The Dream Runner by Kerry Schafer Page B

be in deeper doo-doo than I was already. This didn't bear thinking of.
    On the other hand, if I didn't take it now, I might not get back in. It would be a lot harder to fabricate another story for the neighbors. Family could be here. The kid, Mia's sister, Mia herself, if she wasn't dead.
    Please, don't be dead .
    I went with my usual policy of  now or never, seize the day.
    I'd never had a crash on Red, after all. There was no reason to think I'd have one now. After a long moment of consideration, I stuffed the bottle into my bra. If I'd had D cups or even C's this might have been a perfect solution, but I am not that girl. The bottle would be as safe there as it was going to be anywhere on my body, but looking in the mirror I could see it, like a lumpy and misshapen third breast. The only eyes I was going to have to deal with were the neighbor’s, though, and I was counting on her age and proper upbringing to keep her from looking at my cleavage or commenting on anything she saw there.

Chapter Nine
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    I made it home without incident and went directly to the briefcase to lock up Mia's dream. But the minute the bottle was in my hands a craving hit. Just a taste of some good old-fashioned violence, that was all I needed. One small hit. I wanted my old vengeance dream, the way it had been before it morphed into nightmare. Since that wasn't possible, maybe I could borrow a little of Mia's before I sent it back.
    A stupid, dangerous idea. I'd seen dream junkies before, people so strung out on dreams they let the rest of their lives go to hell—jobs, kids, their health, everything. For the first time, standing there with that shining bottle in my hands and the emptiness in my soul, I wondered if I'd become one of them.
    And then I decided I didn't care, one way or the other. I'd be careful. No sleeping pills to keep me under. And as soon as I woke up I'd return it to the Merchant with no harm done. As far as places to sleep, my old room was out of the question, and all of the downstairs felt dangerous and exposed, knowing Saundra and Marvin still had keys.
    So I barricaded myself behind the locked door of what was once my father's bedroom. I opened Mia's bottle and settled myself flat on the floor in a good old Savasana pose, thinking my yoga teacher would approve. Even though I worried that I wouldn't be able to sleep I was truly exhausted, and before I knew it I was dreaming.
    The man from Mia's wedding picture stands beside me, holding my hand. I feel safe with him there, sheltered and protected. He bends his head over mine and kisses the top of my head.
    "Be brave, Mia Mine," he says, and his voice is all kindness and love.
    My hand in his is cold, and trembles, but it is not him I fear. I am secure in his love and willing to take risks because he is with me. Lifting my other hand I knock on a door—just an ordinary door but it dwarfs me now. The whole world has gone bigger and brighter and I am so very small next to the gentle man beside me. His love is like a shield and I knock again.
    The door opens and I look way up, into the face of an angry old man. Inside the dream I'm both Jesse and Mia, and I recognize him as father, hers, not mine. He is not happy to see me; there is no love in his eyes.
    A familiar knot twists in my stomach.
    "Brat," the man growls, and his hot breath curls around me like a sickness. "Go fetch me a switch."
    But the man beside me squeezes my hand, and it makes me strong. I say in my child's voice, "No, sir. I've done nothing wrong. And you can't hurt me anymore." As I say the words I realize for the very first time that they are true.
    "We'll see about that." The angry man reaches out to slap me, but the man at my side grasps his wrist and holds him back.
    "You can't hurt her anymore. Did you have something you need to tell him, Mia?"
    "I forgive you," I whisper, the words beautiful and smooth in my throat.
    The dream shifts. I'm standing beside a coffin, and the