Within A Dream

By Cindy Huelat

81 year old Quin has always been plagued by dreams of people and places she’s never known. Lately, however, the dreams become more disturbing and threatening until she begins to dread sleeping. A widow with her family far away, she finally takes a friend’s advice and attends a psychic fair in the hope that someone can help her. Instead of guidance, she encounters a threatening stranger and flees the premises to avoid him.
The indigent stranger, Dustin, not only senses the threat that haunts Quin but finds that it has turned its attention to him as well. He seeks out Quin to offer help, not just for her sake but for his own protection. They form an unusual partnership that grows into a touching friendship. Dustin uses his psychic abilities to delve into Quin’s dreams, seeking to learn why the malicious presence hunts them both and the means to free them both. When Quin’s health is threatened and she nearly falls victim to the malice that has pursued her through lifetime after lifetime, Dustin finds himself in a race for answers before it’s too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cindy Huelat
• Release date: Sep 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005045449

Cindy Huelat

Born and raised in northwestern Pennsylvania, Cindy Huelat has lived in Shreveport, LA, Rapid City, SD and Hudson, WI before settling in Loveland, CO. She and her husband Brian raised three sons and now have three grandchildren as well. Cindy enjoys hiking in the Colorado Rockies with her two dogs or boating on one of the pristine mountain lakes.

Book preview

Within A Dream

Cindy Huelat

Copyright 2021 Cindy Huelat

Published by Cindy Huelat at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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 enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

EPILOGUE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

OTHER TITLES BY CINDY HUELAT

Dedicated to my personal Quins, Edna Craker, Margaret Morrow and Marianne Jahn.

CHAPTER ONE

Sunlight angled through the open doorway and lay in a wide golden bar across the rough wooden floor. Dust motes floated in it as she swept the floor briskly. Dried mud from the fields stained the unfinished boards and stuck in hard clumps. Some of the dirt filtered through the cracks between the floorboards as she swept, but she flicked the rest out the door. She stood on the threshold with her broom in hand and gazed across the wide field that surrounded her one—room home.

The plow stood in a furrow, waiting to complete the field. He approached the house, skirting the section he’d already planted. The mule plodded beside him, led by its long rein. Behind them, darkness piled and grew on the horizon like an impending storm. It seemed to tower over the two small figures, and a vague uneasiness filled her as she watched. Against the darkness, she saw birds wheeling and diving in a thick cloud. Their cacophony filled the air.

He unclipped the lead as he reached the little house and allowed the tired mule to rest and graze in the shade. She knew that he worried about the poor beast’s health. Breaking sod proved hard work even in this empty, treeless land. As he walked toward the house, the wide brim of his hat shadowed his face and rendered his expression unreadable. She knew that it was no good thing that would convince him to leave the field in the middle of the morning, however. She wondered if the dark and ominous storm concerned him.

He reached her at last, and she asked, What’s wrong?

Damn birds. He pushed back his hat to wipe at his dusty face and then resettled it. His shirt clung to him damply. They’re thick out there, eating all the seed I planted. They even began swooping down on me and old Ned. I’m getting my gun and see if I can clear them out a little.

She stood aside to let him enter the house and watched as he lifted the rifle from its pegs. As he began filling his pockets with shells, the baby awoke and squalled. She moved to lift it from its cradle, jiggling it gently as she watched him load his gun. He settled his hat in place once again and smiled at her wanly. I’ll bring you back some of them birds. They ought to be good eating, anyway. Nice and fat off my wheat.

A lump filled her throat, and she said nothing. If the birds ate all the seed, he couldn’t get more. The nearest town lay two days away, and they had no money for seed, anyway. The baby laid its head against her shoulder as she soothed it back to sleep. It felt damp and smelled of urine. Her man hefted his gun by the stock and paused beside her. He slid a strong arm about her shoulders and held her close. She leaned against him. His shirt felt rough beneath her cheek, and she inhaled his odor, a mixture of sweat, earth and his own masculine musk. She knew he attempted to reassure her. He bent his head to kiss her hair, and she closed her eyes.

She felt abandoned as he stepped away at last. She followed him to the door and noted that the sunlight had vanished. It seemed that shadows crept into the dark room in place of the earlier daylight. The baby began to fuss again, twisting unhappily in her grasp. As her man strode for the door, she felt a sudden urge to call him back, a deep fear overwhelming her. The screams from the horde of birds filled the air until she could hear nothing else. She hurried to grasp him by his arm, and he turned to look at her. He seemed puzzled by her sudden apprehension. Past his shoulder, she saw the darkness like an ugly bruise, now forming directly over their small home. She opened her mouth to call out and reached out a hand to pull him away from the doorway, but it was too late. A bright flash seared her eyes and a fierce gust of wind buffeted her. She fell, trying to protect the infant in her arms while his yell pierced through the scream of the birds.

Quin sat up with her heart pounding furiously. Her breath rasped in her throat. Darkness met her, and she fumbled frantically for the light switch. Her panic eased as golden light filled her bedroom. She laboriously swung her arthritic legs over the edge of her bed and rested her face in her hands as she calmed herself. Her memory conjured the sense of dread caused by the dark cloud and the harsh cries of the birds. She pushed to her feet, her toes automatically seeking her slippers, and shuffled to the window.

Twenty stories below, the street remained quiet and deserted. As she watched, a lone taxi cruised by. In the far distance a siren wailed faintly like a condemned soul. Quin felt a sudden need to hear a human voice, to know that she wasn’t all alone with her fear and her bad dreams. She glanced at the clock and thought of calling Rob. Although her son lived in another time zone, she decided that he wouldn’t wake for work yet. She suspected he wouldn’t appreciate her waking him, either. She thought for a moment before taking up the phone by the bed and selecting a name.

Front desk. Girard speaking.

Quin closed her eyes at the rush of gratitude she felt at simply hearing another person speak. She licked her lips as she attempted to keep her voice from quavering. Girard, this is Quin Williams, apartment 2002. Could you please leave a message for Max? Have him order a cab for me for nine o’clock. I have a doctor’s appointment today.

Of course, Mrs. Williams. Quin heard a faint rustle as Girard tore the message from his notepad. You’re up awfully early, Mrs. Williams. You having trouble sleeping?

Quin smiled ruefully into the phone. A flood of embarrassment at her weakness washed over her. Yes, I suppose I am. I’m sorry to have bothered you, Girard.

No bother at all, ma’am. Sometimes it’s nice to hear another voice. Working nights gets lonely. Good day to you.

Quin clicked off and stood uncertainly. The call had worked its magic; the panic and fear vanished. She felt reluctant to try chasing sleep again now that she’d regained her equilibrium. Lifting her robe from the foot of her bed, she pulled it around her shoulders and scuffed toward the kitchen.

Quin seated herself at last by the long window that dominated her small apartment. She cradled a cup of precious coffee as she gazed out at the skyline. Beyond the tall buildings, the sky showed a hint of grey with the promise of sunrise. Quin savored her illicit treat as she watched deep rose and peach slowly suffuse the sky. She’d promised her doctor that she’d forego caffeine but still indulged occasionally, probably more often than she should. She disliked the taste of decaffeinated coffee and so bought her freshly ground coffee in little shops that smelled deliciously like heaven. If she told her doctor about the dreams, she reflected dourly, he’d probably blame it on her indulgences.

That innocent thought brought back the horror that had awakened her. As the sky verged on daylight Quin could think about the dream without her pulse racing. She analyzed it as she often did. It recurred with frustrating regularity with the same people, the same place, and the same circumstances. It remained only one of several dreams that haunted her on a regular basis, but she experienced this one most often. She supposed that what bothered her most was how real it seemed. She lived in this dream; she saw it through the unknown woman’s eyes. She heard every detail—the baby’s thin wail, the timbre of the man’s voice. She felt the rough floorboards beneath her bare feet and the man’s strong heartbeat beneath her cheek. She could smell the freshly turned earth in the field and the infant’s mixture of sour milk and sweet baby scent

Quin often considered researching the dream somehow but had no idea how to begin. The empty plain could be anywhere from Illinois to Texas or the Dakotas. She had no names to go on. She knew the man intimately, from the crows’ feet that formed at the corners of his eyes when he smiled to the way her body fit against his lean, strong one. But she didn’t know his name, not while awake and coherent. She’d attempted searching deaths by lightning strike, narrowing the field to the Midwest, but although she spent hours scrolling through many interesting sites, she found nothing definitive.

Quin sighed. She wished she knew someone with whom she could discuss her nightly disturbances. She considered her doctor young and pompous. He would only nod briskly and take away some other food she enjoyed. As much as she enjoyed her friend Madeline’s company, the younger woman sometimes dismissed Quin’s concerns as the fussing of an elderly woman. Her son lived too far away and proved dismissive as well. He’d only say, don’t be silly, Ma, it’s only a dream. Her husband, her beloved Edgar with whom she’d shared every thought and emotion, had died twelve years ago.

Quin turned her head to stare out the window. Morning spread bright over the city, which now hummed with customary activity as cars filled the street below and pedestrians hurried along the sidewalk. Noise reached her faintly, and Quin smiled. She’d occupied this apartment for twelve years, ever since the terrible day she woke to find her husband dead beside her, taken in his sleep by a heart attack. The worst day in her life. She’d sold the house in the suburb where they’d lived most of their married life and where they’d raised their son. Where she’d lived just a couple of miles from the school where she taught for so long. She’d sold their sensible little sedan, figuring she had no need of a car and fearing that her reactions proved inadequate for the traffic. It made sense to her at the time to take a smaller place and to move closer to doctors’ offices and amenities. Before long she realized how much she appreciated living in the center of so much activity, to be able to attend an occasional concert or show without making the dangerous trek along busy highways, and to always be surrounded by people. The faceless crowd she observed from her window and the friendly chit chat of neighbors and the doormen became compensation for the comfortable companionship of her beloved Edgar.

Depression settled over Quin suddenly at the unbidden memories, and she pushed herself laboriously from her chair before taking up her mug. Rebelliously, she decided to indulge in another cup of the strong coffee. To hell with what her doctor had to say.

###

Later that morning Quin sat upon an examining table and watched her young doctor enter the small room with her chart in hand. He stood for a moment consulting the forms he held, the fingers of his other hand resting against his lips. He made an unhappy noise in his throat. Quin glowered at him, impatient with the theatrics. At least the nurse had allowed her to dress before the doctor subjected her to another lecture.

This doesn’t look good, Mrs. Williams, Dr. Parsons intoned gravely. Your blood pressure’s up, your heart rate is up. Your cholesterol isn’t at a dangerous level, but it has elevated since your last visit. He regarded her over the wire frames of his glasses. Have you been under any undue stress, lately?

Quin faced him steadily. I have been having trouble sleeping, she admitted.

Are you having problems that keep you awake at night?

No. She shook her head. I just wake up in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep. I don’t nap during the day because I want to sleep at night, but I still wake up.

Dr. Parsons made notations on her chart. How often does this happen?

Quin hesitated before admitting, Almost every night.

He nodded and rapidly scribbled a note. I’m giving you a prescription for a mild sleep aid. You could buy the same thing over the counter, but this way your insurance will cover it. He regarded her with a worried expression, toying nervously with his pen. Mrs. Williams, please don’t take offense, but I’ve been wondering if you’ve ever considered moving into an assisted-living facility.

Disbelief filled Quin as she stared at him. She chose her words as she struggled to quell her anger. I like my apartment. I have no intention of moving.

I’m not talking about a nursing home, he assured her quickly. There are many fine places in the area where you could have your own apartment and even cook your own meals, if you want. Or they have dining rooms where you could meet the other residents. There would be a staff on hand around the clock to assist you if any problems arose, and you wouldn’t be alone.

The last remark struck a chord within Quin. She struggled against the seduction of that thought and slid to her feet with dignity. Dr. Parsons, I appreciate your concern but I’ve lived in my building for twelve years. I enjoy the people there. I have no intention of surrounding myself with a bunch of old people waiting to die.

The doctor looked disgruntled as he stood as well. I’m adjusting your blood pressure medication, he informed her. Both prescriptions will be sent to your pharmacy. I want to see you again in two weeks. Let them know at the front desk. He nodded to her. Take care of yourself, Mrs. Williams. If you have any trouble with either medication, let me know immediately.

I will, doctor, she assured him, and he moved to open the door for her.

Outside the clinic, Quin decided against hailing a cab as she turned down the busy street. She knew of a small café that lay only a few blocks away, and she thought she might stop there for lunch. She made her way slowly as she steadied herself with her cane, cautious of the other pedestrians. She kept a firm grip on her handbag. A couple of teenagers flew past, their helmets and sunglasses rendering them anonymous as they wove through the throngs on skateboards. Two men with ragged clothing and loud voices argued in the middle of the sidewalk while people swarmed past them. A young woman in an elegant business suit bumped into Quin, nearly toppling her. The woman continued on without a backward look. Quin stopped and leaned on her cane as she took a moment to regain her sense of balance. She huddled close to the building to protect herself against the crowd that flowed past. Her shoulder ached where the woman had struck it and her legs felt weak and tired. She suddenly regretted the decision to walk and wondered how much further she needed to go.

A bus edged through the traffic and pulled to the curb a short distance ahead. Gathering her resolve, Quin hurried to catch it, searching frantically for her pass. She made it to the bus steps in time and wrapped her gnarled hand about the short railing as she climbed aboard. The driver gave her no more than a cursory glance as she scanned the pass and hobbled down the narrow aisle through the mass of riders. A tired-looking man glanced over his newspaper as she hesitated and searched futilely for a seat. He folded his paper and stood, motioning for her to take his place. She did so gratefully, and he merely nodded at her stammered thanks as he reached to grasp the bar. The bus lurched into motion, and Quin turned her head to gaze at the passing streets. They passed the café that she’d intended to visit, and a pall of unhappiness settled over her. Safely aboard the bus and heading toward her own street and apartment building, she regretted her impulse to give up her plans so easily. Maybe the doctor was right after all, she reflected. Maybe she did belong in a place where her activities were regulated, and her environment would be rendered stiflingly safe.

###

Max, the doorman on duty, spied Quin as she made her way from the bus stop and hurried to open the door for her. Quin smiled at him gratefully. Good day, Max, she greeted him.

Hey there, Mrs. Williams, Max replied amiably. "You make it to