeped under his clothes and coated his skin. Like he could taste the smell of the place on his tongue.

The guy behind the counter was acting weird tonight. Ian hadn’t noticed at first, distracted by his headache. He fidgeted from foot to foot, checking over Ian’s shoulder as if he expected someone to walk in behind him. It made Ian paranoid.

“What is it?” No use tiptoeing around it. The young man jumped, coughing to hide his initial embarrassment.

“Rough day?” the kid asked, peering up at Ian from under his eyelashes.

Ian’s mind flashed to his first meeting with Adam, the elevators. Hadn’t he used a similar line with him? He grimaced and snatched his usual from the shelf, setting it on the counter.

“Something like that,” he mumbled absently, fiddling in his back pocket for his wallet. Hadn’t Adam replied with something similar? Déjà vu swept over Ian, creeping down his spine like a frigid chill. He shook it off as he eyed the young man, paying closer attention.

He couldn’t have been over twenty-two tops, his toothy smile shy but hopeful. Cute enough, he fit the type Ian had once gone for: easy to please, made no demands, only out for a good time. The old him would have taken him back to his apartment and had him moaning his name (his fake name, anyway) in no time, and while the idea wasn’t without a certain amount of appeal, the act itself would have achieved nothing. Only more guilt, more self-loathing because he wasn’t Adam. None of them were.