Wild Men of Alaska 03 - Dreamweaver
oblivion?
Clutching the baggie in her hand, she filled a glass of water and headed back to bed. Setting down the glass with the bag of pills next to the bed, she came to a cold stop. What was she doing? Sleeping pills cozying up to a glass of water didn’t give off a happy outcome for waking up in the morning. If ever.
It was so hard making decisions—right or wrong—when she wasn’t in her right mind. The pills had to go, but suddenly the effects of whatever she’d taken took form. Her legs were heavy, reflexes sluggish. What had she taken? Definitely needed to know that before she’d taken them. Her eyes refused to focus. Things in the room seemed to move on their own or was she swaying? Everything was too much effort, just gathering the pills and hiding them away in her night table—far away from the glass of water—took all the energy Gemma had left.
A few tries and she was able to swing back the covers and crawl under them. Her eyelids locked shut, and her breathing slowed. A sense of peace came over her, and she sighed. Finally, she’d get the rest she’d been depriving herself.
Then suddenly it felt like she’d stepped off the planet. Tripped into nothingness.
One second she was flat on her back in bed, the next transported as though she were on the Starship Enterprise and Scotty had just beamed her up.
Deeper than sleep. Deeper than a coma. She was gone.
She opened her eyes to find herself not on her bed. Not even in her bedroom. By the warmth, and lush grass under where she lay, she wasn’t even in Alaska. The only snow and ice in sight was high atop amethyst mountains in the distance.
Her breath caught on the beauty and tranquility of wherever she was. Colors more vibrant than any palette painted wildflowers that bobbed and swayed in the sweet-scented breeze. She couldn’t quite comprehend the snow-topped majestic mountains sheltering the surrounding meadow. A blue ribbon of liquid sapphires sparkled in the sun. If this was a dream it was the most visual and sensual one she’d ever had. Too real. She struggled to her feet, pinching herself even though she had no desire to wake up and leave.
Where was she?
“Limbo. And how the hell did you get here?”
Slowly she turned. There was Lucky in full Technicolor. A tight-fitting t-shirt with some climbing gear company’s symbol scrawled across the chest showed off heavy, defined muscles in his torso and arms. He was lean and hard, his skin smooth and golden, his eyes the softest brown. Cargo shorts and hiking boots completed his outfit. Is this how he was dressed when he visited her? The man was a walking advertisement for REI.
“Gemma, what did you do?” A scowl darkened his face.
“Took a sleeping pill,” she admitted, her e yes devouring the sight of him.
There was a pause. “Sleeping pill or pills?”
“My mom gave them to me. I just took one and ended up here.” She looked around again. “Got any ideas how that happened?”
He pursed his lips in thought, the scowl furrow ing deep lines in his forehead.
“What is it? You know, don’t you?”
“I have a theory.”
“I’m not dead, too, am I?”
“No. You and I are connected. Destined.” He rushed on when she went to interrupt. “I know you don’t like that word, but it’s the only explanation for why, after I passed away, that I was drawn to you. I’m thinking taking a sleeping pill allowed your spirit to astral project to where it wants to be. To me.”
Astral project?
Hadn’t she been warned about that? What had Siri said? Gemma had the sneaky suspicion she was in trouble.
“What are you thinking?” Lucky asked, looking as though he wanted to reach out and touch her but was afraid to move.
“You can’t read my thoughts?”
“You’re doing that mile a minute thing, but your expression is freaking me out.”
“Well, I’m a little freaked.”
“That explains it then.” He stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his cargo shorts. She followed the movement, and his eyes widened. “Can you see me?”
“Yes.” Her throat thickened with emotion. This was so much more real, being with him here, seeing him. She reached out to touch him, and he sucked in his breath.
Softly her fingers traced the bones in his face. His eyes shuttered closed on a groan. “Gemma, tell me you can feel me too.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s as though you’re really here with me. Alive.” She cupped his jaw, the stubble raspy against her fingers, and
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