The Dream Tide
©2010 Scott A. Schlefstein
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be reproduced in any
form, by
photocopying or by any electronic or mechanical means,
including information storage or retrieval systems, without
permission in writing from both the copyright owner and the
publisher of this book, except for the minimum words needed
for review.
The Dream Tide is a work of fiction.
Any similarities to real places, events, or
persons living or dead is
coincidental or used fictitiously and not to be construed as real.
ISBN: 978-1-935188-11-7
Library of Congress Control Number: 2010921587
A Star Publish LLC Publication
Published in 2010
Printed in the United States of America
One
Nate Abbot leaned hard into the surprise curve,
but snow glistened
on the dark road and the front tire refused to obey his will. He was
thrown at high speed, having no time to brace for impact, and
flew toward the trees with a scream of angry frustration. Stars
scattered when he landed with a hard thunk to his
helmet and his
mind swirled. A moment later, he slid just as helplessly into the
pitch blackness of unconsciousness.
Light breached the bunkhouse from cracks under
the doorway. A
triangle of summer sun pierced the gray hue in the room through
a window and sounds from outside seemed so far away. Nate Abbot
was somewhere else now. He studied the girl lying next to him on
the bunk bed and wondered if she was real. Could it be her? It’d been
so long.
“I will always love you,” Libby said. “I will
always wait for you
Nate.”
He quietly wept at the sight of her. She traced
a design around
his cheek with her delicate finger and caught a streaming tear.
Libby’s pajamas were the same as he
remembered—faded pink
top and bottoms with white flowers speckled in a random pattern.
“What’s wrong?” Libby asked, her lower lip
pouting. She
lovingly admired his wavy brown hair and hazel-green eyes.
10
SCOTT A. SCHLEFSTEIN
I…dead?”
Libby giggled and touched his face with her
delicate hand. She
brushed his hair back a few times.
“No silly. You’re not dead,” she said and
smiled. “I want to
show you something. Things are going to change for you. Do you
remember this place?”
Libby’s gaze strayed from him, and she searched
the ceiling.
Nate sat up on the bed and looked around.
“It’s too painful. I don’t want to remember. Why
am I here? Is
this a dream?”
Libby stopped him by holding her hand to his
mouth. Her
painted fingernails reflected the room light and he noticed the tiny
gold ring on her finger.
“My dad asked about you,” she said. “He’s here
and he wanted
me to tell you that he understands now.”
“Your dad? Understands what? He’s here?”
“It’s complicated my love. Some things are going
to happen.
Things I can’t explain now. These things have
everything, and
nothing to do with my father. Mom and my baby brother are lost.”
Libby’s gaze focused on him again.
“What about you?” Nate asked with a sigh.
She kissed his cheek and touched his arm.
“None of that matters now. We don’t have a lot
of time,” she
said.
“You’re special, and not just because you dream.”
“Why then?” he asked.
Libby giggled as if she knew a secret.
“Oh Nate, it goes way beyond dreaming.” Her
voice became a
whisper. “Come on. Let’s go to our spot.”
Instantly, they were sitting under their giant
redwood tree at
the trailhead. The bark was old and shredded by years of engravings
from pocket knives. Old green picnic benches with splinters along
the tables sat under the shade of the tree. Wood grains raised with
age emerged along the bench surfaces, and pine needles collected
in the cracks between the boards.
11
THE DREAM TIDE
like a school girl about to open a text book in class. She gazed at
him softly. Her sky blue eyes beamed with tenderness, and her
straight blond hair was just as he remembered.
“I love it here,” she said. “Remember when we
would come to
this spot and talk about being together forever? Those summer
afternoons…when I could get you to meet me that is.” She laughed
quietly to herself.
Nate sat down. “Libby?”
She cut him off, “The other night, when that guy
came into
the bunk house with his guitar and played that song. Do you
remember?”
“The guy with the cowboy hat? Yeah, what about him?” Nate
flexed his fingers against an odd pain growing there. That’s strange,
he thought. My hands are
red and they feel cold.
“Do you remember what he played?” Libby quizzed.
“It was a long time ago.”
She shifted her weight on the table and crossed
her leg. She
lifted her gaze to the redwood.
“Don’t you love that old tree? It’s very old,”
she pondered
aloud.
“I bet that tree was around way back when he was traveling
those deserts in his wagon. It started out as a little twig in the
ground and look how it grew. The world changed while that tree
came up from the dirt. It was only a blink in time, really. Thick and
tall,
it has the scars and wisdom of many seasons rooted within. It
takes the wind and doesn’t cry when we carve in it. His bark is too
strong for that,” she said.
“What are you talking about Libby?”
She smiled at him, “Jaquith the traveler. The
guy from the song,”
she stated flatly. “From eighteen fifty-two—Jaquith the traveler;
from eighteen fifty two,” she sang.
“The song the cowboy played on his guitar that
night? In the
bunk house?”
Libby leaned toward him. “Well, who else am I
talking about?
You must remember. Things happen for a reason
and things are
12
SCOTT A. SCHLEFSTEIN
going to change for you, Nate.”
“You said that before. What do you mean? What
kind of
changes? It was just some stupid song a guy played for us kids.”
Nate felt another twinge of pain in his hands
and the snap of a
headache. “My hands hurt.”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s almost time to go. Libby
playfully kicked
her legs over the edge of the table and stared at Nate. “When you
think you’re on the wrong road, remember it.”
She gazed at him intently. A breeze swirled some
pine needles
into the air. Nate blocked them from his eyes. The gust chilled him
to the bone even within the dream.
“It’s getting cold out here,” he said,
shivering.
Libby stood up.
“Come with me. I want to show you something,”
she said. The
noise of the wind found Nate’s ears. The park faded away in a blur,
and Nate found himself standing on a cliff with Libby. All around
them stood burned black pine trunks, leaning in agony. There had
been a fire there once. Libby’s hair drifted around her in a beautiful
floating motion and she pointed out at the angry sea beyond. Below
were white caps in a vast ocean. The ribbon of coastline was barren
and riddled with brown rocks. There were no sea birds or sand. A
cold spray of salty foam from the crashing waves carried in the
wind to his mouth. He tasted and smelled the dry salt on his lips.
He heard the water roaring and smashing into the
shore.
Libby smiled at him before disappearing into a
twister of air
and blur. Nate reached out, but could only fall backward.
“Libby!” he shouted.
Nate heard a man’s voice under the howling wind.
He searched
for the voice, but the wind was carrying him back too fast. The
man screamed again and at the last second, Nate saw a figure
running on the cliff among the dead trees.
Cold water mist burned Nate’s face and hands as
he winced.
“Take me out of here!”
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