She thought about that. She assumed the dead woman was feeding off the power lurking within Dream, drawing some of that energy out to make herself more real. That they were tethered together in some way was clear, but Dream had no way of knowing the depth of that connection. But she wondered just how much Alicia still needed her now that she had form and substance in the physical world. She had a feeling the creature would’ve ceased to exist had those idiot kids killed her outright that night instead of abducting her, either blinking out immediately or continuing in a fuzzy state of semi-existence for a brief time before fading away.
But now…
Now she was here to stay. Dream could take a swan dive off the Rainbow Bridge and Alicia would remain up here behind the railing. She would watch the water take Dream and sweep her away. Then she would leave this place, taking Marcy and Ellen with her as she resumed her meandering search for Ms. Wickman.
Which, of course, was crazy. The thing that resembled her dead friend might not actually be Alicia Jackson, but she certainly bore her grudges as tenaciously as the real thing. She meant to see Ms. Wickman dead, preferably at the business end of a straight razor. Dream was not bothered by the idea of being made to participate in the murder of that woman. She deserved death and worse. What did bother her was the obvious impossiblity of making this happen. There was a whole wide world into which Ms. Wickman could have disappeared. They could never hope to find her.
Except that…
Well.
Except that Alicia believed Ms. Wickman had already established a new kingdom similar to the one formerly ruled over by the Master. She also believed Ms. Wickman had scores of operatives scouring the country for Dream even now. She wouldn’t say why she believed this, but the strength of her conviction was clear. Alicia hoped to somehow draw the attention of these agents, induce them to capture them and transport them back to this supposed new kingdom. Which would eliminate the necessity for all this endless, aimless hunting. Dream figured it was the only remotely plausible way Alicia might get what she wanted. And even the remote possibility of again gazing into the awful Ms. Wickman’s cold, dead eyes chilled her to the bone.
Marcy noted Dream’s continued scrutiny of Alicia and smiled. “Hey, at least the maggots are gone.”
Dream laughed. “Yeah. There’s that.”
“So it’s not all bad.”
“Right. Now it’s only 99.98 percent bad.”
Dream watched the dark form of a bird swoop through her field of vision before disappearing into the gathering darkness on the horizon. The rain grew harder, falling in silver-white sheets across the sky. The temperature seemed to have fallen another five degrees in just the last twenty minutes. Though it had been her idea to come to this place, she was beginning to regret it. It was one of a number of places she’d always wanted to visit, and when she’d realized they were wandering close to this area, she’d insisted on a slight course change to bring them here. Niagara Falls was as beautiful as she’d always imagined, and the sight of all that rushing water inspired the expected sense of awe. And that overwhelming beauty was enhanced now with the advent of twilight. The spotlights behind the falls had been switched on, adding a lovely soft green tint to the pouring water. The problem was that it was too beautiful a thing to share with her current company. She should be seeing this in the company of a lover, here or on one of the closer observation platforms, holding hands and leaning against each other, enjoying a classic romantic moment.
The train of thought plunged her into a sudden depression. For the first time in a while she thought of Chad and the life she’d left behind. Scenes and aural snippets from their screaming arguments came back to her then. Arguments that nearly always centered around the same thing—her deepening booze and pill dependence. Chad railed endlessly against this “self-medication,” insisting that she needed professional help to deal with her guilt over the deaths of her friends. This was followed by Dream’s usual litany of bitter recriminations, unfairly blaming him for everything that was wrong with her. Even then she’d known how unfair she was being, but she hadn’t cared. She would not be denied her only real solace, the numbing effects of her chosen poisons. Things came to a head the time Dream whizzed an empty bottle past Chad’s head, barely missing him before it exploded on the living room wall. And then she’d hit him. And that’d been the end of it. She moved out the next day and never returned.
Tears stung Dream’s eyes and she was glad for the obscuring effects of the rain. A flicker of movement to her right drew her out of the painful reverie. She glanced in that direction and saw the girl in the yellow rain slicker again. Only now she was closer than before, the distance between them nearly halved. The rain slicker flapped in the wind and the hood blew back a bit, revealing long wet strands of blonde hair. The girl’s eyes were a brilliant shade of blue that sparkled even in the gloom. She was a pretty young thing, one might even say adorable but for that insidious grin and that strange, mocking laughter Dream realized she could actually hear now.
Dream cast her gaze about for any sign of the child’s parents, but there was no one nearby who obviously fit the bill. A few other people were present, but they were mostly dark, indistinct forms in the distance. And surely no parent of any worth would allow a child so young to wander from sight on a place like Rainbow Bridge. She didn’t want to believe the girl was another apparition or magical construct, but the sense that she was wouldn’t go away. The idea that the power she possessed was so far beyond her control terrified Dream.
But there was another thing to consider. From which submerged corner of Dream’s psyche had she emerged? There was nothing instantly familiar about the girl. Except for the blonde hair, she didn’t much resemble Dream as a young girl. Nor did she much look like any of the childhood friends she could recall. Then something occurred to Dream, a flash of insight so stark and compelling she couldn’t help but believe it. Perhaps, on a subconscious level, the girl was Dream’s idea of how her own daughter might look. She was a woman, and perhaps on some primal level lurked a need unfulfilled, a biological imperative that combined with what Marcy called the “supernatural gumbo” inside her to produce this leering manifestation.
Her eyes still locked on Dream, the girl laughed harder, her little body rocking with the force of her mirth.
Dream shivered and moved back a step.
The girl was closer by half again, maybe ten feet away now, and Dream had not seen her move. It was almost as if the physical distance between them was shrinking of its own accord, the fabric of existence retracting or disappearing to draw them closer. Which was an insane, impossible thing, but Dream had seen and experienced enough not to discount a thing merely because it shouldn’t be possible.
She moved back another step and said, “Stay away.” She bumped against Marcy and her voice rose in pitch as tears flowed freely down her face. “Stay the fuck away! Leave me alone!”
Marcy shuffled away with a startled grunt and said, “Who are you talking to, Dream?”
The little girl was five feet away and looking straight at her now. She raised a hand and pointed a slender forefinger at her. The pale digit looked ghostly in the gloom. Like something only half-formed or incomplete. This impression, combined with Marcy’s question, formed the impetus for what happened next.
Dream ceased her retreat. The terror was still rising inside her, an inferno that threatened to scorch what precious little remained of her sanity. But there was another emotion now, as well. Anger. Raw, burning hatred. Hatred for a part of herself she couldn’t control. A thing she feared might consume her.