The Dream Machine: Book 6, The Eddie McCloskey Paranormal Mystery Series (The Unearthed) by Evan Ronan Read Free Book Online

extended a hairy, pudgy hand and groaned at the effort of it. “I’m in charge of the clinical research here.”
    “Nice to meet you.” It was hard not noticing all the Ivy League diplomas on display. “Manetti has given me the high-level, but she said you’d bring me up to speed. How do you study people’s dreams?”
    He frowned. “Things have accelerated. We don’t have time for that.” He looked at Manetti. “This just came through from Alison.”
    He swiveled his computer monitor so we could see what was on the screen. A frozen video image, black-and-white, of a bedroom. Somebody was in the bed, though from the graininess of the image I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, or if the person was asleep. Studying the picture more, it had a weird quality to it. Some areas of the image were blank or blurred out, and a few of the items in the bedroom, like the lamp, looked…cartoonish…like someone had taken this image and later added cheap special effects to it.
    Manetti tensed. “Where is this?”
    “We don’t know.” Zane clicked a button and the video started. “That’s why we need your help.”
    The bedspread rose and fell as the person took their shallow breaths. Nothing happened for a moment, then a dark figure stepped into the room, his back to the camera. Slowly, silently, he crept to the side of the bed and stood for a moment. His face was blurred. He was tall and lean, and once he took his pants off, visibly erect.
    “What the hell is this…” I said.
    But deep down, I already knew what was about to happen.
    The man pulled the bedspread off the woman. She barely stirred. She wore a short night gown that had ridden up to her hips. The man started to touch himself.
    “Manetti, what the hell are we watching?” I asked.
    She didn’t answer, her eyes riveted to the screen.
    The man got himself even more excited. But he must have made some noise, because the woman began to stir. When her eyes popped open, she opened her mouth and screamed but there was no sound. The man jumped on top of her.
    I got up and looked away. I didn’t want to see anything else on that video.
    Manetti and Zane watched for another minute, till Manetti said, “Okay, it’s over.”
    I turned around, keeping my eyes off the monitor. “What the hell is going on here?”
    “What you just saw on that video?” Manetti looked at me. “That might happen. It’s up to us to stop it.”
    “I want my gun back.”

Eleven
     
    I forced myself to watch the video. After seeing it half a dozen times, I wanted to throw up, take a shower, burn my clothes, and jump into the nearest non-descript black sedan and order the driver to take me back to Philly, back to Sumiko. Ghost-hunting had gotten boring of late, but boring was better than this.
    But I knew Manetti and her team were stretched way too thin if they’d felt the need to call on Average Joe me. They needed help. The woman on that—whatever we’d just watched—needed help. So I put on my proverbial big boy pants, took a deep breath, and faced Dr. Zane.
    “How do you know this is going to happen?”
    “Because Alison dreamed it,” he said.
    “Who’s Alison?”
    He looked at Manetti. She gave him the nod.
    “She’s the teenaged girl that we think can see into the future in her dreams.”
    I let that sink in. Manetti had told me as much over the phone, but a few hours ago it had seemed like a hypothetical. Now I had an ugly reality staring me in the face.
    “What has she seen?”
    It was Manetti’s turn to answer. “Mostly storms, naturally-occurring phenomenon. Up until two weeks ago, she hadn’t dreamed anything else. Then the shootout happened.”
    “Then this other thing, which you’re already investigating. And now this.” I bobbed my head at the monitor. “The rape.”
    “Yes.” Manetti turned to White. “We need to go to work on this.”
    The doctor stifled a yawn with a closed fist. “Okay. I’m going to round.” He checked his watch.