Revolution - (Darcy Freeman, Book 2)

1

Three days ago...

When you dream, your subconscious takes over and sends your mind into a sublime world, filled with distant memories and crazy ideas. Some people wake up and remember every detail, while others wake up struggling to remember even the slightest thought, feeling confused and frustrated.
Sitting upright in bed, I felt like that. These dreams were so vivid but left me confused and frustrated. The room was cool and yet I was gleaming with sweat, feeling the small droplets beginning to trickle down my forehead. My heart was racing and slowly opening my eyes, I looked around the room, waiting for my mind to come out of the dream world and back to reality.
Looking around, I had no idea where I was. The bed I was tucked into was large, with four wooden posts sitting in each corner, the shiny polished wood sparkling under the lights. It was in the middle of the room, in a typical bedroom. Wardrobes, a small desk, neutral colours on the wall, nothing unusual.
The dream I had just awoken from was unusual. I tried hard to remember the details, but through my sleepy state, I could not get my mind to function. All I knew, it had been crazy, and it left me feeling sweaty and terrified.

Finally, my mind was awake and rubbing my eyes, all I could do was to stare out into the bedroom, thinking, trying to remember what had left me feeling strange and scared. But also, I kept wondering, who's room was this? I closed my eyes and willed my brain to remember. Then out of nowhere, a bolt of lightning hit me, and fragments of the dream that had frightened me so badly came to mind. It had been so graphic, like I had been there and lived through those events; but it could not be real, because here I was, sitting comfortably in a bed, looking out into a room. Was it my bedroom?
My thoughts turned to the dream. It was hazy, but I clearly saw myself getting shot. Not a shot that kills you, but the kind that sends a pain unlike anything I had ever experienced before, throughout my entire body. There was a small figure from my dream standing over me, smiling madly and saying, 'Oh yes! You are irrelevant and it ends now.' Then he pulled the trigger. That is when I woke up.

It had seemed so real. That is why I felt confused. Deciding that I needed to get up and take a shower, I stepped on to the cold tiled floor, hoping that the refreshing wash would help shake the dazed feeling I had. The shower was cold, but it did not matter. I was still warm from the nightmarish dream. The cold wash was refreshing, but it did not shake the feeling that something was not right. Dripping wet, I stood naked and fumbled for a towel, the water running off my body and collecting in a pool around my feet. The towel was not in the bathroom and I had no idea where I kept them. Why was that?
I had woken up in bed, in what appeared to be my bedroom, but I had no recollection of getting here or where I was. There was something nagging me, buried in the back of my brain, trying to remind me of vital details and no matter how hard I thought, nothing came out.

The coffee tasted bitter as I sipped, looking at my reflection in the mirror. I could not get the image of being shot out of my head, yet gazing at myself, there was nothing to suggest I had been injured. No marks, bruising or even a single scratch. Nothing!
Drinking some more and combing my black shoulder length hair, I let my thoughts drift away. It was time to stop worrying about that stupid dream. Clearly, I was ok. But why could I not shake the silly feeling that something was not right? Ignore it, I told myself. Get on with your day.

The clock on the wall told me the time was 9am and slowly getting dressed, pulling on a black sweater and dark blue demin, I tried to ignore the hazy feeling. What was I even getting dressed for? I could not remember what I did for work and wondered what my job was, while staring at my reflection in the mirror. Then it struck me. Had I hit my head hard and forgotten anything? Gently rubbing my hands along my head, I moved my fingers around, looking for a bump, hoping to find some visible sign of damage that would explain why I felt this way. The wet hair clung to my fingers, while I ran them through, but there was not a single bump to be found on my head. Then, I moved my fingers down toward the back of my neck and pulled away, startled. The sensation was strange when I felt the rough edges of skin, scaly and bumpy. Was that the damage I was looking for?
Slowly, I put my hand back and gently touched the damaged skin, allowing my fingers to trace around my neck and wondered what it was. Was that the reason I felt so confused and foggy?

The bed was soft and along with the gentle colours of the room, it created a relaxing feel, yet I was not feeling very relaxed. I could not shake the image of the shadowy figure, pulling the trigger and the pain shooting through my body.
Closing my eyes, I tried hard to recall. Who shot me in my dream, if it really was a dream? I had been shot and now suffered with some form of amnesia, making me feel confused and lost. I could feel myself getting irritated by this weird feeling and wanted it to go away, and carry on with my day.
Hanging from the wall was a large picture, bright colours swirled around, mixed with gentle yellow and red patterns dancing around the canvas like two dancers moving across the floor. It reminded of a sunset, waiting for the darkness to come. The large yellow shading of the sun disappeared off the horizon, into a reddish haze.

I immediately stood up and walked over toward the picture. Something was coming back to me, something to do with the sun. I could feel the memories trying to break through, trying to tell me the answer, but the reply was too blurry. This picture held the key and all I could do was stare at it, wide eyed, willing the image to tell me the answer.
Something about this room seemed strange. I could not put my finger on it, but it looked sterile, almost clinical, everything laid out so perfectly. I desperately wanted to know what I had been dreaming about and wondered if going back to sleep would help.

Slipping under the covers, I closed my eyes and tried to picture the small figure, visualising the shot from the weapon he held. In an instant I was back in my dream, reliving those terrible moments.

Those words came back to me, 'Oh yes! You are irrelevant and it ends now.' There I was cowering in the corner, realising there was nothing anyone could do. Because in a flash, the small figure in my dream raised his weapon and fired.

The dream world had taken over and tucked up under the covers, my eyes flickered, and my body wriggled around in distress. It took seconds for the discharge to smack into my chest. It was a horrible thing to dream about, imagining your own death.
Yet, it was so real, feeling the shot hit me hard, the powerful blast knocking the wind out of me, but I was not bleeding. Instead, I could feel the surge of electricity travelling around my body and the pain was unlike anything I had ever felt before. It was difficult to describe, but I imagined this is what it felt like to die.

In a matter of seconds, every joint, every muscle, received a surge of electricity and stopped working. There I was, collapsing on to the floor, terrified. Even though I was imagining these things, it created sensations that were vivid, like they were happening right now and I allowed myself to remain dreaming, because I needed to understand what had happened to me, if indeed this had happened at all. It could just be a horrible nightmare.

The dream world continued and by now I was twisting and turning around on the bed, the covers thrown on to the floor. The last thing I remembered was crying. A single tear fell down the side of my cheek because I did not want to die.
The images were creeping out slowly, like a mist gently rising from the hillside. Then I saw her. At the centre of my dreams was a woman. Pale, tall and slender. She had long blond hair and a face that was obscured. I really wanted to see her face and no matter how hard I tried, it stayed hidden.

When I finally woke up, sweat again glistened my forehead, my body was damp with perspiration. I glanced toward the clock and noticed the time was now 10.13am. Waking up this time, felt different, because I was certain, that this had not been just a dream, it had been real. It did not make sense. Clearly, I was not dead, but in the dream, I knew I had been shot, and it felt like I had died.
With my eyes closed, I thought hard. It was frustrating, and in my annoyance, I leapt off the bed and paced around the room. I had to get out of here and headed down the small hallway, toward the large door, leading off a narrow hallway.
Just before I reached out for the handle, there was a quiet knock which made me jump. The gentle tap-tap continued, delicately striking the wooden door. Who would be knocking on my door?
My question was immediately answered, because the door creaked opened and I was shocked. Standing in the threshold was the blond woman, tall, slender and with piecing blue eyes. It was the woman from my dreams.
'Darcy. How are you feeling?'