49.
I’m running. Fast.
Faster than I’ve ever run before. I’m chasing someone, and I desperately need to see his face. He haunts me. He has for months.
I have to catch him this time. I can’t live through another night without knowing who he is.
He dodges into the doorway of a building. The night sky around me is bathed in red. I duck into the doorway too, but there’s no one there. Something smells familiar. Pine needles and earth and . . . guy.
I’ve been here before.
With him.
He has no name. At least not one I can remember. A crushing hand of despair squeezes my fluttering heart. I touch the brick wall, expecting the cool bite against my fingers. Instead, it feels warm, like a body has lent its heat to the stone.
But no one is here. He’s never here.
Like in the other nightmares, the doorway disappears and now I’m walking in a desert. It’s so hot, and my face and arms are tender and pink. Someone holds my hand and rubs cream into my sunburned skin.
But when I turn to look at him, there’s only a blank space. Walking next to me. Watching the stars. Chuckling. He says my name in a velvety voice.
I’m in love with the blank-space-guy.
Where is he? Why can’t I remember his name?
Panic takes over. Fear. Crushing loneliness.
Because he’s really gone. And he’s not coming back.
This is where I wake up, almost like my dreaming self can’t handle the weight of living without him. Like I can shoulder it while awake. If anything, it cripples me more.
I roll toward the wall, desperate to put the guy’s face together and coming up empty.
When I can’t stand lying in bed anymore, I step onto the balcony to watch the sun rise. A few minutes pass before I sense Zenn coming. Happiness pours from his mind because he has something exciting happening today.
“Morning, beautiful.” He hands me a mug and slips his hand around my waist. I lean into him. His silk pajamas smell like toast and milk, the breakfast we eat together every morning.
The autumn sun rises, bringing with it a warm breeze from the coast. “I love it here,” I sigh.
“Me too.” He leans down and kisses me. My sweet, wonderful Zenn. “You’ve got two appointments today. We’re meeting this afternoon, remember?” He inhales the scent of my hair before straightening.
I nod. “Are you meeting with the Director today?”
“Yes. I think he’s going to—”
“You’ll make an excellent Assistant.” I smile at him.
Zenn’s clear, blue eyes dance. “You think so?”
“Absolutely.”
Something in Zenn’s pocket beeps. He pulls it out with his right hand, where he wears a thin band of gold. I lightly trace the matching ring I wear on my pinky, proof of Zenn’s dedication and love.
“I’ll be right back.” Zenn steps through the door and closes it.
I linger on the balcony. The wind plays in my hair, and the beach below brings comfortable memories. I’ve walked every inch of the coast with Zenn.
I touch the string of gems around my neck. They glow in the weak morning light. The blank space beside me reappears. Someone gave me this necklace. It’s important. He’s important.
I retrieve a locator—something I found in my jeans—from my bedside table. Maybe I can try to find the blank-space-guy. Make him tell me his name and why I can’t get him out of my head.
I flip the locator over and over. The screen at the top stays blank. Why can’t I remember his name?
I stare a hole into the locator, desperate for a name to spontaneously appear. It doesn’t.
Today is going to be a bad day. My appointments will have to be canceled. It isn’t fair to tinker with people’s minds when my own is so screwed up.
Zenn knocks on the door at the same time he opens it.
I almost launch the locator over the balcony. Then I won’t have a way to find the guy. But . . . then I won’t have a way to find the guy. And I’m not ready to give up yet.
“I’m going. I just need to shower.”
Zenn stops me with one of his famous frowns. “How come you didn’t tell me about your nightmare?” His adoring eyes usually calm me. Suddenly I don’t want to look in them.
I slip the locator into my pocket, comforted by the warmth of it against my leg. “I can’t remember anything.”
“That’s good,” he says. “That journey is done. You should forget all of it.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Just forget about it.”
I nod, my mind going blank no matter how hard I try to hold on to the slippery threads of memory. By the time I get out of the shower, I wonder why I thought today would be a bad one.