Dream On (Dreams Book 2), page 27
My mind floated in a mixture of ecstasy, fear and lust. I knew what I was doing was wrong - on so many levels. I knew we had no future together, but, I didn't care - this wasn't about love, it wasn't about committing, it was about... evolving. This was the final step in my healing process - a coupling that would release me from the shackles I'd put on myself to bind Ange to me.
As Zeddy's huge body pressed down he slowly dissolved into me with an exquisite combination of pain and gratification... As our bodies and minds joined as one I felt the shackle snap... and fall away.
I momentarily gasped for breath and a solitary tear trickled down the side of my face... As I savored the moment my life had been handed back to me.
The End
Epilogue
In the weeks that followed, Mark slowly released small parts of Departure to the world. He called it foreplay and the public seemed to lap it up. Facebook and the internet had gone viral about how Sasha had said good-bye to Ange with her hauntingly beautiful song - with the ugly lyrics. As Mark said, "it helps to have an entire department working on promoting you." Ali still hasn't found out he refers to them as "geeks".
Departure was eventually released for sale when Mark and the team deemed they had built enough momentum and within a week it had sold over a million copies. YouTube views had a unbelievable first week audience of over nine million. The song was played, universally, on radio and TV.
The haters had had their say on Facebook, too - at last count one hundred and twenty three of them. Sasha counted. But they were overwhelmingly shot down by the love that came from so many different directions. Mark's original ratio of hater to lover of 1: 6,000 had blown out to 1 : 75,000. Sasha danced on their grave.
Rather than wait and allow Departure to run its course, Mark released Dream On two weeks later and, as expected, it exploded. People around the world seemed to fall in love with the story Sasha was telling them, of love and death and growth. Zeddy's presence gave Dream On a head-start and it never looked back. On Sasha's website alone it sold over half a million on the first day. Amazon and iTunes went through the roof, also.
Because Dream On was also being sold through Zeddy's record companies' own distribution channels Mark and Ali had no way to track their numbers. Any money that would be paid would be a long time coming because of the way those companies work. Sasha couldn't give a "rats" about the money, but she loved that so many people, all over the world, were loving her music. To her, that was "payday".
Because Mark had released both singles almost simultaneously Sasha was in desperate need of some more tracks to offer the insatiable public. She and Ryan had short-listed twelve of her existing songs for an album to be made and Mark had booked Zeep's Studio 1 for a full month, starting in four weeks. It cost a small fortune - but they could afford it. Marcus has already signed on. He has forgone an up-front payment for this work, instead negotiating himself 3 points of the sales revenue of the album. Ryan was going to produce two of the tracks... and be paid $25,000. In an unguarded moment when all the musicians were on a high, celebrating Sasha's success, he accidentally let it slip that he had lied about having a girlfriend. Carla was very interested to hear that.
They used Ashley's vision to make the official YouTube version of Departure, but added a lot of effects. She was also given the gig for Dream On which they shot on a small Hollywood sound stage and featured Sasha and an awful lot of clouds. Despite the fact that Zeddy never appeared in the YouTube vision of Dream On it was viewed by over twenty-five million people in its first two weeks of release.
On the back of this success Sasha had received offers from promoters for a global stadium tour of twenty-five of the world's major cities, including another seventy-eight venues all capable of holding between 10,000 and 20,000 people, in smaller cities. If that tour went ahead it would start in Australia then travel up through Asia to Europe, then across to the States and would take almost a year. The idea "scared the crap" out of her, as she put it, but Mark was slowly building her up to the point where she would agree. To re-commence the "live show" part of her career Sasha and band played a one night gig at The Far Horizons Hotel in Ventura for a fee of three thousand dollars. Mark insisted that this needed to be done because he had promised the owner, Ben Thurgood, that deal over six months ago when Sasha played her very first live gig at that venue. Ben took a big risk back then with an unknown talent and this was Mark's way of thanking him. Mark got one thing wrong, though. He bragged about Sasha's potential and promised Ben he would be able to charge $500 a seat for this return booking. He didn't, he charged $1,000 a seat and had to turn away thousands of customers as the venue only held about 300 people.
Sasha has been too busy with her career since she released the new songs and she hasn't had a chance to work on Rick's movie project. She is still keen, but doesn't think the dream people who write her songs can work that way.
Mark is still working on fixing his perfect life. He's seriously thinking about asking Ali out on a date. He was also considering asking Bibi out on a date. He was also contemplating asking the woman he was dating when Sasha had her accident, out on a date. Her name is Ruby and it didn't work out back then because Ruby was the "marrying" kind... just like Ali and Bibi.
The big money is suggesting Connie is secure in her condo for the near future.
And, Sasha never slept with Zeddy, again.
_______________________________________
Also by Peter Butler:
Buy Me a Dream
(available in paperback)
Garrett & Sunny
(available in paperback)
Womanhood
Kinky
To be included on my list of ARC readers (Advance "Review" Copy) of future novels, or to just say "Hi"( I promise to reply, if that's appropriate), please contact me on:
peterbutlerbooks@outlook.com
website: www.peterbutler.net
A final note from the author.
"Dream On" is set six months after "Buy Me a Dream", the first story featuring Mark and Sasha.
It was always my intention to make both books standalone novels. Buy Me a Dream is a complete story about how life gives, but it also takes. With that as my theme I believe I gave it an appropriate ending.
But... I received so many emails suggesting quite a few readers missed my point. Given that there was clearly an ongoing interest in Sasha's life, and Mark's as well, I decided to explore the next phase of their lives, rather than simply making the ending of Buy Me a Dream more definitive - this book is the end result.
If you enjoyed these books I'm sure you will love "Garrett & Sunny" which is set in both England and Australia and, hopefully, will bring a smile to your face. (a sample follows..)
If you have any children under 10 in your life check out my children's book series. I have just begun this series and to avoid confusion I write these books under the name of "Uncle Chester". I suggest you start with "Annie and the Magic Wombat" and "Annie and the Puppy" to get a feel for what I'm trying to do - which is provide quality, original fun stories for kids who are just past the "picture-book" stage and ready to start feeding and building their own imaginations without needing quite so much "visual crutch". (I doubt that is a valid term - but, hopefully you get my point)
My children's books can be read to the kids at bedtime or ideally read by the kids themselves if they have reached that stage. I try very hard to not "talk down" to them, as I want to empower them - to have them feel they have moved on from the "baby" phase of their lives.
Garrett & Sunny
Chapter 1
A bed can be used for sleep... for fun and recreation... for reading... for resting... for recuperating... Or in my case right now... for dying.
I hope I'm being melodramatic, but the honest truth is I feel absolutely dreadful. I have made this diagnosis without opening my eyes - It is actually my waking thought. Stomach like an explosive bubbling cauldron - head woozy going thump.. thump.. as it orbits around my body - joints aching - a shadowy black-clad figure with a scythe in his hands overhead. That last part I imagined, but it wouldn't surprise me to find I was in a hospital bed, hearing my mother gently weeping as an unfamiliar voice says, 'I'm sorry, there's nothing more we doctors can do. Please sign the Organ Donation form before your weeping becomes uncontrollable.'
Hell no..! Don't do it mom, my imagination fights back against itself, my heart is good for a lot more kicks, before you give it to someone else.
I force my eyes open to prove my right to keep my organs, but nobody is actually there to notice - No mom.. no guy with a scythe.. no doctor.. although one of the three might be useful. The jury is yet to decide which one.
Now that I'm semi-roused I begin to analyze my symptoms again and realize that alcohol might be responsible for my depleted state. I have experienced the occasional blinding hangover in the past so I feel competent to make a diagnosis. But when I think about it a little deeper, today's symptoms have an added dimension that I've not experienced, one that probably rules out a hangover. The best way I can explain my problem is to compare it to a heavy fog draped over my brain, stopping vital information from coming out. Admittedly I have had only a minute of wake-time to make this observation, but already several thoughts have started, then seemingly just stopped or drifted off, as if my brain just lost the energy to go on.
Never-the-less, alcohol may still be part of the problem, and if it is, it would be useful to know what I drank.
What did I drink?
I search my brain but I cannot recall anything. Not just what I had been drinking - Anything! Where I went last night, who I was with, what I did, how I got into bed, even - none of that information is available - The more I search, the more I find missing. Now that is definitely weird. I've had memory slips in the past but never a total blank-out. This might be serious.
Maybe I've had a stroke... or developed Alzheimers... or - my thumping headache suggested to me - contracted some exotic brain eating disease?
I move my arms and legs and they seem normal - except for the pain in the joints. I remembered that a symmetrical smile is a good way to test for stroke and I grin like a monkey and use my fingers to measure if both sides are the same. I lock my fingers in shape having used them to measure the distance from the corners of my mouth to the corners of my eyes, then bring my hands together. The fingers and thumbs touch together perfectly. Symmetry. Rule out stroke. I don't know any tests for brain eating diseases or Alzheimers apart from loss of memory, so I quiz myself: What is my name? Garrett Nixon. So far, so good. How old am I? Thirty-two. Ha! Doing okay here. Now, something harder. What is my sister's name? I don't even pause, it's there straight away. Megan Cullen.
Having aced all those difficult questions I conclude it is just my recent memories that seem to have disappeared, or more correctly, been erased - Logically, I was there when they were being created, so my brain had them, but now it doesn't. More than strange, that is a little scary. I swing my legs out of bed and sit on the edge waiting for my eyes and brain to sync up. My gut is still gurgling but, thankfully, I don't feel I'm in imminent danger of throwing-up. I take my time, sitting there with my elbows resting on my knees, my hands supporting my throbbing head.
My daily waking moment can often be very special, my brain is relaxed having had a whole night to devour any problems that were bothering me, and frequently it delivers some answers at this moment. These waking epiphanies are greatly valued and taken very seriously. Today - no epiphany, just a need to look-up a word. One that means the opposite of epiphany.
When I eventually feel replenished and strong enough to look around the first thing I see is my dresser, and my blank-canvas, memory-less world, suddenly becomes interesting. I love this beautiful piece of furniture; it is made of old oak that was given a second life, which is to say it's made of secondhand timber; a phrase the marketers quickly replace with words like antique or historic which miraculously lifts its value tenfold. If only the rest of business was that easy we would all be millionaires. In it's first working life this particular timber was part of a wharf for over a hundred and fifty years. I bought the dresser a few years back, not only because it looks great, but also because it reminds me that value and usefulness can be found in most things, sometimes you just need some imagination and hard work to reintroduce it to the world, not to mention a catchy marketing phrase at the end of the process. Besides, who else can say as a conversation starter: Guess how many people have walked on my dresser? It is a rhetorical conversation starter, if that is at all possible.
Given my current state I'm mildly impressed that my brain can recall details like these. But, what the hell happened to last night?
As wonderful as the dresser is, that is not the reason for my sudden spark of interest in it. It is nothing crazy like somebody is actually walking on it, but something unusual is sitting on it. Apparently, I have a handbag. My missing evening last night has just been presented with some potential answers.
It's a big, red leather bag, and I do mean big, not quite suitcase dimensions but definitely carry-on size. I don't think it's my type, so I can't imagine I would have bought it.
Or worse... stolen it.
This is really starting to piss me off.
Slowly, the obvious more likely option occurs to me, and a sly smile creeps across my face.
As quickly as my impaired condition allows I twist my head around to the bed, fully expecting to see a woman lying next to where I lay a minute ago. I should mention my bed is king-size and a Sumo wrestler could have been sleeping there beside me and I would, most likely, have been clueless about it. Once again I should explain - I chose the Sumo because he is a politically correct example of a very large person, not because I have a preference in that direction.
But back to my bed, unless I'm dating the Invisible Woman, it is empty.
I scan the room for some clues and I'm rewarded straight away when I see a scanty pair of pink panties on the floor at the foot of the bed. It gets better; there's a non-matching white bra a short distance away. From where I stand wobbling, they both appear to be quite small. That's to say, too small for me to wear. Surely I wouldn't have bought them to go with the red bag? No..! Surely not...
But I do have that gap in my time-line and, at the moment, only slightly freaky questions seem to be filling it.
'What the fuck did I do last night?'
I actually say this out loud, and startle myself as the words come back and land in my ears.
Or, more importantly... who?
I turn back to the dresser with the big red bag sitting temptingly on top. Very wrong thoughts enter my head.
This is potentially dicey, I've never been one for invading peoples private things, but this was different. It was unlikely the woman would have left without her bag, not to mention her underwear, so the only conclusions that I can come to are that I have slept with a woman, in my own bed - and that woman is still in my house. Minus her panties and bra.
I smile and raise an eyebrow at that last thought, and realize that in all the excitement of these discoveries the pain in my head has almost disappeared and my woozy stomach is less of an issue.
Had I just invented a magic cure..? Or was I just an easily distracted, horny guy?
I'm pretty sure I knew which side I'd put my money on.
I examined the outside of the bag while I listened as hard as I could. Apart from the madman still beating a slow, rhythmic drum inside my head no other sounds came to me. I held my breath to maximize my chance of hearing her. I had a choice at this point, I could go searching through the house and find the woman and attempt to feign some sort of familiarity about her - I had, presumably, slept with her after all. The other option sat within arm's reach of me.
Expediency... or moral correctness... Difficult dilemma. Which should I choose?
The first thing I noticed was that the contents, and there were many, were scattered randomly over the bottom third of the bag. I mainly recognized pill-bottles containing vitamins and supplements. The woman was clearly some kind of health-nut, or more to the point, a walking pharmacy. There were other more normal handbag items scattered amongst her pharmaceuticals, like some makeup and a mirror, lipsticks, perfumes, a hairbrush and a small packet of tissues, not that I was an expert on the subject of what women carried in their handbags. I couldn't see the metaphorical kitchen sink, but I'm sure there was one there... somewhere.
At least I had my first clue about her. My second actually; she wasn't Sumo large, judging from the underwear.
I felt around inside the bag, painfully aware of the noise I was making as I pushed my way through the rattling bottles. The side of the bag had a familiar bulge, secured by a zip at the top. I opened the pocket, put my hand in and was rewarded when my fingers felt the shape of a wallet. In spite of its bulging size it came out relatively easily. It was made of the same red leather and looked like a mini-me handbag; obviously a matched set. Or perhaps the bag was a complete entity and was reproducing, maybe even cloning itself. This wasn't such a crazy thought, given the size of the thing.
I held the wallet up and examined it. It had a little flap with a stud that secured its two sides. My fingers were poised to cross that final boundary and flip open that flap when I froze in horror. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of the handle on the bedroom door turning and the door begin to push open.
I didn't have time to replace the wallet.
I didn't have time to do anything.
I stood there like a rabbit frozen in a headlight beam. The evidence of the crime firmly clenched in my hand, and I gather, a look of total anguish on my face.
