He Who Weaves Nightmares | PUBLISHED (Available in Print and eBook Format)

Chapter 31 - Through the Narrow Strip

Chapter 31 - Through the Narrow Strip

Dreamer

Confidence is sexy. Wear it daily.

I kept repeating Yvonne's advice. I could do this. I wasn't a gawky teenager anymore. My hair wasn't messy and I wasn't wearing my old, faded clothes. I wanted to believe I rocked the Faviana cocktail dress Maya had forced me to buy-with the intent of borrowing it for a college party next week.

Hell, I knew I looked hot. It wasn't just the outfit that gave me confidence. I'd accomplished a few things the past years and Ice could not have returned at a more opportune time. I felt and looked good.

Amazing what a few shots of vodka could do to a generic introvert.

Till I burped and was hauled back to that mortifying moment when I'd first met Ice and I had mayonnaise on my chin.

Qué horror!

But Ice just chuckled and held out his hand to me.

This was the third time Ice held my hand tonight. Not that I was counting. But heavens, every time we touched, my imagination kicked in. I had recently wrapped up my last book and I was looking forward to a week of sheer... blankness. I had been planning to veg out and finally catch up on the movies and shows I'd missed the past years, but now, with Ice's hand warmly holding mine, my fingers itched.

I didn't know if he was aware, but his thumb caressed my palm and little multi-legged creatures crawled up my arm and tickled my neck and ear. With each brush of his thumb, a new concept formed. A new character. An intense scene. Plot twists. And something else indescribably delicious that made me shiver.

We were just walking and holding hands and it seemed like we were throwing ideas at each other with all these images shaping in my mind. It was such a heady sensation.

I had thought of Ice. I had missed him. I had imagined him returning so many times. And now that he was here, I had not expected our encounter to spark such inspiration.

It was strange. But I dared not question this gift. I had a taste of it a decade ago. A trigger. I had thought it was someone else. Yet I had possibly also known the truth, but I'd been too self-conscious to acknowledge it.

A dress. A tonic. A list of achievements. And I could temporarily say goodbye to my inhibitions.

I gazed at Ice. Talk about imagination and inspiration. The years had been good to him. He had always been tall and bulky, but tonight, he exuded power. He had cleaned up. He no longer sported his disheveled mane that often covered his eyes. In fact, his dark brown hair had been cropped close to his scalp, allowing me to admire the angles of his face and the changing color of his eyes-I knew they were green, but I let the light from the café and the moon play tricks to make his eyes appear golden. I was certain he looked smoother earlier, but in the short hours since we'd been reacquainted, light stubble covered his jaw and he looked scruffier.

Like he had looked in his youth when he had first sparked my imagination.

"What are you thinking?" he asked. Another stroke of his thumb.

"A new beginning," I answered. Then clarified, "A new story."

He grinned at me as if he knew something.

He held my hand tighter. I doubted I was going to get some sleep tonight. I needed my laptop. Or a recorder. Or a pen and paper.

I was blissfully distracted compartmentalizing ideas in my head that I didn't realize Ice had brought me to an alley I wasn't familiar with.

It was puzzling that I didn't recognize the area when, aside from the four years in college, I'd never lived elsewhere. We were at the end of a narrow backstreet and I could barely see anything past the first two meters. There was something in the dimness that made the hair at the back of my neck stand.

Ice tugged at my hand and now a different sort of terrors filled my mind. I knew Ice appeared tough, but I didn't think he was impervious. We could get stabbed or shot or hacked to itsy bitsy pieces by whoever's waiting in the dark.

And no, this wasn't an anecdote I'd written. I did watch the news and some of the local headlines were very grim.

"I don't think we need to pass through this shortcut."

"It's not a shortcut," Ice told me.

"There's something that doesn't feel right," I answered, anxiety creeping down my back. "Young Bruce's parents were murdered in an alley."

"That's fiction, woman."

"Most fiction's based on actual events," I retorted. Did Ice just call me woman? He could perhaps come up with a better term. Although I would cringe if he called me anything synonymous to infant.

I was about to give him a piece of my mind when something in the dark caught my attention. There were shadows fleeting in and out of the gloom and they didn't offer any comfort. I swore there were at least two people in there who were probably waiting for their next victim.

I moved closer to Ice and held not just his hand but his arm. The hard contour of his biceps momentarily diverted my attention. If his arms were built this way, I could just picture how the rest of his body looked.

Shoulders. My mind wandered and I visualized strong, wide shoulders-my weakness-when one of the shadows appeared to rush toward us. Startled, I stepped back and gripped Ice's arm tighter. I might've even squealed.

Ice frowned when he heard me. I hoped I didn't leave nail marks on his skin. Then he looked puzzled when he caught me staring at the figures moving in the dark. He looked baffled and surprised. He turned to face the gloom and he glowered and quietly growled at the darkness.

Why would he do that? Was he demonstrating machismo? Was that even effective?

Then Ice looked calm again when he faced and told me, "Don't worry. They would not bother you."

Seriously?

Could I outrun the convicts if needed? My shoes were built for running. Could I save Ice in case he played hero? Did he find this situation thrilling? I looked at him and asked, "What was your illness?"

Ice bent toward me and when his mouth was next to my ear, he whispered, "Mental."

My breath hitched and the little creatures that had scurried up my arm now dove to the pit of my belly. I grumbled, "Not funny."

Ice straightened, squeezed my hand and said, "Trust me."

This was ridiculous. This was stupid. I should listen to that wise voice in my head. But it had been silenced along with my earlier inhibitions.

I gave Ice one quick nod. And walked the ten meters of complete darkness while clutching him.

I felt several pairs of eyes on us. Not just two. My skin prickled beneath my coat. I felt Ice shaking. Shaking, not trembling with fear. I hoped he was not laughing at my expense.

"You can open your eyes now," he said.

I didn't realize I had closed them.