Killer Dreams Ch. 61-65

"Fuck yes," Talia growled as she let her control go and immediately came on my spurting rod. "So fucking good!"

I moved her to the side again as I got up for the bathroom. I cleaned myself, then brought a towel and a warm washcloth to clean her up. "Thank you, baby."

"I love you, David," she replied.

Ten minutes later, we walked to the breakfast table and a smiling Margarite. "About time you two finished fooling around," she teased. "I can only keep breakfast warm for so long."

"You'd think you'd have a better sense of timing by now," I answered.

She shook her wooden spoon at me. "You're lucky you take good care of her," she said with a smile.

"Multiple times," Talia said with a giggle as she leaned over to kiss me. "What's for breakfast?"

"Sausage pupusas," she told me as she took a platter of the handmade tortillas out of the oven. "Serve her some fruit. It is good for the baby."

Talia laughed. "I know, Margarite. You tell us that every morning. My problem is that I won't get fruit like this when I'm back home!"

"You should stay here and have your baby. We have room."

"Not for her parents, and we do have to go back sometime."

Laura walked up the stairs as we talked. She'd started spending time in the pool with her daily, and the little girl loved it. Lori wiggled in her towel as Mom carried her past. "You should build, then you don't have to go back," she said before disappearing into her room.

"The girls could play together," Margarite added. When the sisters moved here, they also purchased three now-empty adjoining lots. The idea was that each of them and Margarite could build homes. Margarite didn't want to move out, so they offered one lot to us.

"I love it here. It's a tempting offer when I look at the weather forecast back home," Talia agreed.

"I'm not sure I could handle the humidity here year-round," I grumbled. A second home was the surprise I had planned for today. Lisa's job gave us the perfect opportunity to see the homes the Church charity was building, while the contractor was happy to show us a half-dozen new construction. We also toured a couple of finished projects with the owner's permission. From that, we had a good idea of what Talia liked in houses around here.

I loved my Lake Superior home, but I was getting older. I didn't need to hide out anymore, and I could do without the ice and snow between November and March. I still planned to write, and Talia wanted to have a few babies close in age. I could work anywhere, and we had plenty of money for two homes. We'd escape the cold on the island and hurricane season for the shores of Lake Superior, then spend the summer on the North Shore so her parents could see her.

I had an architect work up a design for a single-story Caribbean-style home of concrete and stucco, built on piers with parking and storage underneath. She was coming over to present the plans in half an hour. We had enough time to finish breakfast and get Lana and Lisa up from the beach.

"What are you thinking about other than your wife and baby," Margarite asked. I looked up, embarrassed to be caught not paying attention. "I asked what was happening with your dream."

"Nothing," I replied. "My people haven't seen a thing."

"It's too bad the family doesn't take this more seriously," Talia said. I'd called them over Christmas break and explained my dream and the dangers. "How can they risk it?"

I shrugged. "Jennifer has to take the bus. Nothing has happened in six weeks, and the Sheriff won't park a car there without a documented threat. I don't know if my hired security is scaring him away or if the kidnapping isn't supposed to happen for a long time. My first dream about this book was three years ago."

Talia nodded. "What do you think in your gut?"

"Sooner rather than later," I replied. "Jennifer doesn't look a year older, and it won't be long before the after-school and activity buses drop her off in daylight. I checked the sunset times, and it will be light past six PM by the end of February."

"And her activity bus after hockey practice drops her off at about six," Talia replied.

I nodded. "Once we're home, I'll take over. Jennifer asked me if I was having her followed last week, so she's picking up the cars. She is getting off the bus alone most of the time now."

Talia shook her head. "I'll talk to her when we get home."

Margarite took our plates, and the girls walked up the stairs as we finished washing up. "Is she here yet," Lisa asked eagerly.

"Not yet," I said. I guided Talia to the living room couch as the girls gathered around.

Lana came over with a sleeping Lori, and Talia held her arms out for her. "Aunt Talia has to get all the snuggles in she can before we fly out," she said happily. "Now, David, who are we waiting for?"

"My surprise," I told her. Margarite served us drinks, then answered the door before a knock. The woman had sharp Mom hearing. She walked into the living room with an attractive black woman in her early thirties. "Adicia," I said with a smile as I got up and gestured for Talia to stay where she was. "Allow me to introduce my wife, Talia. Talia, this is Adicia Adanaze, co-owner of Millenium Design and Construction in the capital of Roseau. She's our architect."

"Architect?"

"I see you keep secrets, Mr. Hardin," Adicia teased.

"We all did," I said with a smile, ignoring the laser beams burning into the back of my head. "Adicia is designing our vacation home," I said as I sat down, and Adicia got out her tablet.

"Why would you keep this from me?"

"It's your birthday present," I said with a shrug. Talia was born five minutes after midnight on February 15^th. It meant roses and chocolate were on sale, and getting a table at a nice place was easy. "I didn't want you spending your time obsessing over design while you're supposed to be relaxing and enjoying the company. I think I got it close, but you can work with Adicia on any changes you want before we sign the contracts. Her company can build it in time for us to return in November."

Talia couldn't smack me while holding a sleeping baby, thank God. As soon as the architectural rendering of the home showed up on the big screen, she stopped paying attention to me. Adicia had done a great job incorporating classic Island colonial style with modern materials and hurricane protection. Adicia walked us through the 3-D mockup of the four-bedroom, 4,000 square foot, 2.5-bath home on a lot just down the beach. "What do you two think," she asked as the screen showed the view from the water, with the infinity edge endless pool and outdoor kitchen and dining area.

"It REALLY sucks," Talia said as she shook her head. Multiple jaws dropped, and my stomach fell. "That we can't move in until November. I LOVE it! Thank you, David!" I had to lean over for a kiss. "And thank you all for letting us build on your lot!"

"You are family now," Laura told us.

Now that she had recovered from the shock, we went through the house plans again after the girls left. Talia had a good eye for design, and Adicia quickly picked up on her tastes. Finally, just after eleven, Adicia packed up again. "It's going to be a beautiful home," she said.

"We can pick up a second citizenship if we want," I told her. "It qualifies."

"How much do we estimate this will set us back?"

"One point two, which is a bargain for beachfront."

"We have the money, and I love it here," Talia replied. "We have to pack."

"I know." I packed our Island wear, leaving our suitcases stuffed even after leaving a few boxes of clothes here. Saying goodbye was emotional, and we couldn't wait to return. We were too sad to talk much as Lisa drove us across the island to the airport, so we enjoyed the scenery. "Hurry back," she said as she hugged us.

We caught an afternoon flight to Miami, then a charter jet to Duluth. I got the call as we were flying over the Panhandle. "David, it's Alan Parson. Jennifer didn't make it home."

Chapter 65

Jennifer Parson's POV

Two Harbors Ice Arena

Tuesday, January 31, 2023

I finished dressing quickly after hockey practice, eager to get out of the locker room before the Varsity Girl's Hockey Team finished their practice. I closed and locked up my gear, then shouldered my backpack and my bag of dirty clothes. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," Connie Cook replied as she locked her adjacent locker. "Let's get out of here." Since the school made the rule that said no phones could be out of bags in the locker room, everyone got out as fast as possible. We entered the snack bar/reception area, and Connie got her phone out. I found a bench where we could wait for the activity bus.

It was the last week of the season, and our Junior Varsity team was showing promise. Our coach wanted me to work on my skating speed and grow a bit before next season, and I might make Varsity. Connie was stuck behind an all-conference Junior goaltender but had a chance to be the backup. "We get to order pizza for dinner. Dad's out of town, and Mom doesn't get home until eight!"

"Shit," Connie said as she looked at her phone. "Mom's caught the flu. She needs me to come home."

David had warned us that we might be in danger before Christmas. Dad didn't believe him, remembering that in October, Connie was the one David said was the target. David Hardin's dream, no matter how realistic, wasn't something that got you police protection.

Mom didn't know what to think about the dreams, but she wanted me safe. She gave me a ride home when she could, but that was only once or twice a week. I had someone with me the rest of the time, or we'd take David up on his offer. He arranged for an off-duty Deputy Sheriff to wait at our bus stop on days I came home alone. Dad wanted to use this only in emergencies after he agreed to split the cost with David. "I'll text the number for the guy," I told her. "Don't worry about it. I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

I nodded. "Two more years, and we can drive ourselves," I sighed. I sent a quick text saying I was taking the activity bus home. A few minutes later, I got the acknowledgment. "See? No problem."

The buses pulled up, and we loaded into them. I had a seat to myself in the middle, and our bus made a few stops in town before heading north on Highway 61. I had my earbuds in, listening to my playlist while checking social media. There wasn't much else to do on the drive. Not many kids lived in the vacation homes and rentals on this section of Lake Superior, and the two remaining boys weren't my buddies. "Have a good night, Jennifer," the driver said over the music.

"Thanks, Bruce." I got off the bus in the darkness and walked down the packed snow and ice leading to the gate. I saw movement in my peripheral vision and turned towards the van in the darkness, just before I felt arms grabbing my neck from behind.

I dropped my bag and backpack and grabbed his arm, but he was already squeezing tight. I struggled to slip out, and he twisted me and shoved my face into the snowbank. I tried to scream, but the chokehold kept me from getting it out.

Darkness came shortly after.

When I woke up, I was face-down on the road with my hands cuffed behind my back. I tried to scream, but something was in my mouth, and a strap around my head kept me from pushing it out with my tongue. "Up we go," a voice said. He grabbed my belt and the back of my jacket, yanking me roughly to my feet. I started to pull away, so he hoisted me over his shoulder. I saw his jeans, a tan Carhartt jacket, and brown leather work boots. I started to wiggle, and he smacked my ass. "If I fall, you're going to get hurt," he warned.

I'd read all of David's books, so I knew nothing good came from letting him take me. I kicked my legs and wiggled, but I couldn't get free. His grip around my waist was tight, his shoulder broad and muscular. My kidnapper opened the back doors of the van and tossed me in.

Since I couldn't put my hands down, I hit the old carpeting hard on my shoulder and the side of my head. He wrapped my ankles with duct tape, tossing that inside. He slammed the doors closed as I struggled to sit up. The interior light came on when he opened the driver's door, and I could see his face through the chain-link divider between the cargo and cab sections. He was white, around thirty, with dirty brown hair and a goatee. The van started up and pulled forward, turning right onto the highway.

I moved around until I could kick the back doors, my shoes banging into the metal. I'd just kicked the third time when the guy slammed on the brakes. Since I was facing the rear, this caused me to roll backward until my body slammed into the chain link. He turned to look at me. "I can do this all fucking night, kid. If you scream, if you kick, if you try to get away, you're going to suffer." He held up a cattle prod, electricity arcing between the prongs. "Keep it up if you want to ride the lightning. Do you understand?" I rolled to my knees, glaring at him, unable to reply while gagged. "DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND?"

I nodded.

"Fight me or disobey me, and you will suffer." He pulled back onto the road while I moved into the corner behind him, where he couldn't see me.

I couldn't fight him to get away, so I had to keep my head straight. I started counting the seconds in my head as we drove. Every time I hit sixty, I added another mile to the tally. We'd turned right out of the driveway, so the van was heading north. I picked up the sound change as we went through the Lafayette Bluff Tunnel. I kept an eye out through the part of the windshield I could see, looking for signs or landmarks I recognized. If I could get away, it would help to know where I was.

It was three miles later that we slowed down and turned left. This road went up from the lake, and I figured another three miles until we made a left onto a gravel road. In the darkness, I saw nothing but the pine trees. We drove for half a mile before he stopped in front of a garage. He got out, opened the door, and drove the van inside. "You can scream all you want now," he told me as he opened the back door. "Nobody will hear you. Nobody will see the van. Nobody knows I am here. It's just me," he grabbed my ankles and pulled me towards him, "and you."

I started screaming into the gag, and he didn't care. He used a hunting knife to cut the tape loose from my ankles, then replaced it in a sheath on his right side. He pulled me to my feet, and I glared at him as he held the back of my jacket tight. He closed the garage door with one hand, then pushed me against the open van door. I could feel the cattle prod poking my butt. "I'm going to take the cuffs off. If you try to run, if you try to hit me, you're going to suffer for it."

He unlocked the cuffs with one hand while I stood there, unwilling to risk the shock. He pocketed the cuffs and key, removed the gag, then turned me around. "Strip off everything and toss it in the back."

My jaw dropped. "What? Fuck you, I'm..." and then the explosion of pain hit my thigh. I couldn't think, and everything seized up. When I could think again, I was lying on the concrete.

"You'll find doing what I say is the only way to avoid the pain," he told me. "Stand up and strip. Toss the clothes in the van."

I looked from his face to the cattle prod and nodded. Standing up was painful, but I did it. The jacket came off first, then my shirt, boots, and jeans. I stood in my underwear, hoping that was enough.

It wasn't. "Take your fucking clothes off before I cut them off."

I did, and he closed the van doors after they joined the rest of my clothes. "Walk to the door and go inside." I did, and as soon as we entered the farmhouse kitchen, he told me to open the cellar door. The stairs were old and creaky, and a single bare bulb illuminated the dusty room with rough stone walls and a concrete floor. I saw a mattress on the floor, a plastic bucket in the corner, and a six-foot chain anchored to the wall. There were doors on the far side of the room. "Sit on the bed," he told me.

He used the handcuff around my left ankle, then connected the other side through the end of the chain. Just like that, I was his prisoner, just like in David's book. "The bucket is your toilet. If you are a good girl, you'll get food and water. If not?" He left that part open. I watched him walk up the stairs and heard the door close and the deadbolt slide.

If David's book was right, I had thirteen days of hell before he killed me.