“My dad,” I told him, my voice nearly a whisper.
“And … what happened?”
I sucked in a mouthful of air, allowed it to bubble my cheeks, before releasing it in a long, slow whistle. “Deer ran in front of the car. Next thing I knew, we were all dead. Well, except for my sister. She died for a bit, but then she found her way back to the living. It’s a long story.” I shrugged, doing my best to keep to the facts, keep it free of any emotion I may have felt at the time.
He waved his hand impatiently. He had no interest in those kinds of details.
“What I meant is, at the very last second, right before the impact, what happened?” His eyes blazed on mine.
I paused for a moment to think, or at least I pretended to think. The fact is, I’d replayed the scene so many times in my head it was always at the ready, not the least bit difficult to locate. And though I was reluctant to share it with him, knowing it’d be like handing over the perfect scenario for him to use against me—I did it anyway. Figuring a little honesty on my part could only build trust, or at least I hoped that it would.
“I’d just been fighting with my sister.” I looked right at him. “My dad peered in the rearview mirror, they exchanged a look, and then, a few seconds later the deer appeared and … that’s it. It happened pretty fast.”
Satchel nodded as though I’d just proved his point. “See? You distracted him.” His pale eyebrows quirked as he flashed me a gruesome, triumphant grin.
“So you’re implying it was my fault?” I tried to keep my voice calm, tried to smother the slow, simmering rage building inside me. “I mean, seriously, you’re actually blaming me for what happened to my family?”
Satchel studied his hands, inspected his nails. He’d said all that he needed to. The damage was done.
“Maybe some things are just meant to be. Maybe some things just happen, no matter what. Did you ever think of that?” I glared at him, remembering how my sister, Ever, was consumed with blaming herself for our deaths, and how I finally convinced her of all the things I’d just said, how those words served to free her, even if she didn’t completely believe them.
But Satchel remained unimpressed. Refused to see things my way.
“Maybe. Maybe not,” he said. “All I know for sure is that the dreams I weave wake people up. My dreamweaves help people realize just how small, vulnerable, and fragile they really are. They make people cautious. They make them think twice. And despite what you think, none of those kids are innocent. That girl that got eaten by the alligators?” He looked at me. “She does things near that swamp with her boyfriend that she knows she shouldn’t be doing. Bad things. Dangerous things. Things her parents have warned her about. But now, after my dreamweave, she’ll think twice about her actions. She won’t be doing that kind of thing again.” He flashed a self-satisfied smirk and continued, “And those kids in the park? They hang out there almost every night, drinking, smoking, and getting in fights. I sent that dream to the whole group of them, and I one-hundred-percent guarantee you that once they get talking about it—once they exchange notes and realize they all saw the same thing—they’ll be so scared, and rightfully so, that they’ll stop all the nonsense, stop abusing their bodies, stop wrecking it for everyone else, and live a better life. And if not, well then I’ll just keep chasing them down. I’ll just keep dreamweaving exclusively for them, until they finally get it, or they end up Here prematurely, whichever comes first. And the same goes for everyone else.”
He paused, allowing me a chance to react, but I just held my tongue.
“I’m doing good work here, Riley—work that I should be rewarded for. But some people are just too shortsighted to see the value in that. You’re lucky you met me, you know. You may already be dead, so there’s no sparing you that, but you’re reckless. You think you’re way smarter than you are. You think you know more than anyone else. And, well, think of it like this, maybe I’m here to save you from yourself.” He laughed, though the sound was so icky, so greasy, I couldn’t help but cringe. “I mean, think about it. Think about everything I just said. Isn’t that how you got here? Isn’t that what convinced you to sneak back into Dreamland despite that it was closing time—despite what you’d been told?”
He paused.
I shrugged.
Clearly we’d reached an impasse.
Until he said, “So tell me, Riley, tell me the truth. I’m curious, after everything you’ve experienced here, do you still think fear is for sissies?”
His eyes focused on mine, focused in the way they had before: piercing, mesmerizing, willing me to seek his approval, to do whatever it took to please him, to do his bidding.
And though that no longer worked, when I tried to flee, well, that’s when I realized the nightmare hadn’t really ended.
My feet were nailed to the stage, and my lips were stapled shut.
18
“How does it feel to know no one will come for you?”
Satchel smiled. Having joined me onstage, he proceeded to circle me slowly, to better observe me.
“How does it feel to know you’re trapped here? Does it make you feel, oh, I don’t know, fearful, perhaps?”
With my mouth still stapled shut, it’s not like I could answer. But Satchel wasn’t in it for the answer. He was in it for the taunt.
“You know, I’ve been doing this for a very long time, and I must say that you are one of my most challenging dreamweaves to date.” He stood before me, eyes widening as though I’d finally managed to impress him. Too bad I no longer cared about that.
“Just so you know, I didn’t always deal in nightmares. I used to let people send whatever kind of message they wanted, whether I approved of it or not. I did my job, did what the client and Balthazar wanted. But then one day, I’d had enough of all the softly whispered, sappy encouragements of ‘Live your life to the fullest!’
“And worse: ‘Seize each day as though it’s your last!’”