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.
50.
After my appointments, I head toward the beach, making sure to pull my sleeves down to my wrists before stepping into the street. Zenn’ll be waiting at the dock, ready to take my hand and walk south. We’ll spend the rest of the day watching the waves and talking about anything and everything.
Suddenly someone hisses my name.
I freeze. Something like this has happened before. Not here, not in Freedom, but in the Badlands. I strain to grasp the memory, but it flees.
Zenn laughs. He pulls me into a shadowy doorway and removes his hat. “Surprise, beautiful. I thought we’d eat somewhere in today.” He’s handsome with his bleached hair and even whiter teeth.
“In?” I ask, feeling the coolness of the smooth stone disappear as Zenn pulls me so close our bodies touch along every point.
“Yeah, it’s almost my birthday. I want to celebrate with you.”
“Zenn, your birthday isn’t until March. That’s six months away.”
“I know,” he says, taking off my hat too. “But I want to be with you. I want us to be together.” I imagine his next words before they come. “I love you, my lovely Violet.” Zenn leans down, pausing just before kissing me. His mouth is warm and familiar, but that’s all. It doesn’t fill my soul with a choking desire or anything. I think it used to, but now his kiss feels, well, empty.
Then the blank-space-guy replaces Zenn. The doorway in the dream is similar to this one. Is that guy . . . Zenn?
It seems to fit, but at the same time, it totally doesn’t. I remove the locator from my pocket. Vaguely, I hear Zenn say my name.
I run my fingertip over the screen. I need a name. Desperately.
“Let me have that,” Zenn says, his long fingers closing over mine.
I grip it harder before letting him take it. A vital piece of my soul goes with it. I need that locator to find the guy. The one I’m in love with.
And it’s not Zenn.
But I can’t remember who it is.
“So . . . lunch?” Zenn asks, his voice false and bright. “Are you okay?”
I finally tear my gaze off my now-empty palm. Zenn’s face is a picture of adoration. For me.
“Yeah, sure, lunch.” My skin is the only thing holding everything inside. Still clutching our hats in his hand, Zenn steers me into the sunlight. The gentle rays feel like lasers, threatening to slice through my filament-thin defenses.
Because I have a hole inside that needs to be filled.
“Whatever is bothering you, you should forget it,” Zenn says in his most soothing voice. “Today is about you and me.”
I forget about the nameless, faceless guy and snuggle into Zenn’s side. “You’re right. Happy birthday, babe.”
He tucks his hand in my back pocket and leads me to the nicest restaurant in the city.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
For DVR-ing my favorite shows, eating cold cereal for (breakfast, lunch, and) dinner, and waiting patiently in the queue: Adam, Isaac, and Eliza, my truest champions and greatest treasures.
For reading so many drafts of Possession and not gouging your eyes out: Christine Fonseca, Windy Aphayrath, and Amanda Bonilla.
For the friendship, beta reads, and late-night sob fests: Suzette Saxton, Bethany Wiggins, H. L. Dyer, Carolyn Kaufman, Mary Lindsey, and Patrick McDonald.
For providing a shining light through the maze of grammar and setting: Lisa Roecker, Laura Roecker, Beth Revis, Katie Ande
rson, Lisa Amowitz, Shannon Messenger, Jamie Harrington, Shelli Johannes-Wells, Danyelle Leafty, Cole Gibsen, Michelle McLean, Ali Cross, Jenn Wilks, Stacy Henrie, and Sara Olds.
For helping me stay hinged: Michelle Andelman, Anica Rissi, and the entire Simon Pulse team.
For bringing the awesome and making me spew beverages during chats: the ladies of WriteOnCon: Casey McCormick, Jamie Harrington, Shannon Messenger, Jen Stayrook, and Lisa and Laura Roecker.
For holding back laughter at the idea, sending me amazing books, and cheering me on: the Bookanistas.
For raising me with the belief that I can do anything: Jeff and Donna Watkins.
For making me more beautiful than I actually am: Carol Johnson, Mary McBride, Amy Harris, Penny Welch, Jessica Cottle, and Brigitte Ballard.
For keeping me sane: all my blog readers, especially those whose comments buoyed me up during the floods, made me smile, or helped me take one more step. You know who you are.
And to my first teen readers, Haley Gallegos and Fabiana Fonesca; may there be many more like you.
Elana Johnson, Possession
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