Dawn of the Dreamer (Dreamer Trilogy, Book One)

Chapter Four

The word sent a jolt of fear up my spine making my muscles go rigid.

Had he said 'Dreamer'? How could he possibly know? Maybe he had worked it out when he'd seen me leaving the MMC's building?

Questions raced through my mind and panic erupted in my stomach bubbling and churning. Stunned, I remained silent. The reality of my situation had sunk in. I was alone, with a stranger, on a property in the middle of nowhere without any means of transport, and he knew I was a Dreamer. Imagine calling Sarah to help me after he'd upset her. The anxiety peaked, and nausea choked my stomach and throat.

'Did I say something wrong?'

I had no idea what to say.

Yes, I was a Dreamer. Would he have brought me out there and had breakfast with me if he'd known I was a Dreamer and had a problem with that? Maybe he'd just meant I was a daydreamer, and I was blowing his words completely out of proportion.

'You called me a Dreamer?' I couldn't look him in the eyes.

'You are a Dreamer, aren't you?' He moved closer. 'You say it as if I've offended you.'

I fell silent once again, unsure on how to play the scenario out.

The sick, alarmed feeling faded from my stomach as my muscles softened and became more relaxed. Until I was able to collect my thoughts again.

'Sorry, I just try so hard to keep it a secret that I was shocked that you knew. I'm even more surprised that you are too. You're so happy.'

'You can call me a Dreamer if you want. That's why I want you to meet my aunty. She'll show you that you don't need to carry around negative feelings when being a Dreamer is such an amazing gift!' He smiled, excited.

Being a Dreamer had been called many things, but never something as wonderful as a gift. The MMC would have a heart attack if they heard someone speak in such a way.

Joe rose to his feet, dusting the grass off the backside of his earthy brown shorts. He held his hand out to help me get up too.

'Come and meet my aunty Dawn. She's been waiting to see you.'

At the house, I followed Joe up the few steps that led to the screen door. Once inside, the house smelt sweet; someone had been baking. Looking around, it appeared small but cosy and warm. You could sense the many memories that had been created beneath the timeworn ceiling. Out of the tiny kitchen stepped an older lady. Her greyish blonde hair was roughly pulled up into a bun, pieces of it falling out over her lightly wrinkled face. She wore a baggy light blue T-shirt and a floor-length skirt that was a blend of greens and blues. It reminded me of waves as she walked towards us with her gentle smile.

'Amelia, this is my aunty Dawn. Aunty Dawn—'