Flowers lay against the house, like one giant tombstone.\u00a0 Maravek knew how much those beautiful bouquets were valued in that temperate city, where even the hardiest grass struggled to grow.\u00a0 Though it was a humble house, they were rich in compassionate friends, it seemed.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t have to see this if you don\u2019t want to, Enzo.\u00a0 After losing your own father, this might awaken some pain in you as well.\u201d<\/p>\n
Enzo shook his head.\u00a0 \u201cIt isn\u2019t what you would do.\u00a0 Perhaps I can offer some perspective for her.\u00a0 I can show her she\u2019s not alone.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re a good man,\u201d Maravek offered.<\/p>\n
When he knocked on the door, it opened almost immediately, a plump, middle-aged woman standing there with a black veil over her face.<\/p>\n
\u201cMiss Sarah?\u201d Maravek asked.<\/p>\n
A frustrated gaze was apparent even behind that black lace.\u00a0 She stepped aside, allowing the visitor a view of the disheveled woman on a threadbare settee.\u00a0 She looked down, past her interwoven fingers, perhaps even past the floor itself.\u00a0 She was lost in grief, and it didn\u2019t appear that anyone would be able to wrench her from that despair.<\/p>\n
Maravek stepped inside, past the woman who had answered the door.\u00a0 He looked around at the meager surroundings before setting his eyes on the bereaved once more.\u00a0 The mourning girl hadn\u2019t noticed his presence, even when he sat down beside her.\u00a0 When he arrived there, he alternated glances between her, Enzo and the impatient woman who had allowed them entry.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou won\u2019t get her to talk,\u201d the lady insisted.\u00a0 \u201cSarah hasn\u2019t spoken since the funeral.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPerhaps if people believed what she had to say,\u201d Maravek offered.\u00a0 He reached out and grabbed Sarah\u2019s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.\u00a0 She blinked, but didn\u2019t turn to acknowledge him, nor did she squeeze back.\u00a0 \u201cMy name is Maravek, and I assure you, I\u2019m a friend.\u00a0 I have what some might call a gift.\u00a0 I think of it as an opportunity to help others.\u00a0 I can interpret dreams\u2014in more ways than one\u2014and if it\u2019s true that your father was suffering from awful nightmares, perhaps I can help you to understand why.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sarah slowly turned to the dreamwalker, old tears still upon the rims of her eyelids.\u00a0 She finally squeezed back.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u00a0*\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 *\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 *\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 *\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 *<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cNo one believed me,\u201d the young woman explained.\u00a0 She led him into another room, and shut the door behind her.\u00a0 \u201cEveryone keeps telling me it was old age, that it was just his time.\u00a0 But he was a healthy man.\u00a0 He was old, it\u2019s true, but he wasn\u2019t ready to die.\u201d\u00a0 A sob caught her at the end of that thought, and she clenched her eyes shut, forcing out the moisture that returned.<\/p>\n
\u201cI assure you, young lady, I believe you,\u201d Maravek stated.\u00a0 \u201cThere\u2019s nothing more tragic than a senseless death, except perhaps for an unexplained one.\u00a0 I\u2019ve seen others succumb to the terrors that come in the night.\u00a0 And I also know that other strange visions are coming to people in their moments of reverie.\u00a0 I know it\u2019s no consolation, but what your father endured\u2014that might save the lives of countless others.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Flowers lay against the house, like one giant tombstone.\u00a0 Maravek knew how much those beautiful bouquets were valued in that temperate city, where even the hardiest grass struggled to grow.\u00a0 Though it was a humble house, they were rich in compassionate friends, it seemed. \u201cYou don\u2019t have to see this if you don\u2019t want to, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"spay_email":"","footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p1UVey-14U","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/tellest.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4148"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/tellest.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/tellest.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tellest.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tellest.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4148"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/tellest.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4148\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4149,"href":"https:\/\/tellest.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4148\/revisions\/4149"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/tellest.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4148"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tellest.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4148"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tellest.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4148"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}