I should’ve said something sooner. Should’ve told my dad to pull over. Even if he probably would’ve brushed my warning off as a silly concern, it might have saved us. I missed my one chance to prevent this from happening. We’re all going to die and it’s my fault.
So tired… Head throbbing…
I wake with a gasp. We’re driving again. What the hell?
Panting, my eyes dart around, noting the familiarity of a landscape. A crack in the mountainside in the shape of a water bottle. A tree with a broken branch on the left.
In about two seconds, there’ll be a road sign alerting us of the curve.
There it is.
I know what’s coming next.
“Dad, stop the car.”
He doesn’t hear me. He just keeps singing.
“Dad? Mom! Listen to me.” I try to reach forward, but I’m restrained by the seat belt. “You need to pull over. We’re going to crash!”
They don’t respond. Before I can say anything else, we’re turning.
It starts all over again.
And again.
Again.
No matter what I do to try to change the sequence of events, it doesn’t work. It’s like the movie Groundhog Day, only it’s a single terrifying minute on replay.
I’m hysterical as the car careens around the mountain for the fifth time. Or is it the sixth or seventh? I’m losing count of how many times I’ve gone through this. When will it stop? What if it doesn’t?
What if I’m stuck in a nightmare?
Professor Radcliff had cautioned me about this, too—ending up in dream where you can’t separate fact from fiction. Some people have the ability to dream so vividly that it’s difficult to know what’s real and what’s not.
But I’ve got to wake up sometime.
“Wake up, wake up, wake up.” I pinch my arm. Slap myself on the face. Pull my hair. Anything to get out of here.
Nothing helps.
Next time we round the mountain, something’s different. I see someone new.
There’s a man on the side of the road.
He’s only in my line of sight for a split second before we’re smashing into the guardrail, but I catch a glimpse of long blond hair and a handsome face.
I don’t know why I feel like he can save me, but as we tip over the edge, I turn around and lock eyes with him through the rear windshield. “Help! Help me!”
His mouth moves as he runs toward me, but I can’t make out the words.
Closing my eyes, I brace for the fall. Tumbling, rolling, jolting.
When the final impact stops the car, I wait for the inevitable restart.
Only it doesn’t happen.
Everything is so still. The car is slanted sideways, and the only thing keeping it from falling hundreds of yards down is the tree we hit.
I finally have a few seconds to look around. My mom’s lifeless body is crumpled against the driver’s side door. Her arm is dangling out the window and her neck is pressed against the roof at an unnatural angle. Dad isn’t moving, but his head is resting on her leg over the middle console. There’s a dark spot on her jeans. Blood. I’m not sure if it’s hers or his.
Aside from my panting, there’s just silence. Trembling, I reach up to take my headphones off, and when I lower them to my lap, my hands are coated with red.
“It’s just a nightmare,” I whisper to myself. “This isn’t real. Not real, not real, not real.”
Suddenly, the back door to my right is wrenched open. Since the entire car is busted all to hell, it takes an enormous amount of force. A manly grunt is followed by the loud creak of broken hinges.
I squint at the guy I saw on the road moments ago. He’s shirtless and even more beautiful up close. “You.”
“Whitley?” He breathes my name like a prayer. “You can see me?”
What a weird thing to say. “Are you supposed to be invisible or something?”
He half-grins, and my pulse skips a beat. “Yeah, kind of. Are you hurting?”
“Like hell,” I confirm.
Testing my body, I roll my shoulders and stretch my neck. I don’t have one specific pain. My entire being aches, inside and out, and my mind is a jumble. Disoriented, I try to remember what happened before this dream started. I vaguely recall packing for my trip, but I have no memory of leaving our house.
Maybe I took a nap. I could be safe at home. In my bed.
There’ve been a handful of times when I ended up in a stage of REM sleep and I had a difficult time rousing. This is confusing, though. When I urge my mind to consciousness, it’s like there’s a wall blocking me from making it through to the other side. My head feels heavy from the effort, and I’m suddenly dizzy.
Blinking, I focus on the stranger to steady myself.
There are dark shadows behind him, following his every move, almost like they’re attached to his body. When I peer closer, I see the distinct outline of gray-ish wings.
Whimpering from fear, I draw back. “Are you a demon?”
“What? No.”
“An angel, then?”
He laughs. “Hardly. I’m a faerie. We’re way cooler than demons or angels.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Like Tinker Bell?”
Clearly insulted, his face scrunches up. “That tiny thing from Peter Pot?”
“You mean Peter Pan?”
He snaps his fingers. “That’s right. I knew I was close. And no. That’s more like a sprite in my world.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” I mutter quietly.
Pressing a palm to his chest, he does a slight bow. “You’ll have to excuse my poor manners. I’m Damon, king of The Dream Realm and your dream come true. Let me help you out of here.” Reaching down, he tries to grab my hand, but I pull back.
“I can’t leave without my parents. Even if it’s just a dream, I have to help them.”
His expression is sympathetic. “Will you at least let me try to touch you? I might be able to since it’s different with you.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. “What’s different with me? What’s going on?”
“Your dream was looping,” Damon fills in. “Very annoying, but surprisingly common.”
“Right.” Nodding, I perk up because he just confirmed that I am, in fact, asleep. Which is good news. “That used to happen all the time, but I’ve gotten so good at making sure it doesn’t anymore.”
Cocking his head to the side, he gives me a confused look. “You do what, now?”
“Lucid dreaming,” I explain. “It’s when someone realizes they’re asleep while they’re asleep. If they’re aware, they can make things happen—anything they want.”
“I know what lucid dreaming is.” Skeptical, he narrows his eyes. “You mean to tell me you can do it?”
“Every night. Well, usually. I’m having a hard time today, I guess.”
Chuckling, he shakes his head. “A Dream Weaver. You’re literally my dream girl. What a pair we make.”
“We’re a pair?” Why did I just sound so breathless when I asked that? And did I hear him right? I’m his dream girl?
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he responds cryptically. “Maybe you could take me on an adventure sometime. Unfortunately, I don’t dream, so you’ll have to do it for me.”