Sandman (Ceasefire #6) - Claire Marta Page 0,13

neon sign. Laying beneath the giant gravestone I’d erected for my family, unable to move or speak, I had been fucked if it hadn’t been for Robin.

“We need to keep him conscious by keeping his eyes open and talking to him,” The lost girl informs the bane of my life, dragging me from my unsettling thoughts.

Eyelashes fluttering shut, it takes me a second to get them open again. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. That grey stone up on the cliff. It had names carved over it. What is that?” She questions intent on keeping me talking.

“A memorial to my dead family.”

“They’re dead?”

“Everyone,” I admit, realizing how dry my throat feels. “Father, Mother, both my brothers. All that’s left is me and that son of a bitch I call my Uncle.”

Pity and compassion. Robin’s expression wears both as she reaches tentatively to touch my shoulder in a show of empathy. “Morpheus…”

I eye her clothes, the fact she’s taken a shower obvious from her clean skin and damp loose hair. “Who gave you permission to wear that dress?”

Blue eyes blink in shock her hand frozen inches from touching me. “I…I found it upstairs in one of the bedrooms.”

“Take it off.”

“I…”

The white clouds above us suddenly darken, the sky becoming inundated with varying shades of grey. In the air hangs the scent of incoming storms.

“Are you fucking deaf? I said take it off. A nosy little bitch like you should know better. How dare you go through things that don’t belong to you. Touch them with your dirty hands. Taint them with your presence.” My snarl sends her up and away. Her feet flying over the grass as she runs from my anger. No one touches my mother’s clothes. How dare she poke around like she lives here. No one asked her to come. No one expects her to stay. I don’t need her help or her pity.

A rumble of disapproval at my actions sounds from Nightmares’ chest, his countenance etched in distaste and loathing.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” I snap in his direction. Why is he even here? We’ve never met eye to eye. He should still be chained up in the underground dungeon out of sight and trouble.

Freezing, liquid drenches me from above. Swearing loudly, I jerk up as it runs down my face droplets tangling in my eyelashes. “What the hell?”

Robin glowers, glaring at me with dislike, an empty bucket clutched between her hands. “Next time you overdose, I won’t both reviving you….you ungrateful arsehole!” She heaves in an unsteady breath. “Nightmares makes sure he stays awake, even if you have to beat him to achieve it or chain him up in that goddamn cellar whatever gives you the most satisfaction for all I care.”

Dropping it at her feet, she storms off toward the trees, chest still rising and falling with the emotions vibrating off her. Lost for words, it’s Nightmares’ bark of delighted laughter that booms out after her.

9

Robin

“Help us.”

The voice has me swiveling on my heels, arms wrapped around my waist in comfort. “You’re Morpheus’s other brother.”

Illusions creeps from behind the pillar of grey stone, his complexion wan, eyes darting around nervously. “Your compassion is the bridge. Our scars, our mess, our fears, you need to see them all.”

I eye him keeping distance between us. After our last meeting I have no wish for him to conjure his tricks. “Your parents died…”

“Stay. The sea isn’t calm it’s a storm that has shattered many. Be patient with us.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

Timidly he treads closer, fingers knotting and unknotting in front of him in a worried gesture. “Don’t go.”

“Your brother doesn’t want me here,” I tell him, inhaling a lung full of sea air. Below the white jagged cliffs curve east and west. The azure sea crashes onto the untouched pink exotic sands.

“He’s angry and bitter,” I continue, soul deep sadness I don’t understand enveloping me as if I’ve experienced it before. “Hell bent on poisoning himself and dying. I can’t fix your family. I don’t even remember where I’m from. I’m just as screwed up as you guys.”

Illusions lifts his shaking hands dancing them before him in the air. They’re pallid when they catch the sunlight, greyish, making me aware of how vulnerable he looks. As if he’s been sick and it’s taken its toll, even his coppery hair looks dulled. Shapes form in front of him. Muted colors plucked from nothing, he strokes bold lines with an artist’s eye.

I watch in awe, wonder stealing my voice