Dreamwalker
by Lar
Email: obsessed@obsessedmuch.net
Rating: R
Ship: Lindsey
Spoilers: Darla arc, S3
Notes: unbeta'd bunny that hopped in my head and hung around nagging me until I got it down. Sorry for inflicting it on you.
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Lindsey's dreams have been disturbingly vivid the last three weeks. Always Darla, Darla in red, but there's something wrong with her. She's calling him, beckoning, demanding. He wakes up sometimes with his hand on the front door, keys to the truck in his pocket, wondering when the hell he got dressed.
It's beyond amusing now. The first few times he told himself it was just his brainwaves reacting to the lack of daily terror. They're feeling ignored so they create a little scenario when he falls asleep, when he loses control of the reigns, and they give him a good dose of a "what the fuck" adrenaline rush when he wakes up with his heart pounding, his sheets drenched in sweat, his belly sticky with other fluids. Shakes it all off in the shower, crawls back into the newly changed bedding, falls back into a sleep that is decidedly lighter every time.
Right, way past amusement and annoyance now. Because this time he's in the truck and driving when he wakes. Pulls over abruptly, swearing as the truck's rear end fishtails on the deserted highway, tires slipping in the sand at the side of the road before settling to a stop. His heart is thudding so hard in his chest that for a minute he can't breathe, sees black and red spots gathering on the edges of his vision and has to make himself relax. Puts his head back against the seat, hands on his thighs as he stares at the roof of the truck and consciously breathes in. And out. Again and again until he thinks he might not have that heart attack after all.
Looking at the highway gives him no clue to his location. The odometer is useless but the gas tank is nearly full. And last night when he pulled up at home it had been almost on E. Thinking about filling up the tank, paying the clerk, and driving off again, all in his zombie-state, gives him the urge to lean out of the truck and vomit, but he fights it. He speaks aloud without even realizing he's doing it.
"What the hell are you doing to me?"
Waits a few seconds like he expects her to answer and then starts the truck up, engine complaining as he pulls onto the road and heads back towards what he assumes will be home. A few miles down the road he spies the interstate marker and pulls off again. Knows this road well, because it's the one that took him from LA, and how long exactly has he been driving?
For a minute he actually gives serious thought to getting out, walking about 50 yards into the sandy scrub that stretches to the horizon on both sides of the road, and tossing the keys as far as he can throw them. Doesn't do it because he knows that the minute he falls asleep, he'll be walking back and forth looking for the damn things, or hotwiring the truck and heading back to LA.
Lindsey has no idea why Darla would be calling him, or when she managed to get the power to control his dreams. He knows she doesn't want him -- not that way, she's been crystal clear about that. He can't come up with one good reason why she would ever come to him, unless she found herself in the same helpless state she's been in prior to her second turning. Knowing her the way he does, Lindsey can't ever see her allowing that to happen. He may not have figured out the way her inner mind functioned, but she was obvious in letting him and everyone else know that she didn’t appreciate being used. Something Holland Manners could no doubt attest to, were he alive to do so.
//I sent you a fifteen-body memo to that effect//
Hating himself for doing it, Lindsey pulls the truck onto the interstate again. Knows this won’t be over until he gives her what she wants, and figures that if what she wants is his death at her hands, then he might as well walk into it with his eyes wide open. He drives towards LA for the next eight hours before stopping for more gas and a brief nap in the first motel he finds.
This time Darla isn't there. But the urge to reach LA is stronger than ever.
-end
