Episode 7: Tangled hearts and Dusts

The late November rain battered Crestwood, a relentless drum against the windows of The Dandelion Pour as Anne flipped the "Closed" sign and dimmed the lights. The bar was empty, the last regular having stumbled out an hour ago, leaving her alone with the hum of the fridge and the weight of another sleepless night. Deon's latest call from Mumbai had been brief—his voice strained, the connection faltering—ending with a rushed "Love you" that echoed in her skull. Four weeks into his six-month tour, and the distance felt like a chasm, widening with every day Gary spent at her side.He stood by the jukebox now, feeding it quarters, his jacket slung over a stool, his presence a steady pulse in the quiet. "Good pick tonight," he said, as a slow, husky tune filled the space. "You've got a knack for mood."Anne managed a smile, wiping the counter one last time. "Thanks. Keeps the place alive."Gary crossed to her, his hazel eyes catching the faint glow of the string lights. "You're what keeps it alive, Anne. Don't sell yourself short."Her breath hitched, his closeness stirring that familiar flutter—comfort, temptation, a balm against the ache of Deon's absence. He'd been her shadow these weeks, dropping by with coffee, helping with chairs, weaving her into his plans with an ease that felt natural. Tonight, his gaze held something more—hunger, maybe, or a promise—and she didn't pull away when he brushed a strand of hair from her face."You okay?" he asked, his voice low, his fingers lingering on her cheek."Not really," she admitted, the words slipping out before she could stop them. "It's… hard, with Deon gone."Gary nodded, stepping closer, his hand sliding to her shoulder. "I get it. He's out there chasing glory, and you're here, holding everything down. You don't have to do it alone, you know."Her chest tightened, torn between loyalty and the warmth of his touch. "Gary…""Let me be here for you," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, soft but insistent. "Just tonight."Reason frayed, drowned by the rain and the song and the void Deon had left. She turned into him, her hands finding his chest, and kissed him—hesitant at first, then deeper, a surrender to the need she'd buried. He responded with a hunger that matched hers, his arms pulling her tight, and the bar faded as they stumbled toward the back room—a cramped office with a couch she'd slept on during late nights.Clothes shed in a tangle, the rain a curtain beyond the window, their breaths mingled in the dark. It was fast, urgent—his hands rough but careful, her fingers digging into his shoulders, a release of tension she hadn't named. When it was over, they lay tangled on the couch, the jukebox silent, the rain a steady heartbeat outside. Anne's mind spun—guilt crashing against the fleeting comfort of his warmth—but Gary's arm around her felt solid, a lifeline she clung to in the storm."Stay with me," she whispered, the words raw, impulsive. "For a while."He kissed her forehead, his grin soft in the dim light. "Thought you'd never ask."By morning, Gary had moved in—a duffel bag of clothes, a toothbrush by the sink, his flyers stacked on her kitchen table. Anne told herself it was temporary—a week, maybe two—until she sorted her head, but his presence settled into her apartment like ink into paper. He cooked breakfast—scrambled eggs and toast, humming as he worked—helped at the bar, and slept beside her, his warmth a constant against the cold nights. She didn't call it love, not yet, but it was something—companionship, distraction, a shield against the ache of Deon's silence.Two days in, Gary found the video. Anne was at the bar, handling a lunch rush, when he rummaged through her desk for a pen. A small camcorder sat tucked in a drawer, its battery low but alive, and curiosity—his sharpest edge—drove him to press play. The screen flickered to life: the Star Catcher Festival, lanterns glowing in a field of dandelions, Anne and Deon framed against the night. Her voice trembled through the tiny speaker: "I won't forget you. I couldn't, even if I tried. You're part of me." Deon's reply followed, soft and fervent: "Good. That's all I need."Gary paused it, replaying her words, his brow furrowing. "Part of me," she'd said—not a lover's promise, but something deeper, stranger. He knew Deon was her boyfriend, the journalist off chasing fame, but this felt off—too raw, too tethered. He set the camcorder down, eyes narrowing, and kept it to himself, a puzzle piece he'd hold until it fit.That night, as Anne slept beside him, Gary slipped out of bed, restless. The apartment was a map of her life—bookshelves crammed with novels, bar receipts pinned to a corkboard, Deon's notebooks scattered like relics. In the kitchen, he brewed coffee, the rain a steady drone, and spotted a small wooden box on the counter—its lid ajar, a faint shimmer inside. He lifted it, peering at the black powder within, its texture gritty and cool, flecked with glints like crushed stars. It smelled of earth and sweetness, a scent that tugged at something primal."What the hell…" he muttered, tipping a pinch into his palm. It was the last of Madame Lazare's dream dust—Anne had kept it, a memento of Deon's return, though she'd never used it again. Gary, unaware of its origin, felt its pull—mysterious, alive. He'd always chased the edge—politics, power, people—and this was something new, a riddle begging to be solved.He glanced at Anne's sleeping form through the bedroom door, then back at the powder. Acting on instinct, he slipped it under his tongue, the bitter sharpness dissolving fast, a tingling warmth spreading through him. He stumbled to the couch, eyes fluttering shut, and the world tilted into darkness.He woke—or thought he woke—in a forest of towering pines, their needles soft underfoot, the air thick with mist. The dream world unfurled around him, vivid and strange—colors too bright, shadows too deep, a hum beneath it all like a living pulse. A figure emerged from the fog, small and familiar: a boy with brown hair and sky-blue eyes, gap-toothed and grinning. Deon—but not the Deon he'd met, not the man Anne loved. This was younger, softer, a child's echo."Who're you?" the boy asked, tilting his head."Gary," he said, his voice echoing oddly. "You're Deon?""Yeah," the boy replied, stepping closer. "You're not supposed to be here. This is Anne's place."Gary's mind raced, piecing it together—the video, the powder, this impossible child. "Anne's place? What are you?"Deon's grin faded, his eyes sharpening. "Hers. Always hers. She made me—kept me. You don't belong."The forest shuddered, shadows lengthening, and Gary felt a pull—something hungry clawing at the edges. He jolted awake, gasping, the apartment snapping back into focus. The coffee pot hissed, the rain pounded, and the powder box sat empty on the counter—he'd used the last of it. His heart thudded, sweat beading on his brow, as the truth sank in: Deon wasn't just a man. He was something conjured, tied to Anne by a magic Gary couldn't grasp.The next morning, Anne stirred beside him, oblivious, her hair splayed across the pillow. Gary watched her, his grin masking the wheels turning in his head. "Morning," he said, kissing her cheek, his voice warm but calculated."Morning," she murmured, stretching. "Sleep okay?""Like a dream," he lied, his hand brushing her arm—a possessive touch she didn't notice. He'd seen Deon's origin, felt the dream world's edge, and now he held a secret that could shift everything. Anne was falling for him—her smiles, her trust—and this knowledge was leverage, a card to play when the time was right."Got a rally today," he said, sliding out of bed. "Mind if I leave some flyers at the bar?""Sure," she said, sitting up, her voice soft with something like affection. "Need help?""Nah, you rest," he replied, his grin widening. "You're doing enough."She smiled back, caught in his orbit, and didn't see the shift in his eyes—curiosity hardening into intent. He'd moved in, claimed a space in her life, and now he knew what Deon was—a dream made real, a rival he could outmaneuver. The powder was gone, its last grains spent, but its echo lingered in him, a taste of power he wouldn't forget.As Anne showered, Gary pocketed the camcorder, the video a silent witness to his discovery. The rain eased outside, leaving a damp, restless quiet, and he stepped into the day with a plan forming—Anne was his now, or soon would be, and Deon's magic wouldn't change that.