The Last Traveler

CHAPTER 3

When Pax woke up, the room was dark. She must have slept longer than she thought. She sprang up from the floor, knowing her father would be home soon, and if she was anywhere around while he was drunk, she’d be in trouble.

It was unnaturally warm. It was late fall, and their house was always a bit drafty, so by the time the sun went down, she usually had to put on a sweater. Disoriented, she reached out to grasp the wall, but her hand found nothing but air. She became aware of the sound of waves lapping against the shore. She was on the beach again. She was dreaming. But it was always daytime on the beach when she dreamed of it in the past. This time, the beach was cast in the shadow of night.

Well, what now? She rose off the sand and looked around, trying to find some indicator of where she was in this dream world, but it was utterly pitch-black except for the stars. Where was the moon? She stumbled around in the ankle-deep sand that poured into her shoes.

So, I’m in a dream where it’s completely dark and nothing happens? So much for my imagination.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps. She shut her eyes and whispered, “It’s just a dream.” The approaching footsteps sounded as if they’d come to an abrupt halt.

“Who’s there?” Pax called nervously. She advanced in the direction she’d heard the footsteps. She could vaguely make out the shape of another body a few feet in front of her. It appeared to be completely frozen. She reached out to touch it. The person gasped and jumped backward in fear. Now confident in the fact that she was dreaming, Pax was no longer afraid.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said.

“Who are you?” the voice inquired in a harsh whisper.

The longer this dream dragged on, the more curious it got. How could it be that the people in her dream world didn’t recognize her? “I’m Pax,” she responded.

“What are you doing here?” the voice said louder. She realized now that the voice belonged to a boy.

“I . . .” Pax stumbled for the words to explain herself. After all, how could she explain that this was just a figment of her subconscious imagination? “I . . . don’t know. I just fell asleep at home, then I woke up here. Where is the moon?”

“Moon?” the boy inquired. Before Pax could explain, the boy interrupted, “Oh no, you’re one of them.” Panic rose in his voice.

“One of who?”

“You have to go now.” He gripped her shoulders roughly. “You have to go back where you came from. They will kill you!”

Pax tried to shake herself from his grip, but he was strong. Then it was as if a heavy weight pressed down on her and she couldn’t move. Her vision blurred into complete blackness, and then there it was—the terror.

The boy was still yelling her name. “Pax! Pax!”

She couldn’t respond. She needed to get out of this dream. “Wake up!” she shouted at herself, but no voice came. She had to remove herself from this crushing weight.

“Pax!” the voice screamed again.

Suddenly, her strength came back with a jolt and her eyes shot open. She was back in her living room at home. Her heart rate accelerated and she went into a panic. What just happened?

“Pax!” someone shouted. She could still hear the boy’s voice. No, this voice was more familiar. It wasn’t the boy from her dream. It was her best friend Zeke. He was leaning over her, his dark brown eyes filled with panic.

“Pax, please tell me you’re all right. Can you hear me?”

It took her a moment to find her voice to respond. “Zeke,” she croaked.

He sighed in relief. “I came to see if you wanted to hang out, but when I knocked on the door no one answered. Then I saw you passed out on the floor, and I thought . . .”

“I’m okay,” Pax replied, as she tried to pick herself up.

“Whoa, take it easy for a minute,” he said softly, guiding her back to the floor.

Pax winced in pain as her head came back against the wall. It felt as if she had been run over by a train, but she was relieved to see Zeke. They’d become friends when he and his family moved next door six years ago. Pax was pretty good at keeping her father’s anger problem a secret. She kept her head down and didn’t say much, but it hadn’t taken long for Zeke to figure out what was going on.

He wanted to report her father, but Pax begged him not to. She was too afraid of what would happen to her if everyone knew. Zeke knew that fear all too well. He had been out of the system for six years after being adopted by his foster mom, Abby. Before that, he was moved around from house to house, each foster parent worse than the last. He would never put another kid through that. Since that time, Zeke personally assigned himself as her big brother and protector.

“What happened this time?”

“It’s a long story,” she returned.

“Don’t give me that.”

She sighed in resignation. “Fine.”

She explained to Zeke what happened in class earlier and about her dream. When she finished, Zeke sat quietly, going over the information in his head.

“So, you fell asleep in class and your dad slapped you in the face,” he said humorlessly.

“You know I didn’t just fall asleep.”

“So, the dreams . . . they’re getting worse?”

She nodded. “I don’t know what it is. It just seems so real.”

“How long have you been having this dream?”

“I don’t know, since freshman year, I think? I don’t remember the first time though. I’ve seen the beach before in my dreams. You know, like flashes of it or vague pictures in my head, but it’s gotten worse with the fainting and stuff. Then today I—” Pax stopped short. It was the first time she’d met anyone in her dream, and she didn’t know what to make of it. “It’s just getting exhausting. That’s all,” she said.

“Yeah.” He sighed and placed an arm around her shoulders as he settled next to her against the wall.

“There was a boy in my last dream.” She found herself opening up to him in spite of herself. But then again, it had always been like that with Zeke. Pax had never had a guy friend before Zeke. As a matter of fact, she had spent most of her life trying to avoid boys, considering that the large majority of her experiences with them had been less than positive. But Zeke was different. He was warm and kind, and in spite of her efforts to close herself off to him, he kept coming around. He had broken her down, and Pax was eternally grateful for his persistence because she had never had a better friend.

“Oh, really? Anyone I would know?” Zeke teased.

She rolled her eyes. “No.”

“Huh. Well, what did he look like?”

She shrugged. “It was too dark to tell. There was no moon in my dream. But when I asked the boy where the moon was, he freaked out and told me I had to leave. He actually grabbed my shoulders pretty hard . . .” Her voice trailed.

“What?” Zeke asked.

Pax quickly stripped off her school sweatshirt and lifted up the sleeves of her T-shirt underneath. Her shoulders were a little sore where the boy had grabbed her, so she thought he might have left a mark. When she realized how ridiculous that thought was, she sighed and plopped back against the wall.

“Pax, what just happened?”

“Nothing. My arms were sore, and I just thought . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to say what she thought. “I was just being stupid.”

“You’re not being stupid. I think if all this was happening to me, I’d be pretty freaked out too. Your dad probably grabbed you too hard, huh?”

She nodded. “Yeah, that’s probably it.” Pax rested her head on his shoulder, taking in his comfort. She tried to shake off the eerie feeling that was rolling down her spine, but a million thoughts raced through her mind. She remembered the boy’s words: They’ll kill you. She could still feel his hands on her shoulders, gripping them as if he were holding on for fear of his life. Even though she decided to accept that it was just a very bizarre dream, just like all the others, in the back of her mind she knew it wasn’t over yet.

“What time is it?” Pax asked.

“Uh, half-past six. Why?”

“Wow. I was out for about an hour before you came in.”

“Are you okay? I mean, do you need to see a doctor or something?”

“No. I feel fine. I just—” Pax stopped short when she heard the wheels of her father’s old Volvo pulling up to the curb. Pax and Zeke exchanged glances of mild panic. “Go out the back.”

“Yep.” He sprang to his feet and made his way to the back door. He turned to Pax. “If you need anything, come get me.”

She smiled sadly and nodded. Footsteps approached the door. “Go.”

Zeke gave her one last worried glance and quietly left just as the front door opened.

Pax grabbed her science book off the coffee table and sat on the couch, attempting to look busy. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father slightly stumble over the front step. He usually only drank at home, but sometimes when he’d had a particularly bad day, he would drive to a little hole-in-the-wall bar in the next town over where no one would recognize him.

He fumbled with his keys, but when he saw Pax on the couch, he stopped short. “Leanah?” he slurred.

She looked up at him in shock. Leanah was her mother’s name. He must’ve been extremely drunk.

Before she even had a chance to respond, he straightened a little and cleared his throat. “I, um . . .” He shifted awkwardly. “I’m going to bed.” Then he pushed past her without another word.

Pax couldn’t help but feel sorry for her father, sometimes. The woman he loved had disappeared without warning of where she was going or why, and she’d left him with a kid whom he didn’t care for. She wondered what her father was like before her mom left. She couldn’t really remember. Was he cold and cruel back then too? Why else would her mom leave? An overwhelming sadness filled Pax’s heart. Maybe her mom didn’t want her either. She shook the thought from her mind for the moment. She had too many other things to worry about.

She was in desperate need of a shower. She trudged toward the bathroom at the end of the dark hallway, flipped on the lights, and quietly shut the door. As soon as her feet hit the tub, she jumped out. The water was still ice cold. She sighed in frustration. She resigned to a quick, cold rinse. She sprinted across the drafty hall to her room and immediately slipped on a pair of sweats and her mother’s old gray sweatshirt before sinking into bed.

She mindlessly traced the aged lettering across the front of the sweatshirt that once read “Ohio State.” Did her mom go to school there? She guessed so, but of course she didn’t really know. Her father would certainly never tell her. But it didn’t matter. It was the only thing she had left of her mother. The year after she left, Pax had dug it out of a pile of her mom’s things her father left by the trash dump. The year they had given up all hope she would return. Sometimes Pax felt stupid clinging so tightly to this little memento of a woman who didn’t care to come back for her.

But even though the memories of her mom had faded long ago, she knew she had cared for Pax. Her smile was always warm. She often sang songs to her in a language that Pax didn’t recognize, but it always comforted her. She had a vague memory of her mom holding her one night, clinging her closely to her chest, rocking her back and forth, and humming.

“I wish I could take you away with me, baby,” her mother had said.

A tear slipped down Pax’s cheek, her heart aching with longing. Even after all these years, long after the memory of her mother’s voice, her smell, and even her face had faded, the wanting never did.