Dream Sequence

Chapter One: Swirls

I hummed some random lullaby to myself as I stared out my window into the courtyard that was buried under layers of auburn leaves. They coated the grass in abundance, but the warm colors only made the area look more charming.

They never made

my

yard look like that,

I thought glumly.

The slam of the door opening startled me out of my sullen reverie. I pasted a smile on, mostly genuine, and turned to the intruder.

"Hey, Clo," I greeted my roommate. The normally bubbly, outgoing, cheerful Chloe Melendez dragged her feet in and landed on her bed with a thud.

"Ut-oh," I said and jumped onto her bed next to her. I petted her shoulder-length blonde hair gently. "What's wrong?" I continued. She groaned, and her actual response was muffled by her yellow comforter. I muffled my own laughter. "What was that, Clo?"

"I said," she started after she'd come up for air, "that my family is so

bloody

annoying. I swear I may just have to kill my sister." I looked down at my friend, we'd become so close since I'd moved across the pond; her light hazel eyes were weary and tinged with annoyance.

I placed my hand on her thin arm. "Clo, I doubt they're as bad as mine," I said jokingly, but I was really only half-kidding.

"Maybe," she agreed, sitting up cross-legged, "but mine only live and hour away. Yours are on a different

continent

!"

I sighed and scooted closer. "You have a point, but I do miss them . . . on occasion. It's nice that you have people that love you that aren't hours away by plane."

When I received my acceptance letter from my number one university, I knew that my parents really didn't want me to go. They didn't understand, they thought England was too far away from New York, and maybe it was. Hey, I needed the space, and it ended up being a great decision. So far, at least.

"You have me!" She giggled, then mimicked my sigh and leaned into me. "I know," she said. "But she's just so ridiculously annoying!"

I laughed. "What did she do now, hmm?"

"I don't even know!" She exclaimed, but I knew where she was coming from. Sometimes they don't just do one thing; it ends up being a bunch of little things that eventually makes you want to tear your hair out while simultaneously shoving bamboo splinters under their nails.

"It's okay, I understand."

"I know — that's why we're such great friends!" She lifted her head up to mine and smiled. I smiled back at her and she leaned in to kiss my lips quickly. Yeah . . . we were

that

kind of close. But it was okay, we talked and we knew we were just friends in the end. It was just nice to have someone there for you when you need them.

"What are we doing tonight?" She asked and padded to her closet.

"Mmm, I don't know." I flopped back onto her bed and rolled onto my back to stare up at the glow-in-the-dark stars Chloe super-glued onto the ceiling.

"I was thinking we could maybe go out with Vincent and the guys tonight?" She turned to me with a hopeful look and held up a small black dress in front of her.

"You're such a slut," I said jokingly (Vincent was her on-again, off-again guy — I never understood the structure of their relationship), and nodded my approval at the black number.

She always asked my opinion. Being a fashion major sort of makes people gravitate to you for that kind of advice. I've basically become the floor's style guru.

Going out tonight? Have Mia pick out your outfit. You'll get laid — 100% satisfaction guarantee. Guys: You, too! Step right up. . .

She rolled her eyes and me and laughed. "Shut up and get dressed. It's almost seven."

I scoffed. "And. . ." Normally we don't even leave before ten.

"I'm fucking hungry, okay? We need to go to John's before."

"I knew it! You just really like it there because all the waiters are totally hot."

"So?" She found nothing wrong with this.

I rolled off her bed and padded to my own closet.

The dorms here are awesome,

I thought as I looked through my trendy clothes. Even though it was only seven, it took us forever to get ready.

"We look fabulous!" She jumped in her heels as we posed seductively in the tall mirror and giggled.

"Wow, you're not conceited or anything." She did look amazing, though.

"Shut up," she swatted my arm with her navy blue clutch.

"Did you make that one?" I asked her, looking for a signature Chloe mark . . .

"Naw," she replied, but then beamed at me. "I almost forgot! I made you something!"

"Aw, babe, you didn't have to do that." I was almost serious, too. No one ever knew what sort of surprise Chloe would have waiting for you. Like the grey plaid shirt-contraption she made me for my birthday last year . . . and made me wear it to a party that night . . . she never told me it was totally see-through . . .

"You'll like it," she chided, giving me a knowing look as she bent into her bag to retrieve something.

"All right, lemme see." I added a please for good measure.

"Ta-da!" She pulled a clutch out from behind her back.

"Oh — wow! Clo, it's beautiful!" It really was. It was a chartreuse satin with emerald beading on the front. It matched my dress perfectly. "Babe, I love it!" I gave her tiny smooch, careful not to ruin our makeup.

Her smile grew. "I'm glad! You look positively fabulous!"

I held it in front of me, posing with my new object. She slid next to me, her poses more dramatic. We had no shame. I knew I shouldn't, but I looked at her in the mirror and instantly felt less fabulous than she told me I was. It was hard not to feel that way when you're standing next to Chloe. Her blond hair was pulled back, but her bangs were straightened and left down to the side. Her black dress was short, barely reaching mid-thigh, but somehow she pulled it off — with black stockings — without looking like a tramp. It was a soft material, almost velvety, and the front consisted of lace that started at her neck and fanned out to her breasts only to stop and dip between them almost to her naval. She made it herself, of course, and it looked absolutely stunning on her. She reached for my shoulder for balance as she placed her delicate feet into two inch, navy blue stiletto pumps — like she needed the extra height. She was already a nice, slim 5' 9". This and her dramatic yet classy makeup made her seem older than her nineteen years.

I looked down at my own feet in the mirror, I was wearing three inch black suede pumps similar to hers, yet I still managed to come out short. My dress was an off-emerald, and — according to Clo — clung in all the right places. I know I'm the guru and all, but I have some serious problems when it comes to dressing me.

I look like a pear,

I thought. I shouldn't have chosen green. God was a little too generous to me in the hips department, but my bust — again with the generosity — evened it out . . . sort of. I scrunched my natural golden-brown curls (absent of the normal streak of bright color) in my hand, and then let them fall back down, almost reaching my shoulders. I don't normally leave my hair down, but Chloe suggested that it made me look more sophisticated since it covered my piercings. Whatever.

"Don't," she said, knowing that I was comparing myself to her.

"Don't what?" I said, turning to leave, but she grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

"Look at yourself, Mimi." She used my nickname, it always sounded so cute coming from her. "You look smashing. You're really tan, and you're eyes look really green,"

I laughed meekly.

Oh, the product of an interracial marriage,

I thought, but I said nothing.

"C'mon, don't be like this. In a week, it'll be

your

nineteenth birthday, and maybe you can catch some lucky guy . . . say, is your family coming?" Her train of thought took a sharp turn.

That got me to laugh louder. For some bizarre reason, Chloe found my older brother 'insanely hot.' She, like me, swung both ways.

"I don't know," I said, and slipped my arm through hers while pulling her though the door. She was gazing longingly at the picture I kept of my family on my desk. I tugged at her again, sighing when I was finally able to close and lock the door behind us.

"Mmm," she purred, "I sure hope so. Then maybe I can sink my teeth into that hunk of man —"

"Oh,

please

don't go there." I grimaced.

"You may not like it but, babe; I've got my eye on the prize." She grinned at me devilishly as we stepped of the elevator and out into the cool, October night.

"You know that his birthday was a couple of days ago?" I questioned casually.

She squealed at my withheld information. "What?!"

I actually thought she was going to attack me. "No point in fussing now, dear, come on, we're here."

We stepped into John's and I smiled at the sight that greeted us. The restaurant-slash-pub was really called Oakley's or something like that . . . but we called it John's because we loved the owner so much.

"John!" Chloe called out, waving.

She ran over to the forty-something man behind the bar, and I silently followed. John was the most decent person I'd met here besides Chloe. Sure, sometimes his thick accent got in the way of our communication, but he was welcoming to college kids like us, and he had the biggest heart. His five kids, twenty-eight years of marriage, happy staff, and even happier customers were proof enough of that.

"Hey, John," I said, sliding into one of the stools. He smiled, his laugh-lines showing, and nodded warmly in my direction. He poured me a ginger-ale and got Chloe one of his outrageous, mixed —

virgin

— cocktails.

"Sure you don't wanna try one, Mia?" He asked; his British accent present as ever, when he finished pouring Chloe's pink concoction into a glass.

"Nah," I said, nursing my soda, "fruitiness and I do

not

mix."

"Alright, kiddo." He set down platter with hamburger and fries for the both of us, and wandered off after warning us to be safe. He was like the cool stepdad everyone wishes they had.

After I finished my last fry — I chewed slowly, taking comfort in the friendly atmosphere — I checked the time to see that, to my surprise, it was a little after nine.

How the hell have we been here for over an hour?

I turned to Chloe in order to tell her that we should get going, only to find that she was off in the corner flirting with one of the waiters . . . again.

"Chloe!" I hollered in a un-lady-like fashion despite my outfit. "We're leaving — now!"

She laughed at something the sandy-haired waiter said, and then sauntered over to me, slipping on her small leather jacket.

"So where are we going?" I asked her as we walked down the street to the garage.

"Vin and them are at a party and I figured we'd meet them there." She said, and ducked from my stare as she hopped into the passenger seat of my car.

"Okay, we can go."

She cutely smiled at me.

"Who's party?"

Her smiled wavered.

"Chloe," I said in a warning tone, even as I backed my car out onto the street. "Who's party?" I repeated, even though I already knew the answer — to a certain extent.

"Rachel's," she responded quietly.

I cursed. I hated parties thrown by girls. They were too structured; there was no real fun: only those stupid fruity drinks and bad music. Maybe Vincent and his friends brought a better party with them? It was definitely another unpleasant surprise to see that there were a lot of people outside Rachel's apartment. I grunted and got out of my car. I told myself that I'd be a good girl tonight because Rachel's apartment was just too fucking far to walk home from. I shivered in my own cropped, leather jacket at a gust of cold air.

"Can we go inside, now?" I asked her, already dreading this.

"Cheer up!" She said, grabbing my hand. "It's something to do."

I checked my watch. It was two in the morning. And I wanted to go home.

Where the fuck is Chloe?

I couldn't see her among the mass of people. But even better: this party wasn't as girly as I expected. They actually had

good

drinks (the music was still horrible).

"Chloe?" I yelled, but I knew she wouldn't hear me wherever she was.

I reached into the clutch she made me, digging for my cell phone.

Shit, I left it in the car.

I swore under my breath. It was so fucking cold out; I really didn't want to have to go out just to come back in. But as I pushed past people in search of my best friend, I knew I'd have to call her. I could borrow some else's, but as I looked around at all the snooty people gathered — Vincent and his friends had the right idea and fled earlier — I decided that going to get my own was the best idea.

She won't even know I'm gone,

I promised myself.

"Shit!" I swore out loud this time. It was much colder than I'd remembered. I ran as fast as I could in my black three-inch heels to my little, blue sedan.

Fucking ridiculous. I shouldn't have worn these shoes . . .

I finally teetered up to my car and I pulled open the passenger side door. I searched in the darkness for that tiny, stupid, sliver of a phone, not finding it anywhere.

"Huzzah!" I exclaimed as I bent down and reached for the missing object on the floor of the car.

How did it get there?

I wondered, but didn't really care. It was too cold.

I felt a hand on my back, and was about to turn around to give the asshole a piece of my mind, when I abruptly became extremely tired.

Weird

. . . I thought. Turning around seemed like too much effort, now. The only thing to do is to just take a little nap . . . right here . . . on the seat . . .

what is going on?

I asked myself as my eyes closed and I slumped into the passenger seat. I heard the car door close and the driver's side open. The weight of the car barely shifted as someone got in, the only signal that clued me in to another person being there was the closing of the door again, and the starting of the car's engine.

"Wh —" I started, but the person shushed me.

How did they get my keys?

"Sleep." A gentle voice commanded. The voice was quiet, yet very powerful. Familiar . . . I found myself slipping under a dark veil of sleep, but I wasn't afraid, the voice took my fear away from me. "Sleep," it said again. I obeyed, and it was the last thing I heard before my mid completely fogged over.

These are nice,

I sighed inwardly at the feel of sating sheets against my skin.

But they're not mine.

And I frowned. I opened my eyes into slits and looked around.

I really hope this wasn't a one-night-stand sort of thing

— then it all cam rushing back. I was confronted with the fact that I had just been kidnapped. I groaned. Fucking fantastic.

I opened my eyes a little wider and screamed. I was not expecting to see someone's face so close to mine. The man was leaning over me, just inches away, and he was extremely pale. White as a sheet; I've never seen anything like it. He was also very beautiful — but a very . . . elegant, old timely . . . feminine . . . beauty. It was odd for a kidnapper's face to be so appealing. His skin looked papery almost, but not old; he was wrinkle free. Then he smiled warmly at me and I noticed his incisors were sharp and

un

friendly. Too sharp. Creepy. And the way he was openly staring at me was freaking me out.

"Who are you?" I said weaker than intended.

Way to put up a fight.

His voice was whispery and it was so soft that I couldn't understand that words — however the tone sounded familiar again. It made nice background noise though, and I mistakenly saw it as an opportunity to check out my chamber. It had an ancient feel to it, but it looked like it was in good shape. Maybe it was a renovation.

I cut a swift glance down and realized that I was not bound like I'd imagined. Who just leaves their victims free? Victim. I'm kidnapped. Fuck. A cold sweat broke out as the words really set in. I scrambled away from the strange . . . creature. He definitely wasn't a man; his elfish, pointed features and pale, alien skin were strange enough, but with his long, straight, black hair (it was longer than mine — then again, everyone's hair almost always is) he seemed even more out of place . . . fictional.

I pressed my back against the wall, chest heaving as the thing placed his long, bony, white hands on the bed. He looked like he was about to pounce on me, but he just kept talking, smiling that creepy smile. It soon disappeared, however, when I didn't answer him. But it wasn't my fault, I couldn't hear him. His raised his voice in annoyance, but it didn't do any good. It felt like my ears were stuffed with cotton. Everything was muted. His arms bent, and I thought he was going to crawl on the bed. His large, dark violet eyes were trained on mine — which were widening in fear.

He started yelling then, or at least that's what it looked like — it still

sounded

softer than normal level to me. I tried to push myself closer to the wall, pulling the soft, satin sheets up with me. He grabbed the sheets and ripped them away from me, obviously trying to get my attention. With a start I realized my clothes were gone, so I screamed again. He cringed at the noise, but otherwise seemed unfazed by my lack of attire.

He was yelling now, only it seemed calm; as if he knew this was the only way to talk to me. He snapped his fingers in front of my face when I looked away and tried to cover myself up.

Excuse me for trying to be decent.

His voice still sounded muted though . . . and now that I thought about it more, so did everything else. Everything had that dream-like quality — soft voices, dimmed colors, unclear vision — either that or I'd been drugged . . . He snapped his fingers again and growled. I yelped in response. Even his slightly emaciated body — he probably weighed half of what I do — was scaring me now. My head rolled on my shoulders, and I was suddenly tired again. This made him panic, I guess, because he was suddenly yelling louder. He pulled me closer, shaking my shoulders. I hadn't realized his fingers were so long. They overlapped around my arms — he shook me again. He was yelling in earnest now, and he seemed nervous and desperate for my understanding. I listened closely, willing to do anything to get his freaky face away from mine. His features relaxed when he saw I was listening, but his whispery voice retained its stress.

But I still couldn't understand. "That isn't English!" I screamed at him, frightened. "What do you want from me?!"

My head was hurting, I just wanted to sleep. His eyes got that frantic look again and he placed a frail hand across my forehead. I was startled by its freezing temperature, and even more so by the voices that assaulted my mind. It was all so confusing.

"I don't understand!" I cried.

The voices got louder, desperate still. The language wasn't anything I'd ever heard of, though, so I couldn't do anything. I closed my weary eyes, exhausted from this confrontation, hoping that he'll just leave me alone. No such luck, of course. He lifted me with one strong, ashen hand and dragged me to the door I'd never noticed. He was still yelling, and I recognized he was repeating the same phrase after he finished saying something else. I didn't want to leave the room. As much as this man scared me, I wasn't about to leave to go find more of them. I struggled against his iron grasp at no avail, and he pulled me to the other side. There was a long hallway filled with people. They all turned to stare at me, but not at my body. I surmised that they hadn't realized I wasn't wearing clothes — or maybe they didn't care? The thing pulled me down the hall to a railing. He pointed one finger down, but I was afraid to look. My eyes closed to blink and I barely remember how to open them. He put a cold hand and my hair and yanked my head down.