The Ruins

By Torri Heat

Joelle’s a mess. Nightmares about the end of the world keep her up at night, and lack of sleep has her losing job after job.

The only consistency to these dreams is the man she calls “The Watcher.” After another night of frustration, The Watcher arrives at her door, in the flesh. Luc, a demon Mare, is the source of all her problems.

Could he also be her salvation?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Apr 15, 2021

Book preview

Chapter One

Joelle

I woke up from the dream that’s been plaguing me for months. The one where the world was burning. I watched the town I had grown up in crumble to dust around me, and the taste of death was thick in my mouth. People turned to ash as I reached out to save them and blew into the wind as if their bodies had never existed. As hard as I tried, I could never save them. Nothing I did made a difference. I would look for water, but a small bucketful seemed pitiful against the raging flames. I would offer myself up to some unseen god, hoping my sacrifice might save another. But as in most dreams, I was powerless.

Sometimes I doubted if these visions were dreams at all. When I woke up in the dead of night, damp with sweat and out of breath, I swore I could see the golden tones of a blaze outside my window. I would have put money on the fact I could feel the heat licking my face, gentle as a lover’s touch. The world I was seeing in front of me felt so real -- so condemning. Less like a dream, and more like a warning.

But no matter what I did, as hard as I tried, the end was always the same. The small town burned to nothing, and the people disappeared. The same disaster, night after night. The only other constant was the man in my dreams. The one who stood on the other side of the flames, always staring at me. Watching carefully. But his perfect lips never uttered a word of advice, and he never moved his rugged hands to offer help. He seemed to exist outside of whatever was happening in my dreams, this figment of my imagination. He never burned, and I never got close enough to see if he would turn to ash with my touch. He just watched.

That’s what I called him when I described him to my therapist -- the watcher. Overseeing me, my dreams, my nightmares, my failures. Handsome, but the kind of beautiful that could cut you like a knife. Like an artist forgot to soften the edges. Messy blond hair ruffled in the winds of the world burning around us. His dark, foreboding eyes felt like they were staring into my soul and evaluating every decision I made. The watcher was tall, and a formidable sight amongst the destruction. But I couldn’t figure out if he was watching me try to save the world, or watching me as I destroyed it.

He was the only person in my dreams I didn’t know, which made him stand out. I convinced myself it wasn’t his haunting beauty drawing me back time and time again. And like every other night, the watcher had been there. Watching as I tried to save a childhood friend, and the plump owner of the bakery down the road from my small apartment. What woke me up wasn’t the warmth of the flames that lingered in my memory. It was the slight downturn of his full lips as I screamed in frustration when everyone crumbled in my hands yet again. He never had any expression on his face before. But tonight was different. Tonight, the watcher had frowned.

I sighed heavily and rolled over in my bed to switch on my bedside lamp, illuminating the room in a gentle light. I scrubbed my hands over my face, trying to remember if anything else had been different. If there was anything else I needed to write down for Dr. Tanya.

Once you start to notice the differences in each dream, you’ll be able to take the control back, she had told me at my last appointment. I wasn’t sure. Control was currently a limited commodity in my life. I swung my legs out of bed, watching the blinking clock on my table flash a time way too early to be awake. I flipped on lights as I made my way into the kitchen, pouring an ice-cold glass of water and forcing myself to drink the whole thing before I let the thoughts overwhelm me. The anxieties. The need to do more. I slammed the glass down next to a stack of bills, all angrily stamped with Final Warning in a shade of red that hurt my eyes.

This was what my life had come to. I had wanted more. Wanted adventure, to feel alive. Instead here I was, debating the nuances of a nightmare that had ruined my life. I couldn’t stop picturing it though -- the watcher had frowned. But maybe the expression had been a trick of my imagination, because the movement was so slight. I wasn’t sure a frown was anything to share with Dr. Tanya. Maybe if it happened again. Or maybe if I was actually able to save somebody. That would be worth mentioning. Worth writing down in the dream journal that sat on my coffee table, empty and untouched. Yet another well-meaning project sitting by the wayside as I let my life slip away from me, one moment at a time.

It hadn’t always been this way. I had gotten laid off from my job at the hotel six months ago. Since then, my life had been a revolving cycle of temp jobs from an agency and unemployment paycheques. And doctor’s appointments and meds. I could probably get by without them, but it was easier to rely on a pill. My anxiety had skyrocketed after my layoff, and what once lay dormant inside my skin burst forth with a vengeance. The simplest tasks were enough to set me off. The nightmares didn’t help. The lack of sleep amplified anything I was feeling. I hid a lot of it behind a mask. But needless to say, my mental health made getting another permanent job difficult. Dr. Tanya says it’s a blip in my story, and I’ll be on my feet again in no time. But Dr. Tanya also says the dreams are just that -- dreams. Maybe a change of pace would be good for me. But, I’m not so easily convinced.

For one, there was the watcher. He seemed too real, and too coherent. Why could I remember every inch of his handsome face? Why could I remember his small frown better than I could imagine the face of my childhood best friend as she screamed in terror? I had never seen him before. And yet, I was drawn to his sharp edges, and the beautiful cut of his body that was so stark against the imploding world.

I slumped down on my couch, pulling a small knitted blanket around my body, praying for sleep. I dozed, but my dreams were tormented by the frown on a perfect face, and a body that never burned.

* * *

My phone alarm in the other room woke me up, blasting an ear-piercing noise over and over until I stumbled back into my bedroom and turned the godawful thing off. My head was still fuzzy with sleep, and my rumpled bed was looking very tempting. I was about to lie back down, until I noticed what time my phone was displaying. I was late. Very, very late.

Fuck. I dug through the pile of clothes next to my bed, clean and dirty, pulling on a semi decent pair of jeans. Cleanliness had never been my strong suit. I grabbed a hoodie from on top of my bed, not bothering with the pretense of a bra as I ran to the bathroom. A quick finger brush of my blonde hair in the mirror, some mouthwash and I was out the door. I checked my phone again. Thanks to my impressive feat of getting ready in record time, I should only be a few minutes late to my appointment with Dr. Tanya. Being late to a 10:00 Monday morning appointment did not scream I was getting my life on track like I claimed.

Of course, this all depended on if the trains were running on time. How I hated those fucking trains. I stepped out of my apartment as the 806 bus was pulling into the stop. At least one thing was going my way this morning. I flashed the driver my bus pass and threw the hood up on my hoodie, slouching into one of the seats at the back of the bus. Sometimes public transport was the best thing I had ever experienced. Other times, like when I was very late, I wished I was back home and could drive everywhere I needed to get to. And those fucking