Chapter 22 – Dangerous Dreams
Mason moved slowly to the open window, gazing below at the thronging crowds. There were hundreds of thousands of people, all bowing before him with their heads cowered in fear. He could feel the terror running rampant through them, like the pre-tremors of a monstrous earthquake. He stared at his hands in bewilderment. They were engulfed in burning flames. And yet his flesh did not burn. He moved his fingers, sending flickers of red flame spitting toward the window. His mouth curved into sickening smile, his eyes flitting with glee. Now he would show them. Now they would fear his name as they had once, so long ago. He would torment them with the destruction of all they held dear. He would be all they could remember, the last horror they would ever experience. He caught a glimpse of himself reflected in the window glass. With that, he screamed in shear terror and panic. His face…. It was rotted away like a corpse. His eyes hung limp and lolling in their sockets. His flesh was sunken and grey, like dead brain matter. His whole body was twisted and gnarled in fear and agony. He moved a hand to touch his face, and gasped as he saw it with his own eyes. Nothing but bones and tattered flesh. And suddenly, a flash of silver! His lungs ached. The pain burst through his chest like a line of firecrackers, liquid fire ensuing. He watched as blood spurt from the hole torn through his heart…
Edmond Mason awoke gasping for breath. Sweat raced down his body, beading like tiny ice cubes. He panted, holding a hand to his forehead. He touched his skin, feeling for the tatters of flesh he had seen so vividly in his nightmare. He let his head drop, attempting to slow his breathing. He nearly leapt out of bed, flinging his blankets everywhere. He paced fiercely, back and forth across the floor of his room in the temple. He could hear solitary monks gathered outside in the gardens below, speaking in hushed tones. The scent of burning incense brought him back. He stopped pacing, grasping his head with both hands. He walked over to a grand mirror that stood from ceiling to floor on the other side of his room. He took a good, long, hard look at himself. No rotting flesh, no exposed bone, no sunken eyes dead in their sockets. He breathed deeply, calming himself. He ran a hand across his jet-black hair, smoothing it as he went. He nearly laughed at himself.
"Jesus Edmond. You'd think you'd never had a nightmare before," he said aloud to himself. He shook his head in disgust, pulling at the dark rings forming underneath his silver eyes. "I mean, what the hell is wrong with you? You're not one to suffer from night terrors or delusions." He propped his arms on his hips, his huge frame outlined in the moonlight. He sneered at his reflection, angered at his childish behavior. He huffed in frustration, walking stiffly back to his bed. He sat on the edge, holding his pounding head in his hands. He couldn't remember the last time he had had a bad dream. He could never really remember that much about his childhood and teen years. Both his mother and his father had died when he was only five years old. He had been sent to Westminster Academy for Boys as per the instructions in his parents' will. Their entire estate had come into his possession when he had turned 18, but he had already made a name for himself by that time. Ever the entrepreneur, he had earned hundreds of thousands of dollars through small-time student operations. On top of that, he had earned the respect of the higher-ups in the business community for his visionary genius in business affairs. At his age, he was considered a monetary prodigy. So naturally, there had never been any time for bad dreams and such. That was child's play. And Mason couldn't ever really remember a time when he had been a child. His past was obscure and cloudy, even for him. But he had come to accept it over the many years. He was a success in his own eyes, and that's all that mattered. That's really all that could matter. He had never dated, and had certainly never married. That had never kept him from enjoying women when he wanted to, but he was never one for commitment. And that went double for friends. When you were on top of the world like he was, friends were just a commodity you could not afford.
He gazed at his shadow on the stone floor beneath him. The air danced across his cheek, cool and calming. He lay back against the blankets and pillows. It wasn't that he couldn't handle a bad dream. He was a grown man, and a steeled one at that. It was the dream itself. For some reason, he felt as though he had dreamed it before. Long, long ago. He couldn't put a finger on it… but the dream itself felt more like a memory. But that made no sense, and he thought better of trying to figure it out. All he knew was that he had never had a dream so vivid, or so frightening. He could remember the way his rotted flesh felt against his bone fingers. And yet, the worst of it was the aching numbness. The cold. The terrible emptiness of it all. It was like being dead and alive at the same time. A slight shiver ran down Mason's spin, and he thrashed about in his bed, trying to get comfortable again. He tried to force himself to turn his walls back on. Those layers and layers of metallic blocks he had built over the years to protect himself from emotion. From being pulled into his own humanity. He had a job to do. More than that, he had a destiny to fulfill. He wouldn't stop until he had what he wanted. Once the tables had turned in his favor once more, he would make them pay. Yes…. He would finally make them all pay. Pay for nothing more than being humans. Incapable of anything greater than their own ideas of conquest and victory. They would never taste true power… his power.
Mason finally found a comfortable spot. He smiled that revolting smile of his as he closed his eyes. He splayed himself out, indulging in the pleasures of his own sinister thoughts. He would have his treasure, and then he would have his power. And there was nothing anyone… not even Lara Croft… could do to stop him. He drifted to sleep with those terrible thoughts floating through his mind, making for much more dangerous dreams.