Silent Fall

and over in his head every night before he went to bed. It was always easier to believe the bad stuff people thought about you than the good. She knew that firsthand.
    She wanted to break through his emotional walls, but they were built strong and sturdy, made to last. Once in a while she slipped through a small break, but then he threw up the barricades and pushed her out.
    Dylan was afraid of her, made uncomfortable by what she saw in him. He wasn’t the first man she’d terrified with her visions, and she doubted he would be the last, but he was the only one she really wanted to stay. But he would go -- eventually. She knew that as surely as she knew anything. Dylan didn’t want to be with a woman who could see into his head, who knew where he came from, who had heard all his secrets. She didn’t think he’d shared his past with any one of the women he’d dated. He blamed himself for not standing up to his father, for not fighting back, for not being able to win. So he kept that loser hidden behind his big, strong walls.
    The man he was today always won, always succeeded. Dylan would someday find a woman who’d add credence to his reputation, someone beautiful and educated and not at all crazy, not at all quirky -- not at all like her. He wanted perfection in every part of his life. She didn’t blame him for that. She’d yearned for the perfect life, too. But lately she’d begun to realize that she didn’t want perfect anymore. She just wanted love, real love, the kind that blossomed with the years, grew stronger with the trials of life, a love that didn’t waver in the face of doubt, a love that probably didn’t exist in the real world. She’d certainly never seen it. But still she believed in it. What a romantic fool she was.
    Letting out a sigh, she tried to redirect her thoughts, think of something else, find some image that wasn’t Dylan or his father or his mother or Erica. She wanted to slip into one of her peaceful paintings -- the pretty meadow, the quiet pool, the beach where her dogs liked to run. But those images couldn’t take shape in her mind. They were being pushed away by a dark shadow that spread and enveloped everything in its way.
    His motel room faced the highway. The cars whirred by, a relentless roar of engines. The orange light from a fast-food restaurant sign blazed through the sagging curtains at the window. The place was a rat hole. He would be able to afford the Ritz after he finished this job, and he was itching to do just that. But not just yet, because the fucking asshole he was working for wanted to play games.
    The voice rang through his head again, the cryptic instructions, the odd requests. What the hell was going on? He was a killer, not a game player. When he shot, he shot to kill, not to scare, not to make someone run. But he’d had his orders. And he’d completed his task. Soon he would get to finish the job. The time couldn’t come quickly enough for him.
    He picked up the phone, punching in the familiar number. "There’s two of them, you know. That’s double the price if you want them both dead." He listened, his heart soaring at the response. This was going to be sweet. He would trap her. She would know there was no way out, and then she would take her last breath at his command. He couldn’t wait. "I understand," he said. "The woman dies first. No problem. No problem at all."
    Catherine started, blinking open her eyes, desperate to escape the darkness in her head. She’d seen him again, and he wasn’t just after Dylan now. Her heart thudded against her chest. She was next. The woman dies first. He’d been talking about her.
    "Oh, God," she breathed.
    Dylan glanced over at her, his gaze narrowing in alarm. "What’s wrong now?"
    "He’s going to kill me first."
    "Who?"
    She knew Dylan wanted her to identify the man, but she hadn’t seen him. She’d been him. She’d felt his delight at the prospect of watching her die. He wanted her cornered, isolated, alone.
    Her breath caught in her chest as her mind shot down another haunted corridor in her head, a place she never went, except perhaps in her nightmares, but never when she was awake. She fought to stay in the light, but the shadows sucked her in.
    Someone called to her, a voice from a long time ago, his words silky and smooth with evil intent. She clapped her hands over her ears. "No," she said loudly.