The Dreamwalker

By Kristen Robertson

"The Dreamwalker is a fast paced paranormal mystery that ignites the trail for Kristen Robertson’s new series and a destined pair of Cognitives."
~Celine, I Blog, You Read

Olivia is asixteen-year old girl with a mother who drinks too much and a stepfather whoconsiders a day at the casino is the same as a day at the office. Olivia canthink of only one thing to do, escape.

Now on the run,Olivia can only hope that the unknown in front of her will be better than thepast she left behind. She meets Sebastian, a mysterious boy, who she can’t helpbut feel an immediate connection to. Sebastian reveals that she is not only aCognitive but his destined—the one person in this world he can connect to—and shewonders why that idea doesn’t seem completely crazy.

If things weren’t confusingfor her enough, Olivia is visited by her father in a dream and learns that hisonly chance at survival is if Olivia can find him in time. Armed with Sebastian,and the rest of the Cognitives, she must save her father before she loses himall over again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kristen Robertson
• Release date: Apr 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476353647

Kristen Robertson

Kristen is a writer, reader, and baker (not specifically in that order). If she's not writing, or reading her current find, she can usually be found in the kitchen baking cupcakes. She loves to watch TV and movies and is a sucker for anything with Gerard Butler in it. Her first novel, The Dreamwalker, will be published August 2012!

Book preview

The Dreamwalker

Cognitives: Book 1

Kristen Robertson

Cover art by Savvy Cortez

https://twitter.com/ClevaGurl

Copyright

Copyright © 2012 by Kristen Robertson

Smashwords Edition

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https://twitter.com/Krstn7

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used factiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations in entirely coincidental.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Epigraph

Chapter 1 – Leaving

Chapter 2 – Ticket to Somewhere

Chapter 3 – Sebastian

Chapter 4 – Answers

Chapter 5 – The Dream

Chapter 6 – Seeing Things

Chapter 7 – New York Chapter

Chapter 8 – The Boy's Room

Chapter 9 – New York Chapter

Chapter 10 – Meeting my Dad

Chapter 11 – Powell

Chapter 12 – Suspicions

Chapter 13 – Just a Kiss

Chapter 14 – Coney Island

Chapter 15 – Jackson Dunn: Seeker Extraordinaire

Chapter 16 – Finding the Trail

Chapter 17 – Abandoned Subway Station=Evil Lair

Chapter 18 – The Fight for Our Lives

Chapter 19 – Mood Control

Chapter 20 – New Missions

About the Author

Interview with I Blog, You Read

Acknowledgments

Dedication

To my mom,

who is nothing like Olivia’s

Chapter One

Leaving

There’s a pink and purple striped duffle bag in the corner of my closet-sized room and it’s beckoning me to grab it, climb out the window, and run away. I’ve never been a big fan of pink, but I found this bag at the Dollar Tree and it was all I could afford. I bought it six months ago after my green and purple swirl duffel broke.

I’ve had a bag packed since I was eight—more precisely, since the day my dad died—and every time my mother and I fight I test the waters and sneak out my window. I usually stay out for a few hours and then quietly return home but tonight is different. If I crawl through that window tonight I won’t be coming back.

My hands are still shaking from the fight with my mother. Not that it’s a rare thing—my mom and I fighting—but this time she crossed the line.

My mother and I have never gotten along; even when my dad was alive but after he died a day didn’t go by where we weren’t screaming at each other. I think both of us blamed the other for him not being here anymore. It wasn’t fair and neither of us was at fault but for some reason this had been our relationship for the past nine years and it wasn’t about to change now.

This evening’s disagreement was about my birthday. April 30th had always been a sore subject for my mother. It was the day my father was taken away from us but it’s like she never stopped to think how losing my father on my eighth birthday affected me. I had learned over the years to not bring it up because I knew the outcome would still just end up being me, alone in the house, eating a day-old cake from the grocery store while my mom went up to the casino with her husband, Frank.

So I don’t know why I decided to ask about my birthday this year but whatever voice it was inside my head that formed the words, I wish it would’ve just shut up.

I have a headache Olivia, we’ll talk about this later, She had responded when the subject of my birthday came up. We were in the kitchen, she was pouring herself a drink and I was standing across the room leaning against the wall, pretending not to notice. This was her standard excuse for everything that revolved around me, she just didn’t have time.

I know mom but I’m going to be seventeen.

I know how old you’re going to be. You don’t think I remember how old my own daughter is? Her voice was firm but she didn’t raise it any higher than her normal tone and she said daughter like she was trying to convince herself that’s who I was.

That’s not what I meant.

Besides I have to work all week, She said as if she hadn’t even heard me. As I watched her nurse her brandy I wondered why she still pretended she went to work every day. My mother hadn’t worked since she married Frank and when she said work I knew it meant the casino or a bar or some other random place she and Frank decided to disappear to.

Yeah sure, I replied and absentmindedly picked at my nail polish.

What exactly is that supposed to mean Olivia?

Never mind.

You shouldn’t be so ungrateful you know, She said and stashed the brandy back into the cupboard. Frank puts a roof over our heads and provides for us. You should be thankful for him. He stepped in and has been like a father to you

Frank is not my father! I said firmly, careful not to yell. Frank was trash. He wasn’t this strong supportive provider my mother made him out to seem. Frank had won a settlement from a workman’s comp incident and he was still living off of it, although I wasn’t exactly sure how. He seemed to spend most of his time gambling and not much of it winning.

He has taken care of us. You should show him some respect.

Ugh, this isn’t even about Frank!

Did I hear my name? Enter Frank in a stark white wife-beater tank top pulled tight across his bulging chest and beer gut. I understood why my mother gravitated towards him. Frank used to be handsome with his close cropped black coif and grey-green eyes. He had let himself go in recent years and now his face was covered in patchy stubble and his black hair hung to his shoulders in stringy waves but the one thing he hadn’t lost was his Italian charm. He charmed my mother because she was beautiful and lonely and she fell for that charm, so did every other woman.

Hey baby, My mother said and gave him a kiss. Listen Olivia, I don’t have time to think about your birthday. Frank went to the dining room table, signaling my mother that it was feeding time, and watched me in a way that unnerved me.

If dad was here… I continued, trying my best to ignore Frank.

But he’s not Liv, she interrupted, calling me by the nickname she always used for me—the one I hated. Your father is gone. She turned on the stove and poured some oil in a pan, turning away from me.

So you say. I’ve always had this crazy idea that my father was still alive somewhere. My mother insisted he was dead every time and always told me to never bring it up again but I just couldn’t let it go.

How’s dinner coming Babe, Frank said and slapped my mom on the butt as she passed by him, to which she giggled like a teenager. I resisted the urge to puke all over the kitchen but I did accidentally let a gagging noise slip out.

At least I have someone who really cares about me, My mom spat at me like she was still playing the part of teenager.

That was the last straw for me. Everything I had suspected was true; my mother really didn’t care for me anymore she just kept me around out of obligation. I wanted so badly to be able to run to my dad right now but I couldn’t. I should’ve kept my mouth shut (again) and just went to my room but instead I said, You know he sleeps around behind your back, before I stormed out of the kitchen and I’ve been in my room since.

I could hear Frank assure my mother I was lying and I knew she would believe him. I wasn’t even sure if it was true but I’d seen the way Frank looked at women when my mother was around so I just assumed he did worse when she wasn’t.

So now, here I am sitting in front of my ancient computer, the bright glow from the screen lighting up the otherwise dark room. I am supposed to be writing a one page essay on what I did over spring break. I had yet to think of anything besides sitting around my room trying to imagine what it would be like to live on my own but I’m pretty sure that is not an acceptable topic. That’s why the document I opened two hours ago is still blank.

I look over at the duffel bag in the corner and slightly lean towards it, but change my mind. My mother and Frank would be leaving for the casino soon; I’d at least wait ‘til then

I turn back to the screen and think about school, but not in the way most people would. I don’t think about the people who will miss me or how long it will take them to realize I am gone. I know the answers to those questions. What I wonder is, will the teachers discuss it? Will they even be surprised? I wonder if they’ll send people here to check up on my mom, which would just infuriate her. It makes me pause for a second to think about staying…but only for a second.

My mom is complaining about something but I can barely hear her so I ignore it, figuring she’s not even talking to me. There’s a weird static-y sound that lasts about two seconds before there’s silence again.

That was weird, I think. My head begins to throb with pain, worse than I’ve ever experienced. I prop my elbows on my desk and let my head fall into my hands. The grimy off-white paint on the desk is cracked and chipping off, scattering on the floor. There’s a sharp pain above my right eye and I press my palm against the spot hoping to subdue it. When that doesn’t work, I turn off my computer screen, letting darkness completely fill the room. I don’t need to write the stupid paper anyway.

I slowly make my way to the bed across the room, feeling around for anything that could be blocking my path. When I reach the bed, I fall into it and my body naturally curls into the fetal position.

The door creaks open and a thin beam of soft light reaches my face. I turn away from the light and face the wall.

Why is it pitch black in here Liv? My mom asks, clearly annoyed, and flips the light on.

Mom, please turn the light off, I say, pulling a pillow over my face.

I’m leaving early so I can go to the store…

Sure whatever. Can you please turn the light off?

Liv don’t interrupt me.

Sorry mom, please just turn off the light. The pain is worse—if that’s possible. It feels like my head will split in two at any moment. I’m pretty sure I can hear whispering too, but I figure it’s a side-effect of the pain.

What is your problem tonight?

Mom! I bolt upright, propping my body up on my left arm and using the other to shield my eyes. Turn off the light!

What has gotten into her, She says like I’m even here. The static is back and the headache disappears for a few moments before it comes back in full force.

It’s just a headache. I manage to get out before I crumple back onto the bed.

Oh uh-huh. She closes the door and my room is once again shrouded in darkness. Why does she insist on lying to me? I hear static again, but when it fades it takes the headache with it.

I wasn’t lying, I call out. Rubbing my hands over my face, I try to understand what had happened. How could a headache come and go so quickly? Why would I hear static? I’m actually losing my mind, and at sixteen. That has to be a record.

The duffel bag is louder now—practically screaming my name—and it’s getting harder to ignore.

Damn, she didn’t do the dishes before she left, Frank says from the kitchen. I’ll get the girl to do it, she don’t do shit around here.

I should leave before he comes to my room but before I can get off the bed I hear static so loud it sounds like my head is up against a speaker. I can faintly hear whispers within the static but I can’t really make anything out. I pull my pillow back over my head and close my eyes as tight as I possibly can.

Hey girl, Frank says as he bursts into my room and flips on the light. The dishes are dirty.

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