Legacy of a Dreamer Read Free Page B

she carried that anxiety with her even when she’d been taken away from the situation. Nighttime had always been the worst.
    In time, she’d found a way to cope and had made up an imaginary friend to talk to, creating a world in her mind that offered an escape, if only briefly. Her best friend was a werewolf that would stand above her bed at night, serving as a sentinel protector. He was terrifying, but he didn’t scare Chantal. His fearsome looks were only there to ward off her enemies, so she wasn’t afraid.
    When the lady had come to take her from her home, Chantal left her wolf behind. He watched her from her bedroom window as she was led to the police car, a heartbroken expression on his face. She didn’t know why she was taken away or why he couldn’t come, but she felt his absence through the countless homes she’d stayed in afterward.
    Once Chantal had landed in Regina’s hovel, her apprehension overwhelmed her. Being in a new place added another level to her fear, one she couldn’t escape from, and the doctors had diagnosed her with an anxiety disorder. They’d loaded her with medications that made her seem half asleep, and she’d hated the way they made her feel, but Regina made her take the pills anyway, shoving them down her throat and keeping her almost comatose at times. It wasn’t until she was older that Chantal learned to pocket her pills, keeping them hidden in a small tin in which she kept her rosary.
    The anxiety had been hard to take at first. She’d find herself lying in her bed at night, her position eerily familiar to the one she’d held before her wolf’s protection had allowed her some peace. At night, the creaks of the settling house had startled her, keeping her on a knife’s edge. She’d watch the ominous shadows around her with wide eyes, waiting for one of them to move, to come after her.
    One shadow in particular drew her attention night after night. Formed in the shape of a tall man, he leaned against her designated dresser, relaxing in polite conversation with someone unseen. Chantal had studied the shadow from her bed, expecting the morbidly realistic image to move, but it didn’t.
    After a thorough investigation, she’d discovered that the silhouette was formed by the moonlight falling across different objects and knowing its origins had made her feel a little better.
    When she’d turned fifteen, the nightmares started. At first, they’d been mild, but as the days passed, they became more macabre and she’d awaken terrified, her body covered in sweat. The images in her dreams were so violent, so vivid, that the terror would haunt her throughout the day. She hadn’t been able to talk to Regina about her dreams. She’d probably send Chantal back to the doctors. Then they’d find out she hadn’t been taking her pills and they’d send her to a hospital for psychotics. Instead, she’d lay still in her bed, terrified to sleep, trying to keep the screams muffled into her pillow, alone in her panic.
    After a particularly bad nightmare, she’d awoken with tears streaming down her face. The images she’d seen were made from the stuff of horror films. Dead bodies scattered throughout the streets, mouths gaping in sheer pain, blank eyes staring at her as their final moments slipped away.
    She’d cried silent tears in the dark for the misery she’d seen, staring up at the ceiling, silently praying that God would rescue her from her nightmares. Then she’d find her shadow perched in its familiar place, seeming to watch her with interest in his lackadaisical position.
    What are you looking at? You have horrible dreams and see if you don’t cry, she’d thought to herself, glaring at the shadow.
    He wouldn’t move, his silhouette seeming to gaze at her without judgment. He would just stand there for several moments, and she felt a little odd that she experienced a modicum of peace by talking to the shadow. Then she’d turn on her side, a thousand thoughts running through