Free Broken by David H. Burton Page B

dear,” my aunt said, “you should wait
outside. Let me speak with Katherine alone.”
    Chris slipped out. He gave one last look in my direction, but
now I couldn’t look at
him
.
    “What is going on?” I asked, my head feeling like a
lead weight. Through what frail grasp I had on reality, I could
feel my sanity slipping. Tears welled up in my eyes.
    “I need to lie down,” I said. I couldn’t take
any more. I was exhausted, mentally, physically, and
emotionally.
    Aunt Marigold escorted me to the sofa with a knitted afghan on
it. It still smelled like old lady. I flopped onto it. My Aunt
draped the afghan over me, stroked my hair, and left me there.
    I closed my eyes, wishing all this would go away.
    I was asleep in seconds.
     
    I don’t remember a lot of my dreams, but this one was
particularly vivid. It was one of those dreams within a dream. Two
levels down from the real world, I walked through a forest, except
the trees weren’t like ordinary trees — the bark seemed
velvety. Also, the forest smelled different. It didn’t have
that musty smell. Instead it was more like apples and berries.
    Flowers grew among the trees, and the sunlight that
penetrated the canopy was soft and golden.
    I looked down. I was wearing a formal silk gown. It cinched at
the waist and was obscenely puffy — something I would only be
seen in if it was a costume party, if then. Most of it was a deep
emerald that matched the earrings I’d been given. I reached
to my ears. The earrings weren’t there.
    A stream wound through the forest and I caught a glimpse of
movement. I hitched up the dress and stepped forward in my bare
feet. The ground was soft and supple.
    Along the shore, delicate creatures winged about, frolicking
with each other. They looked at me, giggled and waved. I waved
back. It seemed the polite thing to do. Then they flew
downstream.
    I considered following them, but decided to take the opposite
direction.
    The trek upstream was an easy one. It wasn’t like in other
dreams where I would have to run to get somewhere and barely gain
any ground. This was a smooth walk, almost effortless. I came to a
part of the stream where the water flowed down a small rocky ledge
in a little waterfall. A large boulder split the stream, just down
from where the water frothed and bubbled. Upon it stood the little
green man — Brokk, as my aunt had called him.
    He wasn’t waving to me, nor was he motioning me to put on
earrings. He had his hands up, gesturing for me to stop. There was
a look of worry on his usually serene face.
    I kneeled at the side of the stream. Brokk found little rocks to
jump across and made his way to me.
    “Hello, Brokk,” I said. I think I was starting to
accept he was real. A million questions still ran through my mind,
but I knew that what I had been experiencing had been real all this
time.
    Brokk said nothing. I don’t know if he was capable of
speaking, but as he pointed up at the waterfall and shook his head, I
understood what he was saying. After everything I’d seen, I
pondered taking his advice. All this time it seemed he’d been
somehow trying to help me. Perhaps it would be prudent to listen
and just let whatever waited up that waterfall be. On the other
hand, telling me not to do something was just an open invitation.
So, with my curiosity piqued, I rose and tiptoed further, taking
care to not to let my head emerge too quickly above the rise.
    I inched up.
    At first I didn’t see anything that warranted
concern, but then I saw, just a little ways off in the distance, a
clearing in the trees. In it were two people — the man was
dark-haired and clean-cut with that prominent chin I had come to
expect from the Gregory family. With him was the golden-haired woman.
    I wasn’t sure if they were dancing or wrestling, but I
ducked the moment I saw her.
    Oh, god
.
    The last time I’d come across her, she’d tried to
kill me. I would have thought it just a dream if I hadn’t
coughed up salt