Haunted once again by the nightmares of his childhood, Pete is beginning to fear that these twisted scenes may be more than figments of his imagination, that they may be trying to warn him of somet...
"Pete, honestly, you should warn us when you're about to go to sleep."
I blink my eyes and look around.
I'm still in my room, safe in my own bed.
I shift slightly to see if I really got sick.
Patrick sighs and steps around the pool of bile to get to his bed at the other side of the room.
"Bad dream?" the guitarist asks.
I know I saw the stalker's face in my dream.
But now, sitting up in bed, the rush of reality all around me, I just can't remember it.
"Yeah," I finally say.
"He kept calling last night. We finally gave up and just quit answering it," Patrick sighs.
I feel my head fall to my hands and I sigh, swallowing and tasting the bitter remnants of the vomit.
"We don't have much time left," I say, looking him dead in the eye.
He cocks an eyebrow at me,"What do you mean 'We don't have much time left'?"
"In my dream. The dude said that time was running out. That there were 'only two lilies left in the bouquet.'"
Patrick leans back on his bed and tugs his hat back down onto his head,"Ok, I get the whole times almost up thing, but what the hell was up with the flower comparison?"
"Lilies symbolize death."
Patrick's eyes grow wide and he nods in understanding.
"So whatcha gonna do about it?"
"I have no idea."
"Two lilies left..." he props himself up on his elbows,"Two days?"
He might be right.
"Ok, so now we have a date, but that doesn't exactly help us stop it."
We sit in silence for a few seconds, lost in thought.
"Patrick, why don't you just go? I can handle this on my own."
"No, it's fine, I want to help."
"Just go be with Emma or something, I'll be alright."
"Just go, OK?"
"Ok!" Patrick stands and storms out of the room, but I don't mind, I need to be alone, I need to think.
I fall back onto the mattress and bury my head in my pillow, taking a few seconds to reflect on what I do remember.
I know that my nightmares took me into the forest again, and that this time there was some sort of structure waiting for me.
I remember the wooden planks, the open doorways, and Rae's name carved into the dirt.
I remember the spotlight, and hearing the phone ring.
I even remember answering it.
But then, when I try to picture the person behind me, the guy whispering in my ear, everything goes blank.
"What's your damage?" Emma asks as Patrick storms into the kitchen, plopping down at the kitchen table next to her.
"Nothing," he says simply.
"Pete's just being an ass and I'm kinda stressed over all this crap with his nightmares."
"Hey, imagine how he feels, he's the one who has to go through actually having the dreams and watch out for Rae. He probably feels like everything that's happening is his fault," she says thoughtfully, putting an arm around his shoulders.
"He wouldn't have to feel that way if he'd just let some one help him," Patrick mutters.
She kisses him on the cheek, "Don't worry about it so much."
"He's my best friend, Em, I don't want anything bad to happen."
"And it won't."
He eyes her suspiciously,"What?"
"I mean, think about it. How do you know he's not just making it all up?" Emma asks.
"He's not lying, he's had nightmares all his life."
"And how do you know this time isn't just like all the others? Harmless."
"He's never lied to me, I believe him," Patrick said giving Emma a stern look.
"Alright, then we should..." her voice trails off for a moment, "How do we help?"