Free Before I Wake by Kathryn Smith Page B

same.
    I nodded. “I will.”
    He waited until I was inside the security door before driving away. I know because I stood behind the glass and watched him go.
    And with him went any thought I might have had of my life ever being normal again.

    I didn’t work on Saturday, which was good because I ended up taking a Xanax before finally forcing myself to go to bed. I didn’t wake up till noon.
    Lola had already left for work when I emerged from my room. She worked full-time at a literary agency during the week and in a designer-discount store on the weekends. It was great. She scored me free books by the authors her agency represented and gave me a deal on clothes.
    I didn’t feel like putting on a full face today, so after coffee and a shower I sat down with a bowl of cereal at my vanity and rubbed on some tinted moisturizer followed by a coat of Xai Xai lip gloss by Cargo and a few coats of Benefit mascara that made my eyelashes superfat. I wasn’t going to be signed to a major cosmetics deal anytime soon, but at least I felt reasonably human as I left my apartment half an hour later.
    I took the train uptown, made a quick stop at Sephora on Fifth for a new heated eyelash curler, and walked the rest of the way to Central Park.
    In the bright light of day it was a tourist trap; a horse-crap-littered haven in which people who live their lives on top of each other might find a little peace, but at night…well, we’ve all heard the horror stories about what happens to women who go into Central Park alone after dark. I’ve known women who have done it and haven’t been raped or beaten, but I’m not the kind of person to tempt fate—it’s just not safe. Of course, it wasn’t safe in my own bed either. Not lately.
    I knew exactly where to go, and I let my feet take me there at a comfortable pace. I knew there was no point in hurrying. The man I was going to see would wait for me. In fact, I thought he might be expecting me.
    Something was changing in the Dream Realm, and I didn’t know what it was. All I knew was that I had taken pains to keep that world out of my dreams, and it was no longer working. The old man—Antwoine—had told me I had reached my maturity. Did that have something to do with it?
    It was a nice day—still warm enough for jeans and a light sweater—but there was a chill in my bones that had nothing to do with the weather. If I did this, there was no going back. This was admitting to someone other than myself the truth of what I was. I hadn’t done that for a very long time.
    The paved path was cracked and littered with leaves. Autumn was my favorite season, but every year I mourned the falling of all those beautiful leaves. The sun shone down through the trees, igniting them in shades of gold, russet, and ruby. Life was slower here. People strolled—they didn’t shoulder past each other. They sat on the rocky hills and on the benches, and they talked or read. Some just watched the rest of us.
    I was on the mall, which had a black fence lining either side of it and benches facing the walkway. This is where I had once come with an old boyfriend and listened to a violinist play for money—and this is where David Boreanaz got staked in my dream. More importantly, it was where I hoped to find the strange old man.
    I wasn’t disappointed.
    He sat alone on an expanse of wooden bench, slumped and sprawled, his head resting on the slightly curved back so his face was full up to the sun. He looked as brown and weathered as I remembered, but lacking the urgency he’d displayed in the Duane Reade. I stopped right in front of him.
    One eye opened and peered at me for a second before closing again. “Sit down, girl. You’re blockin’ my sun.”
    I perched myself beside him on the bench and raised my own face to the warmth streaming through the trees. It was nice. It was calming, something I needed, although now that I had found the old man, I wasn’t nearly as anxious as I had been.
    “I was