Alex Reagan didn't sleep much anymore. Her tired eyes simply refused to shut, and her mind loath to be silent, and screamed at her of a sound that could kill you, ouija boards, and demons you could summon merely by thinking their name.
No, Alex Reagan didn't sleep much anymore, but when she did, the strangest things happened. Everything she has seen while studying the Black Tapes bled into her dreams in one big, dark, soupy subconscious mess.
She dreamed of teenage girls with upside down faces, of insane psychics giggling cryptic messages into a phone receiver. She dreamed of a terrifyingly tall humanoid shadow with fingers as long as her arm, accompanied by little Sebastian Torres, staring up at his 'friend.' She dreamed of music meant to end the world, a devil's bible with Satan grinning back at her. She saw Maddie hanging from that ceiling fan, lips blue, covered in flies, while Coralee Strand's lilting voice echoed throughout Alex's mind, talking about honeybees.
Oddest of all the night visions, she dreamed of the good Dr. Strand himself, his lips touching to hers, the calloused pads of his thumbs skimming her cheekbones and trailing into her hair, the press of his body and the sound of his voice.
Somehow, that one was more...startling? upsetting? than the others.
Whatever the dream world brought her, Alex always awoke gasping for air, sometimes stifling her own cries, lest some unfortunate soul with good intentions heard her. The dreams almost made her grateful for her worsening insomnia...until the sun peeked through her blinds, and heaviness infused her veins.
Richard Strand didn't sleep much anymore either. When he did, though, he dreamed of a dead body in a river, Coralee storming up the highway, Charlie's tear-filled glare. He dreamed of sacred geometry, shadows, his father's predatory/disappointed gaze. He dreamed of a young girl thrashing and screaming as four burly men held her down, Edward Lewis' taunts, and conspiracies he feared he was far too deep in.
And then there was Alex. Always Alex. Whatever she was doing in his dreams always varied. Sometimes she was the body in the river. Sometimes she was standing next to him as he investigated something, asking questions that were quickly cut off as something unholy snatched her away. Sometimes he couldn't see her, but he could hear her, screaming for him. Sometimes she replaced various victims of the Black Tapes, mangled, shredded, hung.
Most curious of all, sometimes she was far closer to him than normal, her fingers gripping desperately at his collar, his own hands tangled in her hair.
That one...he didn't quite know how he felt about that one.
He hated not knowing things.
And so, he would remain wide awake after all these dreams, puzzling through what they all might mean, desperate to find answers, and latching on to the simplest ones he could fathom. Some might have said he was in denial, but he had long since ceased to consider such a thing.
Dr. Richard Strand and Alex Reagan didn't sleep much anymore. And who could blame them, with all the things they'd seen?
Little did they know that it was all just the beginning.
And so ends my first Black Tapes fic!
Review and let me know what you think!