UNHEEDED: Undone Realms Book 2

Ch. 17 - Dreams of Memory

Oliver dreams while he is awake. 

In these dreams, he picks apples in an orchard with lines of trees stretching endlessly in every direction.  He fills a basket with sweet red fruit, then fills another. From morning until night and the next day after, he does the very same thing over and over again.

Oliver knows this apple orchard isn't real. It has never been real. Yet, sometimes the dreams confuse him, acting as if they want to be a memory. How can this be? His world is a hotel, one with a cement pool and a parking lot with scraggly weeds growing out of cracks in the asphalt.  There are trees here, but not one has ripe apples dangling from its branches. 

Oliver thinks maybe the dreams are meant to trick him.  He doesn't want to acknowledge them as real yet they are relenting in their conviction that he must.  Oliver shuts his eyes.  He listens to the sickeningly beautiful hum that resonates from both within and without him now.  If he focuses on that, the orchard will recede a bit.  Even though this humming makes him dizzy, it's still better than feeling like he's being deceived by his own dreams.

The first thing Oliver does in the morning is go to the pool.  He never really learned to swim, so he stays in the shallow end, letting his legs bend until he's submerged to his chin.  He tilts his head back until his ears are below the surface.  This muffles the thrum to the point where it's almost pleasant. 

Under the water, dreams stay dreams.  Nothing can threaten him here.

Oliver stays submerged until he hears a voice call out to him.  Marcella.

"You forget about work, Ollie?"

Ollie.  Do people call him that?  He knows it's a common nickname for Oliver, but Avie doesn't use it, not ever, and Marcella hasn't until just now.  Everyone else at the hotel calls him Oliver.  So why would Ollie sound familiar, like those two syllables belong to him somehow...

Oliver pulls himself out of the pool.  Marcella throws him a towel.  The chill of the morning has yet to wear off.  The hairs on his arms stand on end where his skin is puckered from the cold.

Oliver dries himself and picks up a bushel basket.  Those apples won't pick themselves and he's already running behind.

"Which row am I starting in?"

Marcella has already let herself out of the gate to the pool yard.  She turns back towards Oliver, her brow furrowed in confusion.  "What do you mean, which row?  I told you to mow the lawn as soon as its checkout time."

Oliver shakes his head.  "I've gotta start picking.  Marylou better show up here soon.  I ain't got time for her antics."

Marcella's hand freezes on the gate.  "You ain't got—what are you talking about?  And why are you holding that chair?  Is there something wrong with it?"

Oliver isn't holding a chair.  He's holding a wicker basket—a basket that looks surprisingly like a plastic poolside chair, come to think of it.

He slowly lowers the chair as Marcella crosses back over towards him.  His legs begin to shake but he stays upright just long enough for her to reach him before he falls.  "I don't know if I woke up this morning or not."

She grips him around the shoulders and lowers him into the chair.

She stares at him, her hand covering her mouth as he focuses on breathing in and out.  He's scaring her, he knows, but he also knows there's nothing he can do about that now.  He is scary.  He is dreaming and it's a nightmare and she is part of it.  She would be foolish not to be frightened. 

Marcella brings the back of her hand up to Oliver's forehead as though he's a child about to be diagnosed with the flu.  Maybe that's what this is.  Maybe he just has the flu or a cold.  Maybe it's polio.  That would be bad.

"As soon as I'm better, I can get back to picking apples.  Ma's depending on me, you know."

He can't figure out why Marcella's smile is so sad.  She should be happy that this isn't a nightmare after all.  He just needs time and he'll be better, won't he?"

A look of understanding followed by horror and then misery flows over Marcella's face like a giant tidal wave.

"Oh Ollie."  She wipes quickly at her eyes as though she doesn't want him to see what's going on behind them.  "What did Avie do?"

A/N: Well, the cat's out of the bag (or maybe I should say, the apples are off the tree?).  Oliver has let slip the existence of his precarious mental state—in front of Marcella, of all people.  Time for your predictions, everyone!  Did Marcella really not have a clue about Oliver?  How much has she figured out now?  And is Oliver too far gone to be saved?

I love the enthusiasm you all show for this story and its characters.  Thanks so much for keeping with it, and for all of your reads, votes, and comments!

My dedicatee today doesn't really need me to plug her viral Wattpad story.  She doesn't need me to, it being a phenomenal success and all, but she deserves it, nonetheless.  @KatKruger's awsomesauce YA werewolf story, The Night Has Teeth is book one of the Magdeburg Trilogy, published by Fierce Ink Press and Random House Germany.  Fellow Wattpadians, having Kat's story up on the site is a great opportunity for all lovers of this genre.  So get your wolf on and start it today!