37. Always The Same Dream
CHAPTER 37
ALWAYS THE SAME DREAM
Paloma
It’s always the same dream.
Mom looks beautiful in her pink ballet leotard and skirt. I look up at her as she holds my hand while she walks from the subway station to the Performance Arts Centre. She’s so different from the woman in the portrait and all the pictures Sole has of her. But in my dream, I know this is my mom.
I spend all day with her and her friends because I’m sick and I can’t go to daycare. I love it when she lets me be on stage with the other dancers. And she’s happy to see me there. But then, the man shows up again. The one that makes her sad and scared. I can’t see his face, but he frightens me too.
Mom finishes rehearsals and takes me with her off the stage. On our way to the dressing room, other dancers stop her to tell her how beautiful her dancing was. I feel proud and think that one day I want to be just like her. Her hands tremble as she picks me up into her arms so we can walk faster.
In her dressing room, she locks the door and tells me to be good. I nod because I never want my mom to be sad or scared. I play with my ballerina doll while she packs her gym bag in a hurry. She holds her belly as if she can’t breathe.
“Mommy, can I wear my ballet shoes outside?” I show her the shoes her friend gave me earlier today.
“Sure, baby. Let me help you.” She takes the slippers from me and ties them just like hers.
“Am I a ballerina just like you?” I ask eagerly.
“Not yet.” She beams at me. “Let me see your pliés?”
I get up quickly and do my best pliés, making sure I’m doing it exactly as she says. She laughs and hugs me tight. But then the dream fades into a dark alley. I’m still wearing my ballet slippers, but they’re so dirty now. Tears stream down my cheeks because Mom is scared again. She holds my hand so tight as we run in the dark.
And then she’s gone. Her screams for help hurt my ears. Why is no one helping us? I find a hiding spot behind a big trash can and cover my ears. Her screams continue in the distance until she’s gone. I sit alone in the dark alley staring at my bloody ballet shoes until the man finds me. And then I’m screaming too.
It’s just a dream, Little Dove.
“Archer.” I sit up in my bed, panting like I just ran a mile.
And it’s like time hasn’t passed at all. I’m aching for him all over again. Every night, I’m afraid to fall asleep because I know when I wake up, he’ll be right there at the end of my dream waiting for me.
Archer.
I wince at the sound of his name in my head.
I’m dazed and confused over the bloody dream, and then, waking up to Archer’s voice in my head. I really thought those nightmares were over. All the time I was with him, I didn’t have a single dream about Mom. But now, ever since I came back to my childhood home a month ago, the nightmares have returned. They’re more vivid now. I see Mom’s face so clearly, her golden eyes, her hair in a ballerina bun, and her mouth that looks like a heart when she sits on the floor to tie my laces.
I told Sole I didn’t want to see her picture. But it’s as if my brain wants me to remember. The door to my memories is wide open, but I refuse to walk through it and see what really happened to her that night all those years ago.
A knock on the door startles me back to reality. When Sole walks in, I release a breath as the odd adrenaline rush seeps through my body. I’m safe here. I don’t need to be scared , I remind myself.
“You overslept again.” Sole pulls back the curtains and closes the balcony doors. “You don’t have much time to get ready and meet your dad for breakfast downstairs.”
“Okay.” I let my feet fall to the side of the bed and then I trudge to the bathroom to shower and brush my teeth.
I’ve been doing this routine for the last month since we came back to this house. Three months have gone by since he left. This routine is the only thing keeping me sane. The monotony and familiarity of it is soothing to me. I dress quickly and put my hair up in a bun. By the time, I make it downstairs, Dad is already in the dining room with a half-eaten breakfast in front of him.
“Good morning.” He glances up from his newspaper.
“Good morning,” I mumble and sit in front of my grapefruit and black coffee.
Something about my greeting irks Dad. He puts the newspaper down and glares at me. “How much longer before you put this attitude away? It’s been three months. I thought dancing made you happy.”
Happy? How can I ever be happy again? I’m empty inside. Does he not understand that? Three months, three years. It doesn’t matter. I’m never going stop aching for him. I’m never going to stop wishing Hunter hadn’t killed him.
I stare at Dad.
“It does,” I finally answer.
“He wasn’t good for you.” Dad picks up his newspaper. “Everything is as it should be. Do you understand?”
For a moment, anger begins to pool in my stomach. A bunch of his memories threaten to break through, so I push them down and away. I shove everything out of my mind until there’s nothing left, only a dark void that extends from my brain down into my chest and toes. When I look up again, my fears and frustrations are gone. And there’s no pain.
“I’m late for rehearsal.” I drink the black coffee in one gulp. “I have to get going.”
I get up to leave, but Dad grabs my upper arm. His touch is like a slap to the face. I recoil from him, but he holds me firmly in place. My heart races as alarm bells go off in my head. I glance down at his thumb on the inside of my elbow. He slides it across then releases me.
“You’re driving with me today. Sit down and finish your breakfast. Sole,” he calls out.
As always, Sole enters the room as if she’d been standing just on the other side of the wall, waiting to see if I need anything.
“Yes, sir.” Her serene smile soothes me.
“Paloma will have one boiled egg this morning.” He picks up the carafe off the table and pours more coffee in my cup. “And tell Nico to be ready for us in fifteen minutes.”
“Right away, sir.” She dips her head then leaves.
I lower myself onto the chair as the adrenaline wears off and the feeling of nothing settles back into my body. I sit there and eat the breakfast Dad ordered for me. When I’m finished, he rises and waits for me to do the same.
“I’ll stop by after work to watch your rehearsals,” he announces as he gestures for me to go ahead.
I nod and amble toward the front door. Outside, Nico is waiting by the car with the back seat door wide open. He offers me a firm nod, then helps me inside. Ever since I returned home, Nico doesn’t speak to me anymore. Not like he used to. I don’t blame him though. I’m not exactly fun to talk to these days.
During the eighty-minute commute into the city, I sit in the back seat staring at nothing in the distance, rubbing the inside of my wrist. Dad spends most of that time telling me about the legal status of my inheritance. Elections are coming up, and he needs me to make a sizable donation to his campaign.
“Who is this Gardenia woman anyway?” he asks. “Was she his mistress?”
“No, they’re just good friends.” Were good friends , I correct myself. “She’s like a sister to him. They’ve known each other since they were little.”
“Where did he grow up again?” Dad watches me intently, but I don’t turn to face him.
“Somewhere outside of London, I think,” I answer as my pulse picks up its pace.
Dad can’t hurt Archer anymore, but Freya may be in danger. While I still can’t wrap my head around what Dad did to Archer’s dad twenty years ago, I now know what Dad is capable of when his own livelihood is on the line.
I sift through the conversation I had with Dad three months ago when I showed up at the beach house demanding answers. I do remember telling him that I knew Freya, which means he knows she’s also alive and a threat to him. Hopefully by now Freya is long gone. Unlike her son, she doesn’t want revenge. All she ever wanted was for her family to be safe.
Fisher will protect her. He has to. I’m sure Dad is up to something. Something more sinister than stealing Archer’s fortune.
“I see. This Gardenia.” He makes a dismissive gesture. “She’s disputing the legality of your wedding to Archer.”
I swallow hard. I don’t care if Gardenia doesn’t think he and I were ever married. Our marriage was real. I fist my hands. I don’t want to talk about him. Or what he was to me.
“What does it matter?” I ask.
He scoffs. “What does it matter? Do you not understand the dire situation we’re in? We need Archer’s vast fortune to secure my seat in the elections. I gave you up to save our family. We deserve this money.”
“Okay.” I swallow the lump in my throat.
“She wants to annul your marriage to him.” Dad makes a fist then releases it. “You will need to appear in front of a judge and confirm the marriage was consummated.”
Tears stream down my cheek. A small crack tears through the barrier holding all his memories away from me. “Beg me for it.” His voice filters through my carefully constructed wall. I shake my head to keep the numbness in place. I can’t think of him like that.
“Okay,” I croak.
“Good.” He reaches for my hand, but I retrieve it on instinct.
He clenches his jaw, but other than that he doesn’t say anything else. The rest of the drive, he remains silent. Having him this close to me is unnerving. It forces me to remember what he is.
As soon as the car pulls up to the curb, I bolt. I hate it when he touches me, when he plays the loving father. I head for the side door. With every step, I feel a little lighter. Dance will always be my safe haven. When I’m on stage, I feel like nothing can hurt me.
“Good morning.” I say to Paul who’s on the floor outside his dressing room stretching.
“I’m still mad at you.” He reaches for his toes.
He’s not. But I can understand why he’s making it a point to have me pay the toll every morning. I hurt him when I left without a goodbye, when I didn’t reach out to him for months. Since I came back, he stays close to me to make sure I’m okay. He cares about me despite his hurt feelings.
“Oh I almost forgot.” I reach into my gym bag and retrieve the container Sole put in there just for Paul. “Your croissants. She baked them this morning.”
“Fine.” He takes the pastries from me, pursing his lips to hide a smile. “I texted you last night. You were extra quiet when you left.”
“Everything is okay. I promise. I told you I lost my phone.” I stop to inhale when the memory of how I lost my phone floats to the front of my mind.
I see him reaching into the frozen lake to save me. I see him crawling into bed naked to keep me warm. I shake my head before the avalanche of memories engulfs me. I don’t want to see.
“Hey, are you okay?” Paul jerks to his feet.
“Yeah. Just got a little lightheaded.” I plaster on a smile for him.
“It’s been months since you lost your phone. Why haven’t your replaced it?” he asks, ushering me to my own dressing room.
“I’ve been busy.” And also, Dad has made sure I don’t have access to a phone anywhere I go. I don’t care. I have no way of reaching out to Gardenia, Fisher, or Jacob anyway. Besides, after all this time, I doubt they’re still in the States. Why am I thinking about them? I need to stop. “You’ll be the first to know when I get my phone back.” I take the seat he offers me and remove my sneakers.
“Alright. Get ready for warmups. You might not be the star of the show this time, but you know Pierre expects perfection from all of us.” He turns to leave then stops. “And thank you for the croissants. They’re my favorite.”
“You’re welcome.” I chuckle.
He shuts the door behind him, and I grab my ballet shoes. Am I a ballerina just like you? The words swirl in my head. I push all thoughts of my recurring dream away and head to the practice room. As soon I walk through the doors, my mind goes pleasantly blank, and every muscle in my body relaxes. I’m safe here.
For the next two hours, I’m gloriously lost to learning the choreography of Coppélia, a classic tale of an eccentric toy maker and the lifelike doll he creates. I came in too late into the spring season to have a main role. The part Pierre assigned to me suits me just fine though. I get to be here, and that’s all that matters.
When we move on to rehearsals on stage, I spot Dad in the house right away. In the past few weeks, he’s made time to come and see me as much as possible. It’s eerie the way he sits there watching me even when I’m not dancing. I do my best to ignore him and focus on my form.
“How’s your knee?” Paul asks.
“It’s fine. I had enough rest.” I smile at him. “And my role isn’t that demanding.”
“Pierre is mad that you left him hanging.” He shrugs. “Nothing a sizable donation can’t fix though. You’ll be back on track in no time.”
“Thank you.” I hug him.
I really want to believe him. I want my life to be back on track, and to stop walking on eggshells around my own mind, afraid that the slightest familiar scent might send me into a spiral for memories.
Hours later, Pierre dismisses us. When I look to the audience, I see Dad walking up to the exit. I gather my things and head back to my dressing room. Paul falls into step next to me and starts catching me up on some of the gossip. Irma, the dancer playing the main role this season, is apparently sleeping with her co-star. Paul’s embellished story gets a chuckle out of me.
“That’s twice, you’ve laughed today. Progress.” He taps his shoulder to mine.
“Yeah. I guess.” I smile at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I wave at him and push the door to my dressing room open.
The minute I shut the door behind me, I freeze. The small room is exactly how I left it except for one thing. I place my hand over my mouth as tears stream down my cheeks. It’s not possible. This is a cruel joke. He’s dead.
My knee throbs as I step closer to the vanity and pick up the crystal swan. I’m still struggling to decide what any of it means when Dad barges into the room. I turn around to face him as hot adrenaline rushes through me. I fist my hand and place it behind my back.
“What are you hiding?” Dad squints at me. His anger fills the room, sending a cold shiver down my spine. He steps closer with his hand out. “Show me.”
Slowly, I show him my palm and the figurine in it. “It’s nothing,” I lie.
“Hmm.” He picks it up and holds it against the light.
I fight the urge to knock it out of his hand. The crystal swan is ours, mine and Archer’s. His name flashes in big letters in my mind. For once, I don’t wince. I let them wash over me like warm water. Did he leave it here for me? Or is this someone’s idea of a sick joke?
What does it mean? Is Archer alive?
I open my mouth to ask for it back. But I don’t want Dad to know what the crystal swan means to me, how much it means to me. If he finds out that the only person who could’ve left it here is Archer, he would for sure take it away.
“I see Hunter is still wasting his money on useless paraphernalia.” Dad takes my hand and places it in my palm, meeting my gaze.
I want to pull my hand away. But he’s already angry at me. I don’t want to push my luck. So I just stand there with my hand in his with our gazes locked. What does he want from me? By now, he knows I won’t call the police on him. I let go of that notion months ago. What would it do? He’s the Senator. He’s already been involved in two murders, and he’s still walking the streets a free man.
“I’m tired.” I glance away. “I need to change.”
“I came to make sure you didn’t linger. I saw you talking to Paul. I told you to stay away from him.” His voice rumbles in the small room.
“He’s just a friend.” I swallow.
“That is not the point.” He says putting emphasis on each word.
I’m sure he’s afraid I’ll confide in Paul. But I would never put Paul in danger like that. I’m stuck here with Dad. Bringing someone else into this mess would only make things worse for everyone involved.
Dad dips his head toward my bag. “Get your things. We’re leaving. Hunter will be joining us for dinner tonight.”
“Hunter?” Slowly, I pull my hand away from his grip. Relief washes over me when he lets me go.
“He misses you.” His gaze drops to my hands.
I’m sure he notices how I’m clinging to the crystal swan as if my life depends on it. Though now I’m not so sure Archer left it here for me. If Hunter is coming over for dinner, maybe he thought it would be romantic to buy me another crystal like the one he bought for me the day I was announced as the Swan Queen.
“Now every time you see his gift, you’ll think of me, Little Dove. I want to see you come. You’re not leaving my room until I watch you fall to pieces in front of me.”
Archer’s words come rushing back. And then, I can’t stop it. The memory of the first time I orgasmed for him is front and center in my mind. My carefully constructed barrier crumbles all around me. I see him clearly, the sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled up to showcase his forearms to perfection. He’s looking at me with hunger in his eyes, the same desperate hunger I feel. I squeeze my eyes shut to contain the wave of desire that explodes from my core.
Dad’s muffled words filter through my reverie. I glance up at him, then down at his hand gripping my upper arm tight.
“What?” I ask.
“Tonight. I need you in a more amiable disposition. Do you understand?” He glowers at me, with an added mix of frustration and impatience. “None of this lifeless version of you I’ve had to put up with for the last three months. Do you understand? Answer.” He raises his voice.
I startle. “Yes.”
“Five minutes,” Dad says through gritted teeth before he leaves.
As soon as the door closes behind him, I plop myself on the vanity stool and drop my head to my hands. What have I done? Why did I let myself think of Archer like that? Goosebumps flutter across my skin. A tiny token was all it took for my body to ache for him all over again.
I wait for the pain to flush through me, but it doesn’t come. Hope blooms like spring flowers and begins to grow in the dark void in the middle of my chest. This little crystal swan means hope. Hope that he survived Hunter’s bullet. Hope that despite everything my family has done to him, he still wants me.
Even if Dad believes Hunter bought me another crystal and left it here for me, I can’t discount the idea that Archer might be alive.