Pinocchio by Selena Kitt

Author:Selena Kitt [Kitt, Selena]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Excessica
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

It was the sound of the neighbor’s Roadrunner that set him off. Not their old busybody neighbor on the left, but the tattooed, bandana wearing, Pall Mall chain-smoking kid who fashioned himself a “gangsta” who lived to the right. He drove a yellow and black Plymouth Roadrunner with a glass-packed muffler, a thick bass constantly thrumming in the back. He was the main reason Levi started covering the windows, drowning out the sound as well as the light.

Since he’d been back, the veil between sleeping and waking had been thin. Cricket came out of his dreams all the time to talk to him—and things from the real world found their way into his dream world, permeating that barrier like ghosts passing through walls. Sometimes he woke, sure he was still dreaming. Sometimes he dreamed, sure he was still awake. There was no telling, anymore, which was which.

The dream was never the same, but the feeling always remained—complete and utter regret. He made the wrong call. It was his mistake. He’d chosen to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, things unfolding in a way he was powerless to stop. He could only watch, helpless, as his world crumbled around him.

“Levi! Levi!” Thank God she used his given name.

“No!” He roared, thrashing, fist pounding the pillow beside him, once, twice, faux feathers puffing up around Linney’s shocked, terrified face. Her head had been resting on that pillow just moments before.

“You’re dreaming!” She gasped, hands reaching for him, soothing, dry and cool against the hot, sweaty surface of his flesh.

“Wake up, Levi, wake up…”

She murmured the words, almost like a song, petting his neck, his chest, moving in to rest her head under his chin, his heart still hammering in his chest under the soft press of her cheek. He wrapped an arm around her, hands still trembling with helpless rage—and now, with a terrible shame. He’d nearly pounded her head into the pillow! What if she hadn’t woken up? He could have killed her…

“Shhhh,” she soothed, her hand moving over his chest, letting the hair curl around her fingers in the soft evening light. “It was just a dream.”

Except they weren’t just dreams. Not when he came out of them fighting for his life.

He ran a hand through his hair, staring up at the orange glow of the ceiling. The sun was going down. They’d made love—he remembered that fondly—and had slept for a few hours. Until his dream.

“Tell me,” she urged. Her eyes were still closed, nails lightly stroking his damp skin. He wondered how long he’d been dreaming, thrashing, trying to fight against the inevitable.

“I don’t remember.” It wasn’t a lie—the dream itself had already faded, lost in the horror of his half-awake actions.

“Not your dream.” She looked up at him, touching his chin, tracing the very tense line of his jaw. “What happened on the jump? With Bernard Crick?”

He gaped at her, breath caught in his throat.

“I assume he’s the cricket on your arm. A memorial tattoo?”

How had she known? Was he so easy to read? Maybe he was a bad liar after all.

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