Phantom Me

Chapter 2: Dreadful Dreamscape

"You're killing me, babe." He leered. "Off you go."

I grinned and he sent me off to nap with a firm smack on the ass.

My only intent was the bed in the fully functional suite across the hall. Why else would he book this studio and the adjacent suite if we weren't meant to use the bed and the amenities over the two-day weekend?

I convinced myself Fate wanted nothing more than for me to nap at this very second. I was sure whatever I saw in the corner of the room was the sign I needed more lengthy and substantial relaxation.

On my way across the massive room, built to accommodate a huge production of several sets and multiple models and their crew in one space, my shirt dangled on Joselyn's arm as she handed it to me before I exited. "Thanks, Jos," I called over my shoulder.

The ache in my temple increased as I entered the cozy suite and strolled past the Multiracial Award placed on the counter of the kitchen bar. I sighed, shaking my head at the diamond shaped decoration as I remembered being honored with that ridiculous oversized hunk of glass.

A groan escaped me every time I read "Rhea" etched alongside "top multiracial fashion influencer" on the glass. All I had to do to win such an honor was surpass the sixty-million follower count on UpTube and contain at least two racial backgrounds within my genealogy.

It wasn't the years of hard work on the online platform, the many people that looked up to me as a role model, or even my savviness as a twenty-four-year-old entrepreneur in the fashion industry that gave me the nomination and eventual win. It only took possessing Native American, African, European, and East Asian genes.

Tragic.

The king-sized bed called to me, and I answered by flopping on the pillow top mattress, full face on and all. The headaches, stress and residual anxiety were locked away by the red satin sheets. The ease of slipping under had never been more real.

Finally, at what should have been peace, an eerie darkness crept in. Sleep should have felt good, warm, and welcoming, instead a sense of dread swept over me.

The blackness surrounded me in a nightmarish cloak, nothing like my usual dreams of peer praise, career success, and personal achievement. Uncomfortable was an understatement, especially since I was lucid even while slipping under. Darkness and a steady breeze of chilly fog enveloped me. Where was I and why in my lucidity did I end up in such a dreadful dreamscape?

In my search for something to bring meaning to the dark empty environment, my vision adjusted to the nothingness until an obscure figure caught my eye.

The thin feminine shape contrasted against the blackness behind her. Long, rusted-colored, wavy hair floated around her still attached to her head like the snake-like tentacles of Medusa. The strands hovered about as if she were suspended under an ocean of water. She stood as tall as me. Her five-eight frame reminded me of Mom, familiar, especially the broad shoulders and slender hips. I haven't spoken to Mom in a few weeks, was this my guilty conscience punishing me for my inaction?

The more I stared, the more uneasy I became. Was she facing away or looking at me? It was hard to tell judging the silhouette. But one thing I knew for sure, she was coming closer, moving so slow it could be mistaken as floating. Her head tilted as if questioning, as if cautious and skeptic, as if I were the intruder of her dreams.

My eyes never left her although the logical part of me urged me to wake up even as she glided closer, closer, closer. Curiously, I fought that urge and waited, anticipating what would happen next.

Curiosity took over and I stared, pushing away the fear that pushed back.

My mind raced. Why did my dream feel so real? Why was I seeing this figure? What does it want or symbolize? According to my extensive research in high school, and the subject of my study, the famous psychologist Carl Jung, my psyche must have been trying to communicate some very important things I couldn't grasp.

Just as I let my guard down, the dark figure rushed forward bringing an icy cold wind that nearly stopped my heart. "Run!"

My eyes opened and immediately stung as a bead of sweat dripped from my forehead and into the corner of my lid. I wiped the moisture with the back of my hand, feeling as if time hadn't passed at all. Had I been out cold for a few minutes? How could my body produce so much sweat in such a short amount of time?

I flipped over in bed to hear Nolan's British accent in the distance as he spoke with energy and excitement, talking about how eager he was for me to showcase the latest fashions in the upcoming event. While I anticipated Joselyn's response to his words, that eerie dream kept replaying in my head.

I reminded myself that all dreams are a form of release. Everything that happens in a dream is symbolism for everyday experiences, according to the tons of Carl Jung books I've read on the subject over the years. So, what was this weird dream symbolizing? Was it merely a representation of my guilty conscience for severing ties with my parents, Mom especially? Or was it hinting at my secret urge to "run" away from it all and become integrated into society as a regular person?

Something I wasn't ready to admit publicly, and not even to myself at times. Why would a person in my position ever want to give up a career like mine. I was the proud owner of a figurative four-leaf clover.

My attention went back to the conversation Nolan was having in the studio and how Joselyn never responded to him. In fact, she hadn't said anything since I opened my eyes. I let my eyelids close to better focus on Nolan's faint words.

"I'm telling you all, Rhea can't wait to see you guys. We're both extremely excited to be a part of this. She can't wait to kick off UpTube's Fashion Week. So let her know you wish her well by tapping that like button..."

"Oh, my god. The live." My heart skipped at the thought of sleeping through the highly anticipated livestream.

I sat up and a scream tore from my lips when my sights landed on the same wispy figure from my dream. This time she stood motionless at the end of the bed, looking directly at me with wide eyes. My breath caught in my throat when I recognized the features of the face looking back at me. They were my very own.

~~~

What would your first reaction be after seeing a mysterious figure who looked like you?