Fallen Dreams - Elaine Brown (free romance novels txt) 📗

slumber party.”
He smiles back at me and wraps his arms around my waist as both of our eyes drift close.
“Good night,” we say together.
But that simple statement turned out to be more like a good bye.
I woke the next morning to find that Shawn had kept his word; he must have left long before my mother had woken up. The sheets had been resettled around me, securing me in their warmth. It would have been too hot in the summer heat, except that my mom kept the house well below the outside temperature. I push them back and shiver slightly as I stretch my arms out over my head, stretch my jaw with a soft yawn. My muscles scream at me to sleep longer, and I see why as I glance across at the clock hanging on my wall; the time reads only a few minutes after five o’clock; my parents would have just left a few minutes earlier. My eyes widen since I never rouse this early unless something disturbs me or something dearly needs my attention. Since nothing has disturbed me, something must be excessively wrong.
My room seemed chillier than normal, and I don’t think it was because of someone messing with Mother’s thermostat. A strange, sharp ringing in my ears makes the hair on the back of my neck and arms stand on end like they were being attracted by static and I sit up ram-rod straight. The pitch of the ringing is just on the edge of human hearing, like the cry of a banshee, haunting and unmistakable. I throw the covers aside. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins and that part scares me the most; what would be making me react so strangely?
A soft creaking of the floor boards outside my room accents the pounding of my heart, my hands shake as I reach for the handle and I feel completely alone. I find myself wishing that Shawn had forgotten his promise and stayed with me. The metal of the handle is cold and stings my searing palm; Shawn had passed through here hours ago. Easing the cold metal down, I open the door a crack and peer out. The creaking stops immediately. The hallway is completely empty. Every shadow in every corner of the corridor seems to hide evil; cold is seeping into every fiber of my being. I gently open the door all the way and ease myself out of it. The latch hitting home seems much too loud and I worry that whatever is in the house will now be aware of my presence, if it wasn’t already. The guest room door is ajar.
All the thoughts in my fear stricken mind are for Shawn. Every part of my essence is straining to get to where he is, to be sure that he’s all right. My eyes dart to keep the shadows in check like a cornered animal and I stubbornly force myself to creep up to the guest room door. I peer through hesitantly, searching the small space for any sign of something amiss. The bed is placed near the center of the wall across from the door. It’s impossible for my eyes to miss his tall frame and dark lashes and hair. A sigh of relief bubbles its way up into my throat but is just as quickly extinguished as my back starts to prickle and I feel the cold grip of a leather gloved hand wrap around my esophagus.
My eye sight falters as I am slammed against the wall, but the sound is much to quiet for the impact that I receive. My ears pop as if a cannon had been set off and deafened me. Cheek pressed against the wall, hands and arms uselessly trapped between my body and wood, it’s impossible for me to view my assaulter. The leather rubs uncomfortably against my skin, the wall around my temple is slick with something that begins dripping into my ear and is seeping its way toward my eyes. Had I skimmed a loose nail in the wall?
Somehow, without a doubt, I know that this person was the reason I had woken so early. The reason I had felt the tension the day before, the reason the house was so cold. But little oxygen was reaching my brain, the grip was so tight, and tunnel vision began to set in. I was gasping for breath already and the grip tightened even more, cutting off any air I had. My limbs went numb; the darkness around my vision was uncomfortable, so I shut my eyes. I could hear the rustle of the person’s clothes as whoever it was leaned close to check if I was unconscious or dead or whatever else I could be at this point. If it hadn’t been pressed immobile against the wall, my head would have lolled. I felt a second hand grab my hair and yank my head back, cracking my neck and shocking what remained of my consciousness out of me.

Pain, searing through my head; scratches in my throat as I tried to swallow despite my dry mouth. The light… so bright, can’t stand it… And it all came rushing back. The gloved stranger, rough leather choking me, blood running down my face. As if lightning had run through my body, I find myself sitting upright on the floor, slumping back against the wall as the pain nearly overwhelmed me again. I bring a hand up to my aching head, not surprised to find a small stream of red oozing out from around the dried and cracking blood. Tilting my head up, I can see where my head would have been; there’s no sign of blood whatsoever on the wall.
And then my thoughts are not for myself alone.

Shawn

. I jerked away from the wall as if it had burned me, falling to my hands and knees and pushing myself up once more. Standing causes me to sway but I grit my teeth and bear it. Using the wall as support, I more fall than walk to the open door. I slump against the frame and screw my eyes shut against the scene in front of me. The covers on the bed are thrown back; most of them have fallen to the floor. Scratches that are feet long and inches deep crisscross across the walls, shredding the wallpaper. Drawers from the bedside dresser her yanked out of their places, the contents dug through and thrown across the floor. The window was shattered, most of the glass having fallen to the outside, and faint blood smears could be seen on the head rest and window pain, even a bit on the walls; everything signaled a struggle. Everything showed that Shawn had been hurt, or he had hurt whoever was here, but from the strength behind their attack on me… it wasn’t likely.
Everything undeniably confessed… that Shawn was gone.

III

After the first month or so, I had finally put behind me the fear and grief that this event had placed upon me; or at least, I had learned how to hide it and work through it. I could not just leave my family to worry over me as well as Shawn; everyone had taken matters harshly, even my little four-year-old twin brother and sister, Nathaniel and Lorelei. This surprises me only mildly, even though they had been out of the house the day before and of the event. Shawn had been more a part of our family rather than part of his mother’s; his mother didn’t even seem to show the proper amount of grief that a mother should have about her last remaining son disappearing. For all she knew, he could be… dead. I closed my eyes against the thought.
That’s when I knew I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit around, wallowing, waiting to find out whether he was dead or alive. No one knew if he was still among us, where he’d gone, how to get news, or if he was ever coming back. But I was not going to just wait like the rest of the village; I was taking matters into my own hands. I did not have much hope that I would find anything, but I would have to start

somewhere

,, right? So I headed out the door, Nathan and Lore in tow (I had babysitting duty today), and made my way up the street towards the large, ornate library building.
For this specific day the research was slow; Nathaniel kept begging me to play with him in the grass just off the terrace set up for comfortable summer reading; Lorelei kept sliding onto my lap to either shove a book that she wanted to read under my nose, or to flip through the pages of whatever held my attention at that moment. We were on the back terrace, on a snug garden bench; the bench faced the large, beautiful glass doors and windows that covered a bit more than half of the lake-facing wall. The sun was high and hot, shining in my eyes because of the reflective glass, and as I turned my head away from its glare I imagined that I saw a shadow; it was out of the corner of my eye, rushing out of the way, toward the alley that held the view of the evil Gothic Towers...
I came back to the library, day after day, searching through book after book; I once found interesting, detailed blue prints from way back at the construction of the town. Several of these showed the library, and as I shuffled through them, I came across a familiar building; a smaller, less intimidating version of the Gothic Towers, before all of the gargoyles and spikes had been added, who knows how many years ago. It seemed even more like a church than the chapel close to the center of town. I tried to make out the builders notes, but they were worn and faded to the point that I doubt even someone trained to restore such documents would understand any of it. I turned the paper over in my hands, hoping to find a date or anything useful, but on the back was a map of some sort; it showed a web of rooms and corridors and here and there little blotches that I could not make out. Even though I borrowed a magnifying glass from one of the librarians, I was unable to make sense of the symbols. There was no existing legend to be found, to help me read the map…

That’s it!

I yelled in my mind, delighted. . I had once read a book of myths and legends when I was nine or ten. The title evaded me the more I thought about it, but I vaguely remembered that there had been a local myth about the old “castle” just outside of town. Resisting the urge to run, I briskly walked back to the entrance of the library, magnifying glass in hand. How was I going to find that dang book? The librarian I’d borrowed the glass from—a tall, blonde haired man with suspicious eyes that would always scowl— was still seated at his desk, stamping return dates on book cards rhythmically. He may have looked mean and unappealing, but he had a very kind smile and was quite easy to talk to.
“Back already, Orin?” he smiled at me, and teased, “Don’t need glasses yet?”
I smile back, but do not laugh. “Yeah, they don’t help; even with this thing I couldn’t make out what it meant.”
I placed the glass on his desk as he chuckled, and I continued; “I was looking for the key on the map and it reminded me of a book of stories I read when I was little. It held myths and legends about the town? Do you know which