Hunted Dreams by Elle Hill Page B

when life throws out mysteries, take it back to the basics.  He swung his legs over the side of the bed. Nothing more basic than a scalding hot shower. On his way to the bathroom, it occurred to him that perhaps she hadn’t starred in his dreams.
    Hell, maybe he was the interloper.
    After a training session that left Reed cross-eyed with boredom, Quina put Maricruz in charge of furthering his training—at a movie theater. Sitting next to one another in the theater, greasy fingers reaching for popcorn flavored with something straight out of a chemist’s beaker, they stared ahead at the giant screen.
    “This is one of the best places to come recharge,” Maricruz whispered as some hapless, onscreen teenaged couple smoked a joint before sliding into second base.
    “A cheap horror flick?” Reed rumbled, sipping from the vastly overpriced soda Mari had insisted on purchasing for him.
    “Absolutely. Everyone knows the clichés well enough to know these two horny kids are practically begging for some kind of gruesome death. Feel the slight twang of fear from the other audience members?”
    He did. Although weak and fluttery, the other patrons’ hunger for fear and adrenalin feathered across his breastbone. When, twenty seconds later, a scythe rather conclusively ended the teenagers’ experimentations, the audience gasped and wriggled in a terror almost sexual in its enjoyment.
    Next to him, Maricruz shuddered. When he looked over at her, her eyes gleamed brighter in the darkness and her lips stretched in a slightly redder smile.
    “Horror is my favorite,” she whispered, and crunched a handful of kernels in her mouth. “But war movies are good, too. And don’t tell him I told you, but Paul especially likes tragic romances.”
    With a cheeky grin, she turned her gaze back to the movie screen. The whites of her eyes glowed blue in the dim light of the theater.
    A few hours later, glutted on others’ watercolor terror, they strolled lazily away from the theater toward his pickup. Maricruz tucked her arm around Reed’s. “I love Old Town Pasadena!” she gushed. “Let’s walk around for a bit before heading back home.”
    Slightly bemused by her sudden girlishness, Reed nonetheless let her lead them down Colorado Boulevard. He’d never much enjoyed Old Town, probably because he’d never had much in the way of extra income to blow on bronze sculptures and seaweed facials.
    On both sides of the street, charming shops (equipped with the extra “P” and an “E” that automatically raised their prices by fifty or more percent) and low-key chain stores melded together behind quaint brick facades and tastefully modest signs. Old Town Pasadena had been designed for pedestrians, many of whom currently crowded the sidewalks.
    “They make the best ravioli,” Maricruz said, pointing across the street. “And if you’re into antique toys, that store has the best.” She flashed a dazzling smile at him, carefully crafted enough to earn an extra “L.” She glanced at her gold watch. “We have enough time to stop for a quick bite, if you’re hungry.”
    “I’m not hungry,” he replied. More to the point, his wallet was . “But we can stop if you’d like to eat something.” Something tangible, anyway.
    “It’s all right,” she said. “But would you mind if we stopped in that stationery shop up there?”
    He shook his head with a small smile.
    Forty minutes later, his smile had taken an early retirement. He appreciated the many functions of paper and pen but remained unclear how anyone could spend over a half-hour riffling through various tools of communication.
    Smiling apologetically, Mari finally rejoined him at the front of the store. She held a small paper bag. “I’m a card fiend,” she admitted sheepishly, shaking the thin brown bag. “Wanna go home now?”
    “I’m fine with going back,” he responded, careful not to emphasize the last word too much. They exited the store, into a late afternoon that