Fear Dreams

Fear Dreams
A Novel
J.A. Schneider


Publisher Information
Fear Dreams is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, institutions or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 J.A. Schneider.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, store in a retrieval system, or transmit this book, in any part thereof, in any form or by any means whatsoever, whether now existing or devised at a future time, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles and reviews.
For more information about the author,please visit http://jaschneiderauthor.net


Books by J.A. Schneider
EMBRYO
(A Raney & Levine Thriller,Book 1)
CROSSHAIRS
(A Raney & Levine Thriller,Book 2)
RANEY& LEVINE
(A Raney & Levine Thriller,Book 3)
CATCH ME
(A Raney & Levine Thriller,Book 4)
SILVERGIRL
(A Raney & Levine ThrillerBook 5)
RAZORSHARP
(A Raney & Levine ThrillerBook 6)


For Bob, Matt, Danielle, Jean and Louise


Fear Dreams
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Author's Note
About the Author


1
The water was green. Swirlingand thick with stirred-up silt. Too hard to see through, so her eyes squeezedshut but not fast enough. The blue shirt was drifting closer. It shouldn’t havebeen there in the water, Paul said they’d go away, these things she kept seeing,but the current smacked the shirt tight to her face and she couldn’t breathe.Her chest heaved, struggling for air, and then she woke, shaking, covered withsweat.
The heart, oh the heart, it hammered. Liddygulped a ragged breath as she rolled to a dryer place on the pillow. Her eyesblinked, still seeing that shirt sweep away. Gone. Lost to someone.
For long moments she lay, waiting for thebanging in her chest to slow. Then…
On the bed table sat a note. Liddy groanedand reached for it; read; put it back. Two crutches leaned on the near chair.
“Done with you,” she whispered to them. She’dbeen run over on June third. Her clock next to the note said it was August tenth.Nine weeks since the accident.
Be happy you’re alive, she kept hearing.Right, be thankful, she stormed at herself, fighting tears because ofthe damned dream. The cast was off, wasn’t it? The doctor said walk, gentle exercise.Rehab said ditto. Ten days ago she’d graduated from the track thing with therails, walked all the way to the cake Reenie and Carol got for her tocelebrate. Started to cry when they hugged her.
She was tired of crying, just sick of it.Today would be good if she had to break her leg all over again – whoops, crazy thought,watch that, don’t slide again. But isn’t it amazing, how relative things are? Shewas going out today, woo hoo, getting out of this drab place and apartment-huntingno less, and if she had to climb stairs or stumble off some curb it was herchoice as opposed to having some drunk run her down. She stared at nothing; sawthose terrifying headlights come at her again with their frantic horn blaring -but she shut it down fast; with something like a childish whimper forced hermind back to today.
She’d been learning to do that. Shut downbad things. But that wasn’t helping her memory come back, was it? Alex hershrink said that was counterproductive, she had to face the bad stuff in orderto - oh screw Alex. She wanted to be happy. Today would be good. It had to be.
With a groan she got herself up, hobbled –mornings were the worst – to move the crutches to the back of the closet, thenwent into the bathroom. In the shower, the hot water stung her face and stiffbody. Felt nice. Steam rose and billowed. Droplets started to cry down theglass wall.
Liddy stared.
Stopped shampooing. Her soapy fingers wentto the glass, touched the face. A weeping face that melted under more droplets,then disappeared.
Push it down, just imagination, Liddythought minutes later, holding her hair dryer. That’s what comes from spendingtoo much time alone, in the apartment, in your head. Her mother used to tellher she had an overactive imagination. Paul still said that, but he understood.She was an artist, everything was visual; subconscious visual often saw andfelt what surface minds didn’t. Paul the logical, facts-bound scientist wasfascinated by creative people. “A painting?” he’d say. “You see what isn’tthere yet and make it.”
Liddy reached to wipe the mirror; saw darkcircles under dark eyes that hadn’t been sleeping enough. I used to be pretty,she thought, sighing – and then the hair dryer stopped. Just like that, switchedoff. She frowned at it, fiddled with its buttons. Nothing. She reached up to theplug, adjusted it – “Oh!” – and sparks zapped and flashed. Frightened, she drewback; put the dryer down. Left her hair half wet and hobbled back to thebedroom.
Someone was arguing somewhere. She went to pullaside the curtains and peered out. A woman’s angry voice and then a man’s,going at it from one of those windows across the way. Which one?
Liddy leaned to see, her heart thuddingagain. Nutty reaction but she couldn’t help it. Some couple probably justhaving a tiff…
She felt his arm reach past her cheek and hugacross her chest. He loved to sneak up. “How’s my girl?”
“Argh, you scared me!”
She turned to Paul, inhaled and melted intohim. They kissed; then she buried her face in his shoulder, remembering theirlove-making last night. Gentle and sweet, he’d been so careful not to hurt her.Out of habit, she reached to pat down a cowlick in his dark hair that wasusually messy. He needed a haircut.
“Some couple over there is fighting,” shesaid.
“Who?” Paul leaned and his large hazeleyes looked past her. Across the way, on West 83rd with a narrow space betweenfor a lower building, the windows were all blank with shades pulled halfway,air conditioner boxes rattling on this hot and sleepy August