Dreamscape
Vicki Nelson walked along a Lake Ontario beach near the park where she was found unconscious. Except it looked centuries earlier. She'd seen pictures of Toronto in the 1800s. There were similarities. Somehow she knew it was after the Lake became accessible from the Atlantic. An old sailing ship appeared off the coast. The Parnassus, except she had no idea how she knew it's name or that it was somehow connected to Apollo.
"Why am I here?"
A voice whispered on the wind. "You woke me."
Vicki didn't understand. That seemed to be a continual part of her life. She suspected she attracted another supernatural being. Without Coreen's research or Henry's knowledge, she couldn't begin to guess what kind. Or why.
"What do you want?"
"A way home." The wind swirled around her.
Only then did she look down at what she was wearing. The white dress with gold embroidery reminded her of Greek mythology and Elena with the ability to turn men to stone. Not a good memory. She hoped she never had to behead someone again.
"I will not harm you, Victoria."
Reading her thoughts was the least of it, she realized. In order to create and control her dream, he was manipulating her mind. Not a comforting thought.
The dream suddenly changed. Storm clouds rolled in overhead. A burst of lightning struck the ship. Screams gave her chills as the ship sank beneath the waves. A light surfaced from the choppy sea and glided over the water toward Etobicoke Creek.
"Are you a ghost?" Vicki had dealt with a few of the recently deceased. Paul had limited ability to interact with the living. Whereas Magnus killed people. A couple hundred year old ghost would probably be more dangerous.
"Far from it. I cannot die."
Resigned, Vicki asked, "What's needed for you to get home?"
"A conduit of contradictions. You are a good woman marked by evil. Used dark magic solely to protect others. With the potential for great power yet have no interest in it." The angel she vaguely remembered stood on the waves just beyond the beach. "You cannot exist."
Henry's Apartment
Henry Fitzroy returned feeling relaxed. A club full of beautiful hedonists helped as much as feeding. He needed to go out and indulge more often. Especially with the pretty brunette offering inspiration for a new character for his next graphic novel. Or a painting. He hadn't worked with traditional oils in a long time.
A thump distracted him. Focusing on the noise, he realized it came from the bedroom. Vicki's heart rate was way too elevated while her respiration said she was sleeping.
He hurried toward his bedroom as the thumping increased. She was having a nightmare. When he opened the door, the room felt charged. Something influenced her dream. With no idea what, the best idea was to wake her before it caused cardiac arrest.
"Vicki." Henry climbed on the side of the bed. It had no affect. He shook her arm. "Vicki." She seemed to stir for a moment. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not. Her heart rate increased again. Unsure what to do, he grabbed her wrist brace. He doubted she took a full dose of her pain medication.
Startled, she opened her eyes. From her expression, she had no idea where she was.
"You're safe."
"I can't exist."
Several minutes passed before the disorientation faded and her heart beat returned to normal. Henry propped Vicki up on pillows while waiting for her to fully surface.
"What happened?" She asked weakly, cradling her injured arm.
"I woke you from a nightmare." He waited a moment. "Do you remember any of it?"
Vicki's eyes lost focus as she remembered something. "The angel. He wants something." She shook her head. "Why can't I remember?"
"I don't know." Henry couldn't recall hearing an angel story that involved potentially fatal nightmares and memory loss. Having lived in five centuries, that said a lot.
Vicki's phone rang on the nightstand. She reached for it, grimacing as she moved. Seeing the screen, she hesitated before answering. "Hey."
"Where are you?" Mike sounded concerned.
"I thought you had to stay away from me."
"The break-in at your office is connected to a new case." Pause. "The damage to your apartment is worse."
Vicki switched her phone to speaker. "I'm with Henry." Reluctantly, she admitted, "I can't meet you there." She explained her injuries without mentioning the nightmare.
"I have official questions. Do you need anything?"
"Will you pack a few things?" She looked like she realized something. "And bring dinner."
Mike Celluci sat in his car checking messages. He needed to meet with the pathologist. She had something on the woman pulled from the Creek. A psychologist was called in to review the stalker collage. Internal Affairs wanted to talk to him about the break-ins. There was no evidence the woman broke anything to free herself from the house, supporting her abductor let her leave.
What did any of it accomplish? Unless the offender somehow anticipated he would get the case, a different result was expected. It might have taken longer for someone to realize the victim resembled Vicki. Possibly when a detective has pictures of the victim and the collage together. The hospitalization and break-ins might not have been connected until after a time line was constructed.
Mike climbed out of the car with an uneasy feeling. It increased as he entered the building and took the elevator. Vicki was found unconscious south of the victim on the same side of the Creek. The targeted hacking might be an extension of the stalking. Except the different types of attacks indicated different motivations. They might not be directly linked. Or they might not be connected at all. The supernatural cases she investigated attracted the wrong kind of attention.
Henry opened the door as Mike reached out to knock. They eyed each other. He still wasn't sure how to process the existence of vampires. Trusting Vicki's safety to a monster didn't make it easier.
"Do the police have anything on why Vicki was in the park?" Henry asked quietly, closing the door behind Mike.
"No."
"The attack is still happening." Henry explained the nightmare. "Ending it requires more information."
Killer angels. Mike didn't know how to deal with that. "There's a potential serial killer targeting her."
The bed creaked and footsteps followed. Vicki opened the bedroom door looking annoyed. "What?" She looked and sounded weak, pained and annoyed.
Some things didn't change. Mike held up the take-out bags. "I brought Chinese."
"And clothes?" She looked at her duffel bag.
Ideally, that was a safer topic. "Liselle. The crime scene tech. Made sure nothing was done to your clothes. As much as possible. The searchers focused on papers."
Vicki paled. Former detective, private investigator, it didn't matter when it came to having personal space violated. She understood it better than a civilian. Asking about pictures required explaining the stalker shrine. The implications were a lot worse than two B&Es. Mike wished he could spare her the details. But her experience offered unique perspective.
"Crowley didn't change her mind because someone tossed my apartment."
"You need to sit down."