Visioness by Lincoln Law Page B

logic.
    “You have to remember that
just because she can’t dream, doesn’t mean she’s not affected in some way. She
has just as much at stake here. If anything were to go badly, she’d lose her
sister.”
    Adabelle hadn’t thought
about it that way. In many ways, she could lose just as much as Adabelle. And
Adabelle hadn’t spoken to her about it. She’d lied and avoided answers, as a
child avoids baths. She held the secret, like telling her would mean the end of
their world.
    “I’ll think about it,” she
said.
    “And think carefully,” Mrs.
Abeth said. “No matter what, I’ll think no less of you. You’re old enough to
make your own decisions now, but whatever you pick, you have to be sure it’s
what’s best.”
    Adabelle nodded. “Thank
you,” she said, rising up to leave.
    “And Adabelle,” Mrs. Abeth added.
    “Yes?” Adabelle turned.
    “Stay safe.”
    She smiled. “I will.”
     
    That night, she had a
nightmare of the Halls.
    They were long, with high
ceilings, too dark for her to see. And around each corner shadows shifted and
undulated, like the surface of an ocean, broad and endless in their depths.
    She ran, as she usually
ended up doing in most nightmares. From what? She didn’t know; she only knew
she had to run.
    “Charlotte!” she cried.
    That’s right. She was
looking for Charlotte. She wasn’t running. She was searching.
    “Charlotte, where are you?”
    But her voice simply echoed
back through the shadows and the endless halls of shadow. She had to
find her sister. It was imperative. She hated to consider the alternative if
she didn’t discover her in time.
    So many gaps in her memory,
so many uncertainties. Yet she knew she needed her sister.
    As she turned a corner, she
saw him. His dark skin, his grey and white facial hair, his expression
like stone; inscrutable, yet so similar to her own. Therron. The scent,
so thick and rich. The music so beautifully frightening. She bumped into him,
thrown back, and awoke with a start.
    “You were screaming dad’s
name again,” Charlotte said, sitting up in bed, her hair much less messy than
Adabelle’s own.
    “Was I?” she asked. She
remembered the nightmare so vividly. She could barely feign ignorance.
    “Yes,” Charlotte said. She
hesitated.
    “And what else?” Adabelle
pressed.
    “You screamed my name, too.”
She sounded frightened. Horrified even.
    Adabelle attempted to muster
an answer quickly enough to be convincing, but she couldn’t. She was too tired,
still between awareness and sleep. Not quite as bad as the dream buffer, but
bad enough to be confused.
    “Tell me what’s happening,”
Charlotte pressed. “Tell me so I can understand. I don’t get how dreams
work, or what’s bad and what’s not. I don’t really know why you scream or why
you talk in your sleep. I really just can’t wrap my head around it. But I know
when something’s wrong, or out of the ordinary, and this is one of those. And
until you tell me I won’t know what’s happening; won’t really be able to help
should you need me to.”
    “You don’t have to worry,”
Adabelle replied. You’re being a coward. Tell her! She’s old enough. “You
can’t dream, so you don’t have to worry.” She’s not a child anymore. She
needs to know.
    These two parts of her mind
warred against one-another madly in her head. Charlotte still didn’t look
convinced. Not even slightly.
    “I do worry, about you,”
Charlotte sighed. “I don’t care if it’s going to affect me directly or not. The
main thing is that I need to know so I can understand and help. I want
to help.”
    She only wants to help.
She’s looking after you.
    But Adabelle was meant to
look after her sister, not the other way around. She was the older one. She had
promised her mother she would care and protect her sister, and by keeping her
ignorant, she was better off. Parent’s lied all the time for the sake of their
children’s safety; how was this any different?
    But then