The Dream
1199 Words
Chapter 3
Gilmore woke up startled.
Beads of sweat and perspiration poured all over his chiseled chest and abs. He just had the same nightmare again. He didn't know how he managed to sleep after working till very late last night. He turned to his side table—the time was past seven a.m.
He got up from bed, picked up his pet rabbit from her little cage and caressed her body. She brought him relief after nightmares like that. He smiled at her as he dropped her back in the cage.
He picked up his phone and AirPods, and walked to the kitchen, Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, he headed to the gym room. He needed to clear his head from that nightmare.
The gym was a sleek, modern space in the corner of his penthouse. With floor-to-ceiling windows, it overlooked the city skyline now bathed in golden morning light. But the beauty outside didn't change the scenarios of the nightmare he had, which was still in his head.
He slipped in his AirPods, selected his “Wake-Up” playlist, and cranked the volume. The music filled his ears, and he dropped to the floor for a set of push-ups. One. Two. Three. The repetition gave him something to focus on. Something real. He moved to planks, mountain climbers, and burpees. By the time he was halfway through his circuit, his muscles burned and his breath came in short, sharp bursts. He welcomed the pain. It was real. Unlike the dream.
When he finished, sweat dripped from his brow. He stood, chest heaving, and walked over to the heavy bag hanging in the gym room. Wrapping his fists, he began to punch. Jab, jab, uppercut. Each blow was sharper than the last. Each one landed with more force. He imagined the shadows from his dream, dark, silhouettes—looming before him, and he struck them down one by one.
He stopped, wiping his brow with a towel, and sat down on the bench. He took a long sip from his water bottle and checked his phone. Three missed calls from his assistant. Two messages one from Lucas and another from his grandad And a reminder for a 9:00 a.m. meeting with Dr. Mabel.
Dr. Mabel.
He’d almost forgotten. His new therapist. He’d agreed to it mostly to appease his Nanny— Rebecca, who was now his mother and had grown more concerned with his weird behavior, and reoccuring nightmares.
Gilmore stood, stretched, and made his way to the bathroom. As the hot water cascaded over him in the shower, he tried to let go of the night’s darkness. But scenes from the nightmare kept playing out.
After the shower, dressed in tailored black joggers and a fitted gray t-shirt, he poured himself a cup of coffee, and sank into the leather couch in his living room. The city buzzed beneath him, but up here, all was quiet. He opened the message from Lucas.
“Heard you have a meeting today, with that pretty girl from the gala night….I wish I was you”.
He chuckled, ran a hand through his damp hair, and thought of Vanessa for a moment, her beautiful face, long lashes, and full lips. He jolted out of his thoughts and glanced at the time. 8:47a.m. He could make the session with his therapist.
Grabbing his keys, he left the apartment, the sound of the door locking behind him like a punctuation mark to the morning’s chaos.
---
Dr. Mabel’s office was in a restored brownstone across town. It had the charm of old-world architecture with the scent of cedar and faint lavender in the waiting room. Gilmore arrived five minutes early and was ushered in.
Dr. Mabel was a calm, middle-aged woman with sharp blue eyes and an air of quiet authority. She gestured for him to take a seat on the comfortable chair across from her.
“You look tired,” she said gently.
“Didn’t sleep much,” Gilmore replied.
“The dreams again?”
He hesitated. “Yeah. Same one.”
“Tell me about it again.”
He leaned back. “It’s… always the same. I’m in the same car. The car is on fire, my dad's sitting next to me dead . And then I see her, outside the car, standing by the window smiling wickedly.”
“The woman?”
He nodded. “She’s standing out by the window, I'm calling out to her for help but she keeps laughing hysterically and ignores me, and I wake up in sweat.”
“Do you recognize her?”
“No. But she feels… familiar. Like I should know her. Like I already do.”
Dr. Mabel scribbled a note. “Recurring dreams often carry unresolved memories or emotions. This woman—she may represent something. A memory. A revenge. Even a part of yourself you’re trying to reconnect with.”
Gilmore scoffed lightly. “So what?
She smiled gently. “Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something.”
Gilmore stared at the floor. His fingers tapped nervously on the armrest. “I feel like I’m losing my grip. Every morning, I wake up and for a second, I’m not sure where I am. Like I’m somewhere else entirely.”
Dr. Mabel leaned forward. “What if this dream isn’t just a nightmare? What if it’s revealing something from the past?”
He looked up, frowning. “To who?”
She met his gaze steadily. “To you.”
—
Vanessa was getting worked up, the elevator on the ground floor failed to work, and the repair man wasn't here yet. It was almost 11am, she had less than thirty minutes to report back to Carter. She was trying to avoid his other side this morning.
She knew Carter was expecting her to disappoint him, and she didn't want that. Carter had never really been fond of her, he still kept her with his team only because she was competent, and hardworking. But being tolerated wasn't the same as being respected.
Her phone buzzed, pulling her from her thoughts. It was the receptionist.
“Ms. Jones,” the voice on the other end said. “The elevator repairman’s here. He’s working on it now.”
Vanessa let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Thank you,” she said, pressing her forehead against her palm. Today might end up being a good day, she thought.
By 11:25 a.m, everything was in place. The meeting room was organized. The slides were ready. Samples laid out neatly. She had done one last check and could feel her confidence returning. Everything looked perfect.
She dialed Carter’s line to let him know. He picked up on the second ring.
“Yes, Ms. Jones. I was about to call you,” he said, his voice clipped and hurried. “You’ll be handling the meeting with Conrad, my assistant. I have an emergency to attend to. Apologize to BlueEdge on my behalf.”
The line went dead.
Vanessa stood there, stunned, the phone still in her hand.
He wasn’t coming?
After she had arranged everything for him?
- Writer
