Mister Dream Man

Chapter Nine

* Jana *

The storm outside had grown teeth.

It howled and snarled through the shattered peace of our home as if it had been summoned by the chaos within. Rain lashed the open doorway, soaking the floor, the furniture, the frayed welcome mat Mama had once called lucky.

But nothing about this night felt lucky.

Lawrence's voice thundered over the wreckage. "Tear this place apart."

And they did.

One man flipped the old couch, spilling coins and old receipts onto the floor like the guts of a wounded thing. Another kicked open the door to Edward's room, shoving aside posters, toppling shelves. I heard a crash, Edward's speaker, probably. He'd saved up for that.

"No! STOP!" I screamed, running toward the hallway, but one of the men grabbed my arm and shoved me back.

I fell. My shoulder hit the linoleum hard, and pain flared bright in the dark like a firework going off in my chest. I tried to scramble up again, but my legs felt too thin, too wobbly.

"This is our home," I said through my teeth, voice broken and small. "This is our home!"

Edward was still struggling on the couch, face red, breath coming fast. His lip was bleeding. His fists clenched like he wanted to fight every one of them.

"Get your hands off my sister," he growled, voice shaking with fury.

The man holding him just smirked and pressed him harder into the cushions.

Then the front door banged open again.

"Jana?!" came Geraldine's voice, loud, panicked, and rising.

She burst into the room like a hurricane of her own, soaked to the skin, her waitress uniform sticking to her curves, her hair falling from its pin. Her eyes widened as she took in the mess, the men, and then Lawrence.

"You," she hissed.

"Geraldine Kramer," Lawrence said coolly, eyes dragging over her with that sharp, assessing cruelty. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

She marched forward, furious, but one of the men blocked her path. "Get out of our house!" she shouted. "You have no right!"

"I have every right," Lawrence said, stepping toward her. "Your mother stole from my family. Until we find that ring, this place is nothing but a hiding spot for a thief."

"She didn't steal anything!"

"I don't believe you."

And then, without warning, he barked at the men, "Throw it all out."

"What?" Geraldine gasped.

"You heard me. Trash everything. If the ring's not here, then she must've sold it. I want this place emptied. Strip it down to the bones."

"No!" I cried.

But they obeyed.

Furniture dragged. Drawers ripped from dressers. Our clothes were tossed out the door like garbage. My schoolbooks. Mama's rosary. Our photo albums. The cushions from the armchair she used to sit in every evening with her tea.

The wind tore through the house like it had been waiting for permission. It whistled as the rain followed, soaking everything it touched.

I ran outside into the downpour, chasing a box of family photos that had been flung to the mud. My feet slapped the wet pavement. My nightdress clung to my skin, plastered and see-through. My hair whipped across my face, cold and heavy.

I dropped to my knees, crying as I gathered the photos, me, Edward, Geraldine, Mama, my hands shaking as they slipped through my fingers, the ink already bleeding.

Then I heard his voice.

"Stop her."

But he didn't move.

Lawrence stood at the threshold, haloed in light and rain, his eyes locked on me.

For a moment, just a second, everything stopped. His rage caught on something. His gaze flicked down my body, my soaked dress, the way it clung to the curve of my thighs, the soft rise of my chest, the way my hair fell over my face like something out of a painting.

I saw it. That flicker of something. Want. Hunger. But not the kind that softened. It was dark. Torn. Violent.

I clutched the photos to my chest and rose to my feet, shaking from cold and shame and fury.

"You're a monster," I spat.

That flicker vanished. The wall came back. Colder than before.

"Maybe," he said quietly. "But monsters don't lie."

Before he turned away his eyes ran all over me as he smirked.

"Burn it if you have to," he told his men. "I want every trace of her gone."

Geraldine screamed something I couldn't hear. Edward was still pinned. And me? I stood in the rain, trembling, as the only home I had ever known was torn apart, because of a lie we couldn't disprove. Because Mama was missing. Because Lawrence Dankworth had decided she was guilty.

And no one could stop him. Not even the storm.

The air cracked with thunder.

I stood there, soaked, my hands curled tight around the ruined photographs like they could still protect something, like they could still mean anything at all. My breath hitched, chest stuttering from cold and grief and fury that wouldn't settle. The street was slick with water and pieces of us, our lives, strewn across it.

A torn curtain slapped wet against the fence. Mama's favorite mug, the one with the cracked handle she always swore she'd glue back, shattered beside the gutter.

Behind me, Geraldine screamed. Not a word. Not a name. Just a raw, animal sound that tore out of her throat and hit the night like a warning shot. She shoved past the man in front of her, claws bared, tears streaming.

"You bastard!" she cried, throwing herself at Lawrence.

But he caught her by the wrists mid-swing. His grip was hard and sure, and for a breathless second, they were frozen like a painting, her rage burning, his control absolute.

"I won't forget this," she spat.

"You don't have to," Lawrence said, eyes narrowing. "This isn't about you. It's about the truth. And your mother buried it in the mud just like you're trying to bury her."

He pushed her back, not hard, but enough. Enough to humiliate. Enough to show dominance.

Geraldine stumbled, but she didn't fall. She didn't cry. She just glared, and if looks could kill, Lawrence Dankworth would've dropped where he stood.

Then, like some cursed timing, the lights in the house flickered and died. Darkness swallowed the inside.

The only illumination left came from the streetlamps and the jagged flashes of lightning splitting the sky.

"Get your damn hands off me!" Edward roared again, finally managing to elbow the man pinning him. "You want the truth, Lawrence? You couldn't handle it if it punched you in your smug face."

Lawrence didn't flinch. My eyes went to my older brother.

"I already have the truth," he said coldly. "I came for a stolen ring and I found a den of liars. Tell your mother, when you see her—"

"She didn't steal anything!" Edward shouted, voice cracking, throat raw. But it didn't matter. Nothing we said mattered.

Because Lawrence didn't come looking for justice.

He came for destruction. And he was winning. I staggered back up the porch steps, barefoot, shaking, my hair dripping, my arms cradling the photos like a child. I stood just inside the doorway, staring at him.

"You'll regret this," I whispered.

He met my gaze, and for a second, that flicker came back, just a ghost of it, glinting beneath the anger and arrogance. And I knew... he saw me now. Not just the girl in the nightdress. Not just the daughter of the accused.

But something else. A threat. A witness. "All of you get out of this town if you don't want to go to jail because I won't stop until I find your thief mother!"

He turned on his heel and walked into the storm like he owned it.

The men followed. One of them knocked over the small table by the door on his way out, deliberately. Another spit on the threshold. Then they were gone.

All that remained was the echo of their cruelty and the storm that hadn't let up.

Geraldine collapsed to her knees, sobbing. Edward cursed and punched the floor, his knuckles splitting open on the wood. I knelt beside them, dropping the photographs between us.

"We have to find her," I said. My voice trembled, but my spine didn't. "We have to find Mom."

Geraldine lifted her face, bruised and streaked with rain. "And if we don't?"

I looked to the dark, destroyed house. The wind still groaned through its broken windows. I thought of Lawrence's eyes. The way he smirked at me. The way he didn't believe a single word we said.

"If we don't..." I said, my voice barely a breath, I think we're doomed."

And somewhere beyond the trees, beyond the rain, I swore that one day I would come back to this place.