Rushed

by Brian Harmon

Copyright 2013 by Brian Harmon

Published by Brian Harmon

Cover Image by Donna Kohls

Cover Design by Brian Harmon

Amazon Edition

All Rights Reserved

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to actual persons, places or events is entirely coincidental.

Also by Brian Harmon:

Rushed: The Unseen

The Box (The Temple of the Blind #1)

Gilbert House (The Temple of the Blind #2)

The Temple of the Blind (The Temple of the Blind #3)

Road Beneath the Wood (The Temple of the Blind #4)

Secret of the Labyrinth (The Temple of the Blind #5)

The Judgment of the Sentinels (The Temple of the Blind #6)

Buried in the Basement: A Gathering of Dark Tales

For more about this author, visit

www.HarmonUniverse.com

Chapter One

Eric Fortrell lived a perfectly unremarkable life until he happened to have a very extraordinary dream.  It wasn’t that it was an especially meaningful dream.  In fact, he could remember nothing about the dream except that there was something about a bird, and even that vague detail was so far lost to his waking mind that only the word itself remained.  “Bird.”  It was not any particular kind of bird, no bird of any particular color or size.  It was nothing more significant than something about a bird.  And yet this dream filled him with such a profound sense of urgency and foreboding that he immediately left his bed, dressed himself and fled his home in the middle of the night.  By the time he came to his senses and realized that there was nowhere for him to go, he was already standing in his driveway with the door of his silver PT Cruiser wide open, ready to climb in and drive away.

He was confused, of course, and a little unnerved.  After all, he wasn’t exactly known for being impulsive.  It wasn’t like him to do anything without a reasonable amount of thought, much less jump up in the middle of the night and go running out to his car, inexplicably convinced that he desperately needed to be somewhere.  But more than that, he was embarrassed.  He closed the vehicle’s door as quietly as he could and gazed around at the darkened windows of his neighbors’ houses, very nearly convinced that at least one of them must be watching him, wondering where he thought he was going at a quarter past one in the morning, laughing at his ridiculous antics.

He was a reasonable enough man to know that this was utter nonsense.  Even if someone was up and wandering around in their unlit home at this hour and just happened to be looking out the window as he hurried out the door, they’d have no reason to suspect that he was behaving strangely.  Perhaps he’d lost something, his wallet, maybe, and was checking to see if he’d left it in his vehicle.

Still, he hesitated to lock the car for fear that the brief sounding of the horn would alert every nosy neighbor on the block to his presence and somehow instantly let them know that he was acting as if he’d utterly lost his mind.

He left the PT Cruiser unlocked in the driveway and returned to his house and his bed.

He was not crazy.  He did not have a history of insanity in his family.  He had no excessive mental or emotional stress in his life.  He was also intelligent.  He’d earned a Masters Degree in education and literature.  With honors.  He was a respected high school English teacher and he had never in his life poisoned his mind with drugs.  He didn’t even drink that much.  Only seldom in his life had he drank enough to qualify him as being drunk, and never so much that he couldn’t remember what he did the next morning.

And yet here he was.

Karen was waiting for him when he returned to bed.  She was concerned, of course, and wanted to know what had happened, why he had risen and dressed, where he had gone.  He told her the truth.  He always told his wife the truth.  And of course she laughed at him and told him how silly he was because she was always equally as honest with him and it was, after all, a funny and silly thing that he had done.

But long after Karen had drifted off to sleep again, Eric remained awake, staring up at the ceiling in the faint glow of the street light that filtered through the curtains and the nightlight that shined through the open bathroom door.  He kept thinking of the dream he couldn’t remember and the odd compulsion that had driven him out of his bed and into the cool August night.

The following day was no better.  He couldn’t stop thinking about the dream (something about a bird…) and that feeling of desperately needing to be somewhere (now).  In fact, he still felt this compulsion.  It gnawed stubbornly at him.  His eyes kept drifting to the windows and doors.  His thoughts kept returning to the parked PT Cruiser in the driveway.  It was like an itch.

He very much wanted to get in the vehicle and drive down the road.  Yet he remained unable to say where it was he wanted so badly to go.

That night, the dream returned.  Like the first time, he recalled nothing but a bird (or birds, or something bird-like…he simply couldn’t remember) and like the first time, he awoke utterly convinced that there was somewhere he very much needed to be, that he was, in fact, desperately late.

He did not make it all the way to his car this time.  When Karen switched on her bedside lamp, he stood frozen and bewildered, his pants only halfway on, squinting into the blinding glare and trying to remember where it was he thought he was going.

Soon after, he was back in bed, the lights back off.  Karen did not laugh at him this night.  She did not tell him he was silly.  She urged him back into bed and he came willingly, ashamed of the concern he saw in her sleepy face.  The desperation he had felt was overpowered by the simple logic that he did not have anywhere to be.  He returned to his pillow without a word and she snuggled against him as if determined to anchor him to the bed until morning.

Again, he lay awake, that feeling of being late still stubbornly refusing to release him and let him rest.

The next day was much like the one before it.  He remained constantly distracted, his thoughts and eyes inexorably drawn to the parked PT Cruiser and the unknown roads it promised to carry him down.

Each time he forced his eyes away from the windows and doors he caught Karen watching him.  She was no fool.  No matter how many times he told her he was fine, she knew something was troubling him, and he felt terrible for worrying her.  But still he could not shake the urge to get up and go.

The third night inevitably arrived and Eric awoke once more from the same mysterious dream with the same maddening desire to rush out of the house.

This time, he did not bother returning to bed.  When Karen came downstairs and switched on the kitchen light at a little before three in the morning, she found him sitting at the table, fully dressed, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands and his car keys sitting in front of him.

For a moment she stood watching him and for that moment he watched her back, admiring her.  She was considerably heavier than she had been ten years ago when he married her, but still as lovely as the day they met.  In fact, he rather preferred her a little plumper.  She’d been too skinny back when they dated, far too preoccupied with her weight.  Now that she’d accepted that there was nothing wrong with being larger than a size zero, she’d filled out her figure with magnificently sexy curves.  His eyes washed over her bare legs as she stood leaning against the doorjamb, clothed in only her favorite pajama top, her arms crossed over her chest as if chilled.