Lucidity

By Gloriann McDonald

Can Madeline learn to control the monsters in her dreams before they destroy her?

 

Madeline McKinsey suffered a terrible tragedy that left her scarred, physically and emotionally. Her fear exists in the fog, just outside her reach.

Doctor Matthew Kirsch gives her hope. He trains her to use lucid dreaming to identify the terror that lurks in the shadows of her mind. Yet each night as she starts to dream, she wonders if his intentions are pure or if his motives more sinister. Can she allow the monsters in her nightmares to be seen? Can she learn to control them before they destroy her? Will the monsters in her nightmares look like Matt?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gloriann McDonald
• Release date: Nov 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9798227367174

Gloriann McDonald

Gloriann McDonald owns Amethyst River Tarot and provides psychic tarot readings and guidance for clients worldwide. She is currently studying the Munay-Ki rites of the shaman and practices mindfulness meditation. She has, on occasion, achieved lucidity in her own dreams. She lives just north of the Twin Cities in Minnesota with her husband and has two beautiful daughters. Find Amethyst River Tarot on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/amethystrivertarot/ Check out her second novel, The Violet March, available at most ebook and online retailers at: https://books2read.com/u/3GoRyQ

Book preview

Prologue

The night ended like most others. Madeline's shift at the salon ended when the mall closed, at ten o'clock. She and a few of her co-workers planned to stop at Fast Eddy's Bar and Grill. The restaurant was part of the mall with access from both inside and outside of the building. The owner, Robin Channing, made a mean bacon cheeseburger and hand-battered onion rings. The girls were regulars and usually sat at the same booth in the back corner of the bar. It gave them a lot of room to gossip and a good view of the men who were looking for a beer or a bathroom.

Madeline waved to her friends as she approached the booth. The others had walked together from the salon where they worked, but Madeline preferred driving to the side of the mall closest to the restaurant so when it was time to leave, she could quickly get to her car to head home. She knew from past experience that walking with the girls back through the mall to the lot on the other side would delay her journey by at least a half hour. By that time, she figured she could be in the shower or, even better, hitting her pillow.

Dana, at six feet, was the tallest of the group. She had long, brunette hair that she often wore pulled back into a ponytail. Tonight she had added a bright yellow fabric headband. Her make-up was always subtle and understated. She was pretty enough without any, Madeline thought as she slid into the booth next to her. Dana was as subdued and genuine inside as she was on the outside. Dana put her arm around Madeline.

Beer for everyone, on me! Dana said as the waitress walked up. She didn’t ask for identification. They were regulars, so the waitress knew everyone was of legal drinking age. She asked if they wanted a pitcher and they all nodded in agreement.

What’s the occasion? Michelle asked from across the table. Dana smiled.

I’m done at the salon as of next Saturday. I got a job in Minneapolis working with my cousin’s law firm.

What? Madeline said, shocked. I didn’t know you were even looking for another job. What will you be doing?

I’m going to be a secretary, but his firm will pay for me to go to a paralegal program. Within two years or so, I should be all set.

Congrats on being the first one of us with a big-girl job! Michelle said as the waitress set down a pitcher of beer and four glasses. The group of young women joked often about the salon being a teenager job and that, one day, each of them would be leaving for their big-girl job.

What are we going to do without you? Vien asked the others. Vien was a tiny Vietnamese girl with jet black hair cut in a short bob and a shy, easy smile.

Madeline hugged her friend. I’m going to miss you a lot, Dana. You better keep in touch.

I’ll be so in touch, you guys will get sick of me, Dana promised. After all, I have to go somewhere to get my hair done, right? Madeline smiled, but she was fairly sure after a few weeks, none of them would hear from Dana again. It was the nature of things that some friendships only lasted as long as it was convenient. School friends disappear when you graduate, neighborhood friends fade away once you move, and work friends forget your name once they leave for bigger and better things.

After their burgers and beer, the girls headed for home. Madeline's experience with alcoholism in the family, and Michelle's experience with DUls, made them the group's beer monitors. They never let anyone drive who had more than two, twelve-ounce brews in a couple of hours’ time. Each of the girls in their circle was trim, except for Michelle. This meant that it didn't take much for them to blow over the legal limit of .08 on the state patrol's breathalyzer machines. Besides, none of them wanted to be in or cause an accident, and none could afford higher insurance rates. All of this added up to complete agreement and compliance with their self-imposed, two-drink limit.

There was never much traffic on Madeline's drive home. Weekdays after nine o'clock, the streets in most Minnesota towns, including the suburbs, rolled up as residents settled in for the night. Minneapolis was the exception, along with a few of the larger college hubs like St. Cloud and Mankato. But for the most part, living in Minnesota was anything but exciting. And Madeline loved it.

She turned left that night instead of right, choosing to take the slower side roads home rather than the highway. The late May evening was clear and warm. It had reached 68 degrees by four in the afternoon, and the evening's cool-down was taking its time. As she stopped for a traffic light, Madeline flipped the radio stations until she found the public radio station. She loved all types of music, with the exception of free-form jazz, and tonight was a perfect night for Mozart. The light turned green and she sped off for home, enjoying the feel of the cool night breeze in her long, auburn hair.

Dana’s leaving reminded Madeline that she needed to call her oldest and best friend, Claire, this weekend and make plans to hang out. Claire was not the type of friend who would move on and forget about her. They had been friends for most of their lives. Their fathers had been lifelong friends, so as they married and had children, the families became close, as well. After Madeline’s father died, Claire’s father stayed in the McKinsey family’s life to make sure things were taken care of financially and emotionally. It was unfortunate that the security of having him around only lasted a short while, until Madeline’s mother drowned her sorrows in a bottle and never came out.

She let her mind wander as she took the curves that would bring her to the top of the hill on Vadnais Drive. From there, she would have an easy straight shot to the house she was renting. It was a small rambler with dark brown cedar shakes and dark green trim. The paint job reminded Madeline of the buildings in Minnesota state parks, where she spent a lot of time as a kid. Her father had loved camping and they often vacationed in one of the state's beautiful parks. They spent the days hiking, canoeing and swimming and laughed around a campfire at night while roasting marshmallows and hot dogs. She stopped herself; she was thinking of her dad again. He had been dead for almost three years, but she still missed him terribly every single day.

The Chevy pickup came out of nowhere. She barely saw headlights before the red truck crossed in front of her from a dark side street. Madeline's reflexes took over. She cranked the wheel to the right, hoping the truck's momentum would carry it out of her path before she slammed into its side. She closed her eyes, bracing for impact. This was going to be bad. This was going to be really bad.

One

Tick-tick-tick-tick.

Beep beep tick.

BEEP.

Tick-tick-tick-tick.

Beep beep tick.

BEEP.

The noises were faint at first, but were they getting louder? It seemed so, but how could she be sure?

Beep beep tick.

BEEP.

Tick-tick-tick-tick.

Beep beep tick.

BEEP.

Tick-tick-tick-tick.

Images danced in and out of her mind's eye. Lights. Darkness. Laughing. Screaming. A white face. Colors flashing-red, yellow. Darkness. Screaming. Laughing. A hideous clown with bloody lips... was he screaming?

Who was laughing?

Tick-tick-tick-tick.

Beep beep tick.

Tick-tick-tick-tick.

Beep beep tick.

BEEP.

No. They were still faint, but that one BEEP in there did seem to be louder than the rest. Where was she? Was she asleep? Having some bizarre, visionless dream with only clicks, ticks and beeps to light her way. There was some fuzzy conversation. Very low, indistinct. Different from the sense of laughing and screaming. This was real. Mumbling—except it wasn't mumbled speech, she just couldn't hear it properly. The voices got louder, then retreated, while the tick-tick-tick-tick kept a steady, quiet pace.

She turned her head slightly to the left, trying to get a better sense of the room around her. Pain exploded in her head. Rockets went off and bounced from side to side, leaving soot marks on the inside of her skull. She felt as if she were swimming underwater. Dizziness swirled inside her brain like a whirlpool.

The beeps came faster now. More insistent. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. She couldn't hear the ticks anymore.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeeep. Beeeeeeeeep.

Suddenly a swarm of odors assaulted her. Antiseptic. Bleach. Latex. Blood. A wave of nausea swept over her. She sucked in her breath, trying not to vomit. If she vomited, she felt sure she would die. She let out the short breath and tried again. Breathe slowly, she told herself. When her chest felt about halfway full, the rancid air attacked her again. This time, alcohol. Whiskey, maybe. And more blood. As she forced herself to complete the inhalation, a thick, coppery odor penetrated every one of her olfactory sensors.

The clown opened its mouth in a twisted grin. She turned her head to one side and retched. It felt like the lining of her stomach was being ripped from every corner of her gut, spilling out the side of her face. She heard more mumbling and felt a rush of air as two people bumped into her arms, one on each side. Pain shot through her. She wasn’t dead. Someone was there. Then, slowly, the bumping, the noise, the nausea, all gone.

Then nothing.

BEEP. Tick-tick-tick-tick. Beep beep tick. BEEP. Tick-tick-tick-tick. Beep beep tick.

Not again. Was this Deja’ vu? Some kind of recurring nightmare? She couldn't remember sleeping or waking up. Where was she? What was going on? She tried to think but it felt as if her brain was made of oatmeal. Her thoughts could not slog through the thickness and help her make sense of things. She listened hard for the voices again. If she could listen—really listen—maybe she could catch a few words and understand what was being said. She focused all of her energy on listening.

Listen.

Tick-tick-tick-tick. Beep beep tick. BEEP. Tick-tick-tick-tick. Beep beep tick. BEEP.

Behind the ticking, behind the beeping, there was something. Just whispers, she thought, but she could hear them.

Focus.

Footsteps? Breathing? Coming closer ... no, going farther away. Nothing.

Wait. She could open her eyes and see where she was! Why hadn't she done that yet? Her brain did still feel fuzzy, but things were starting to clear. After all, she hadn't thought of opening her eyes until just now, had she? Maybe she was waking up or coming out of a drug-induced state or something. Yes! That had to be it! She was in a drug-induced state and was coming out of it. Or a coma. Perhaps it was a coma. Damn, how could she know? Why wasn't anyone telling her?

She remembered waking earlier and vomiting. Was it a moment ago? An hour? A day? Her sense of smell worked. That, she knew. The scent of blood from earlier was not as ghastly now. Or maybe she had been cleaned up. If the vomit was still there, she would be sticky and it would smell sour. Instead, there was a fresh scent, like new sheets. Someone had cleaned her up, and who would do that except in a hospital? She certainly wasn't lying in an alley somewhere—no one would have cleaned her up there.

She decided to open her eyes. Just the thought of it caused her great excitement. What would she see? A nurse? Someone who could answer her questions?

Every ounce of her energy was put into thinking her eyes into an open state. She was failing; still nothing but black all around her. It didn't feel as if her eyes were open, but strangely she couldn’t tell. She felt like her eyes were limbs that has fallen asleep, disconnected. She decided to lift her fingers to her face to feel if she had eyes. If for some reason she did not, she was sure she would feel very angry, although she wasn't sure at whom. Chances were, her eyes were covered up or something and she would find them safe and sound in her head, just above her nose where she left them.

She tried to lift her right arm to touch her face. It wouldn't move. She successfully wiggled her fingers which let her know that she did, indeed, still have a right arm, but she could not move it. She had slightly more success with her left arm. She was excited to be able to move it, and brought it toward her face too quickly. A sharp current of pain ran up her arm, ending in a burst of excruciating pain at her shoulder. Her arm dropped to the cold bed sheet.

Sweat trickled down from her hairline to her cheek. She tasted the saltiness as one drop rested on her lip. As she poked her tongue out to investigate, she was confused. Her lips felt foreign too, just like a dead arm or her suspect eyes. Each lip was soft but felt bulbous under her tongue. Even the slightest touch pierced her nerves and caused her to wince. She took as deep a breath as she could manage and tried again.

This time, she raised her arm just off the bed, then paused. No pain. She raised it a bit more and began to bend her elbow in toward her body. She felt tension in her muscles and her elbow was very sore, but no sharp pain. She continued to move her fingers toward her face, slowly this time. The pace was almost as excruciating as the pain itself, but she inhaled again deeply and tried to relax. Finally, her fingers brushed against the side of her bottom lip.

As she suspected from the exploration she had already done with her tongue, her lip was grotesquely swollen. She put no pressure on the lip; her tongue had already caused enough pain there. Instead, she ran her fingers gently over the mottled surface. It felt like the surface of the moon. Craters and outcroppings were neighbors with an unidentifiable crisscross pattern. She found her upper lip without much searching. Although her lips had always been full, they felt at least three times their normal size.

She discovered a tube taped to the side of her mouth. She concentrated and realized it was down her throat, pumping air into her lungs. A breathing tube. So she was unable to breathe on her own or at least needed help. She was suddenly aware of how sore her throat was and how thirsty she was.

Her fingers were eager now to explore the rest of her face. Her forefinger and thumb found her nose and immediately she pulled back. It was a great glob of flesh in the middle of her pretty face. Her fingers did not recognize it. The pain she felt as soon as she touched it hinted that her nose was probably broken.

She took a moment to mourn her face. The last time she saw herself in the mirror was...when? It had been night and she was just out of the shower, getting ready for bed. She had brushed her teeth and was putting moisturizer on her cheeks. She remembered making a silly face at herself—something her brother and she used to do to one another in happier times. It was a large mirror that dwarfed the small oak vanity. She recalled the room looking back at her from inside the glass; a blank wall painted in a muted green that matched well with the tan tile that ran across the floor and up the wall of the shower. Pastel drawings framed in vanilla wood hung on the two walls adjacent to the shower. One was a beautiful little girl of about five with yellow pigtails and a bright, happy smile and the other was a similarly aged boy. His red hair and freckles matched his happy grin.

She wasn’t able to see the bedroom from that angle; only the suggestion of a room between the half-open doorway and the frame, where a sliver of soft light called her to a good night’s sleep. She tried to hold the reflection of herself in her mind. Her auburn hair was wet, but she had slicked it back with a brush. Her smile was brilliant. She recently visited her dental hygienist for a cleaning. Her full lips were moist from the mouthwash rinse and spit. She hated spit, so she immediately wiped her lips with the dark brown bath towel she had wrapped around her body. Her skin wasn't perfect, but it was clear of blemishes and had a healthy glow. The moisturizer she put on each night was her attempt to keep middle age at bay as long as possible. At age twenty-three, she had a long way to go even to middle age, but she wasn't taking any chances. Her eyes stared back at her from the mirror in her memory.

What color were her eyes? She strained to see them in her reflection, but the image faded into smoke. Her fingers reached her brows. She stopped. Gauze bandages covered both eyes, making a large hump across the top of her face. She thought of soap operas when the heroine awakens from a horrible accident only to find she's been blinded. Unlike the heroine, she wasn't sure there was a miracle cure in her future.

Madeline?

Had she heard that right? Had someone called her name? She tried to nod, but the pain shot directly from her neck to the top of her skull, sending flares of intense heat through her body. The pain caused her to press her swollen lips together, which caused even more pain. She gave up and lay there, tears streaming down her face to wet her bandaged eyes.

Madeline? Can you hear me? That voice again. Soft, calm, reassuring. She felt pressure on her left hand. Try to squeeze my fingers if you can hear me. If you're awake. Damn any pain she would feel because of it; she squeezed the warm hand with everything she had.

That's a girl, the woman's voice said soothingly. Madeline’s hand was placed back onto the bed and patted softly. Now you just listen and I will talk, okay? That was fine with her. The tube in place made it impossible for her to respond anyway.

You're in St. John's Hospital, Intensive Care Unit. You have some serious injuries, but we are taking good care of you, okay? The voice did not wait for a response. I'm Rebecca, your night nurse. Just rest now and know you are safe. Madeline, you are safe. The unseen hand retook Madeline’s into her own. Give me a small squeeze if you understand that you are okay now and you are safe. Madeline squeezed the woman's hand again. Why wouldn't she feel safe? She was in a hospital. She was obviously hurt, but they were taking care of her. There must have been an accident, but she didn't remember. She tried to think back to something—anything past her bedtime ritual—but her brain cells congealed around every fact, obscuring it from her memory. She told herself everything was going to be okay. Rebecca, her night nurse, said so.

She felt the nurse move away, heard her fiddling with the machines and checking the tubes and wires. Things were still so fuzzy. The familiar ticks and beeps were different somehow. More beeps and some new sounds that reminded her of a pinball machine. There was a slight pinch on her arm. She didn't mind. Compared to the lightning bolts that had been bouncing in her head earlier, this pain wasn't even on the radar. She felt the fog in her brain begin to increase. She was upset because things were just starting to become clear. A moment later, she didn't care anymore. All she wanted to do was sleep. She smiled. Everything was going to be okay.

Two

Madeline felt alert and fully awake. It was about time. She wondered how long she had been out of it, then realized she didn't remember leaving the hospital. She took a moment to look around. She wasn’t in a hospital any longer. The room came into focus slowly. She was on a path or walkway but could not tell what exactly was under her feet. Double doors were ahead of her and she felt sure she was supposed to go through them. She let the worry about where she had been before fade away. This was more important. She was positive about that.

She noticed the complete absence of noise. There were no voices, no music, no ambient sounds of any kind. It seemed odd, but she didn't take the time to wonder about it. Instead, she moved forward, pushing the double doors near their middle, opening both at the same time. They swung away from her and she continued through to the next room. Odors assaulted her, and she fought the urge to vomit. She tried to identify the source, but what did it matter? They were nasty and they were making her sick and she wanted to get away. But instead of turning around and leaving the room, she moved toward a heavy blue curtain that was hanging from the ceiling, dividing the room in half.

There was a shadow behind the curtain. She needed to know who was behind it. As she pulled the curtain back, she saw herself lying in a hospital bed. There was nothing else in the room; just the bed and her body lying there. She surveyed her body as a stranger. Her face was contorted into someone she did not recognize. Her limbs were twisted under the thin white sheet into inhuman shapes. There were no machines. There was no other furniture in the room, just the bed. As she watched the scene before her, even the walls seemed to slip away.

From out of the place where the walls had been, a thin shape approached silently. The gangly body was over six feet tall, with arms that seemed to hang farther down than was humanly possible. The hands and fingers were long and thin; a walking skeleton. As Madeline looked toward the stranger, facial features came into focus and she realized it was no set of bones coming toward her.

From somewhere inside her mind, Madeline began to scream.

Madeline? Madeline? Wake up, honey. You're having a bad dream.

Madeline awoke to vague shapes and patterns on one side of her field of vision. She wasn’t sure where she was or what was going on, but she felt a certain sense of relief from being able to see something.

Where am I? she asked. Her voice sounded foreign