Dreams Unleashed Read online

  Dreams Unleashed

  The Prophecies [1]

  Linda Hawley

  Createspace (2011)

  Rating: ★★★☆☆

  Tags: Science Fiction, Suspense, Thriller, Technology, Adventure, France, Paranormal, Time Travel, Prophecies, Pacific Northwest, Action, Irish, Metaphysics, Dreams, big brother, techno thriller

  Science Fictionttt Suspensettt Thrillerttt Technologyttt Adventurettt Francettt Paranormalttt Time Travelttt Propheciesttt Pacific Northwestttt Actionttt Irishttt Metaphysicsttt Dreamsttt big brotherttt techno thrillerttt

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  (2nd Edition) It’s the near future, and society is government controlled. Technology tracks everyone, and personal privacy does not exist. The hope for freedom lies in the operations of an underground organization, GOG, which fights against worldwide oppression. Their most powerful weapon is Ann Torgeson, a paranormally-gifted operative. When her powers release the seal of The Prophecies, she becomes a weapon against the government, which relentlessly pursues her. Question everything is the theme of Dreams Unleashed.

  Dreams Unleashed (2nd Ed) - The Prophecies, Book 1

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  About the Author

  DREAMS UNLEASHED

  (2NDEdition)

  Book One

  The Prophecies

  Linda Hawley

  Dreams Unleashed, Copyright © 2011 by Linda Hawley.

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Nouveau Publishing

  Printed in the United States of America

  Second Edition

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, technologies, and organizations are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Manuscript Edited by D Kai Wilson - IndieUnbound.com

  Manuscript Proofread by Jackie Jones - JJProofing.com

  Cover Design by Joleene Naylor

  Cover image © Filograph through Dreamstime.com

  Dedication

  For Paul

  You are the reason I was able to publish these words.

  My love is yours for eternity.

  Acknowledgments

  I must sincerely thank Kai Wilson for her expertise and work ethic in editing this second edition of Dreams Unleashed. Kai is an extraordinary woman, and I am proud to associate with her.

  I must also thank my proofreader, Jackie Jones, for making Dreams Unleashed readable. I have never spelled well, and her eye was an absolute necessity. She too is an exceptional woman and a very gifted proofreader.

  To Ed, David, Johnathan, Joseph, Julia, Jackie, Jackie the Younger, Alex, Grace, Patty, Ryan, and Joey–you each are more beloved by my soul than you will ever realize.

  Lastly, I must thank my husband, Paul, and my daughters, Alexandra Elinor Hawley and Grace Katheryn Hawley. You have believed in me, let me have the time I needed to write, and never complained. I could not have written The Prophecies without your selfless love and excitement for this story. You are my heart; I would be nothing without you.

  Note To the Reader

  Since Dreams Unleashed is the first book in The Prophecies series, you’ll learn a great deal in the pages to come about characters and events that will play out in the coming books. You’ll be going with my heroine, Ann Torgeson, on some flashbacks all the way back to the year 1988. I suggest that you pay attention to the chapter headings, to help keep your bearings.

  Chapter 1

  WASHINGTON D.C.

  I hurried off the metro at the Union Station stop, looking around to see if anyone followed.

  Okay so far, I silently encouraged myself.

  After quickly negotiating the crowd, I approached the escalator. Taking the steps two by two, I tried to make my body move as smoothly as possible, so that I wouldn’t attract attention. I kept touching the moving handrail, trying to ground myself, though my heart was nearly beating out of my chest.

  How could they have known?

  After climbing halfway up the escalator, I was blocked by an elderly couple.

  Move…move…move, please. I wanted to shout.

  But they didn’t move.

  Looking up to the turn-of-the-century arched ceiling far above me, I tried to relieve my anxiety. With a jerk, the escalator reached the top and dumped me out. I moved around the couple and began to walk as fast as I could, passing through the eighteenth century columns, walking evenly on the marble floor. The main hall was filled with people, all of them busy, seeming to move in every direction at once. I could smell the grease from the food court and felt bile rise up in my throat.

  Focus on the light…focus on the light…you can make it. I coached myself.

  I could see the exits under the three archways directly in front of me. Weaving through the masses, I tried to make my way to the doors. Reaching them, I passed under the centurion statues and pushed past a rush of people going the opposite direction. I collided with a man but pressed forward, still trying to get away.

  After passing through the door, I looked behind me, half expecting to see pursuers. I ran across the loading and unloading lane and was nearly hit by an eager driver. Grateful to reach the brick walkway that surrounded the Christopher Columbus fountain, I stood behind it, breathing deeply. This would block me from the view of anyone in the station.

  Regroup, Ann.

  I had hastily gotten off the metro at Union Station, thinking that it would be easier to lose myself in the middle of D.C. than in Pentagon City, where the FBI had chased me. After meeting my contact there, we saw almost too late that we’d been shadowed. We then split up using the standard protocol.

  Think quickly, I urged myself.

  From behind the fountain, I carefully glanced to the entrance of the station, but my wrist was painfully grabbed from the other side by the crew-cut twenty-something I had bumped into earlier.

  If he’s here–that means there’s more.

  I whipped around and, with my free hand, shoved my Taser into his groin, delivering 2.7 million volts of resistance, while simultaneously yanking my other wrist away as hard as I could. Almost instantly, the man crumpled at my feet, and I sprinted away.

  My mind raced. Where can I go? Panic gripped me, but I tried to think clearly. Kelly’s restaurant, I thought. It was only a couple of blocks away, and I could call from there.

  Scrambling across Columbus Circle, I ran west on Massachusetts Avenue.

  It should only take me a couple of minutes… F-street…it’s on F…I think. I knew Brian Kelly, the owner, and a couple of the waiters at Kelly’s Irish Times from my time as a journalist in D.C. If one of them was there getting ready to open for dinner, they would let me in.

  When I saw a break in traffic, I ran across Massachusetts Avenue and glanced to my left to see if anyone was pursuing me.

  All clear.

  After high-tailing it up F-street, I finally
reached the green awning marking Kelly’s. I knocked on the door, slowing my breathing, and hoped there was someone there that I knew.

  If I can just get inside, they’ll never think to look for me here with the restaurant closed.

  I knocked for about fifteen seconds, seeming like an eternity, and then saw Brian approach the door wearing a stained white cook’s apron.

  “You know we’re not open for another hour or…Ann, lass. It’s been a while now, hasn’t it? Come on in then,” he said eagerly, opening the door.

  I stepped in and turned once more to see if I was followed. It looked safe.

  Brian closed the door and reached down to hug me with his stocky frame. I could feel his bristly beard on my neck as he briefly squeezed me. He put his pudgy hands on both of my shoulders and peered down to me with his dark eyes.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked. His deep, smooth voice held a note of concern.

  “I’m working on something that’s gotten a little tricky. Do you think I could use your bathroom and make a call?” I asked.

  “Of course. You take all the time you need,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I said gratefully.

  “If you need anything, you come get me,” he said, patting my shoulder, then looking out the window before he locked the front door and walked back toward the kitchen.

  I had known Brian for many years. While I was a reporter, he occasionally gave me insider tips on stories I was working on. I knew I could rely on his discretion. After making my way to the back of the restaurant, I pulled open the green wooden door of the women’s bathroom. The door looked like it had been painted one too many times.

  Inside, every available space of the light brown bathroom walls bore plaques bearing Irish platitudes. I set my messenger bag in one of the two vintage sinks and plugged my used Taser into an outlet near the floor. Then I pulled my second Taser from the bag and put it in my coat pocket.

  Standing there at the sink, looking at my reflection in the mirror, I prepared myself to make the call. I needed help.

  I dialed and waited as the cell phone rang three times, “Hi…leave me a….”

  Crap–Bob’s voicemail.

  I tried to consider my options. I could call the clandestine switchboard, but they might already have me flagged. That wouldn’t work.

  I’m a fugitive now. They’re hunting me. They think of me as a weapon. Plus, I just Tasered crew-cut boy. I’m gonna have to go underground now, I thought grimly.

  Reaching into the bag, I pulled out the Ziploc bag containing the last secure cell phone I had. I quickly assembled it, then pressed the timer of my watch.

  I called the local phone number I had memorized.

  “B40 for extraction, code red,” I said urgently upon hearing the beep.

  I hung up and watched my timer. I had four minutes before I had to destroy the phone. I looked up and noticed one of the wall plaques, “May the bearer of the news be safe.”

  No kidding, I thought ironically.

  Thirty seconds later, the call came.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “Code?” he asked.

  “Cherry blossoms,” I replied, using the memorized code.

  “D.C.” he confirmed. We’ve got your location. Seven minutes–we’re en route–back alley. Injuries?”

  “No.”

  “Stay safe,” he said, crisp but cautious.

  Hanging up, I looked at my watch to see how long the phone had been traceable.

  Three minutes–maybe they didn’t locate me.

  After pulling the phone apart, I stomped on it, then threw all the pieces in the sink, turning on the faucet. The soft sound of the running water would have been calming in any other situation.

  I restarted my stopwatch. They’ll be here in seven minutes. Grabbing the pieces of the cell phone from the sink, I tossed them back into the Ziploc and threw the bag in the empty trashcan, covering it with some clean paper towels.

  I have to stay here…they won’t be able to find me if I leave, since that was my last safe phone.

  Three minutes.

  Pounding on the front door of the restaurant sent a buzz of adrenaline through me. They found me.

  I quickly grabbed the recharging Taser from the wall and tossed it into my messenger bag, which I draped across my body, freeing my hands. Slowly opening the bathroom door, I slipped into the dark back hall. I could hear Brian’s deep, full voice from the next room.

  “Can I help you?” he asked coldly.

  “FBI,” said a male voice. “We’re looking for a woman that’s in this area, about 5′9″, Caucasian, mid-forties. Seen her?”

  Brian didn’t hesitate. “We’re closed, haven’t opened for dinner yet.”

  Silently thanking Brian, I moved down the narrow hall toward the battered, brown service door. Touching the button for light on my watch, I checked the time. Less than two minutes. I tried not to panic, though adrenaline was tingling through me in rushing bolts.

  The conversation between them was so distant that I couldn’t hear it. Preparing myself to open the door, I pulled the second Taser from my pocket, looped the strap around my wrist, and instinctively pushed the button to turn it on. If anyone tried to grab it from me, the loop would pull out the arming pin, disabling it.

  Turning the dented brass knob, I pushed open the back door slightly, peering out into the alley. My eyes fell upon an overflowing dumpster for a brief second, then the door was yanked open from the outside. I turned to run, but a crew-cut clone grabbed me by the hair. I twisted around and was able to jam the Taser into his exposed armpit, and he fell to the ground, convulsing with a heavy thud. As my hair was released, the SUV rounded the corner of the alley, and I ran for it, hoping I was running toward friends.

  Chapter 2

  BELLINGHAM, WASHINGTON

  The Year 2015

  I sat up in bed, drenched in sweat.

  “Oh man, that was a bad one,” I said out loud to no one. The details of my dream lingered with me as though they were real. I wiped the sweat from my face with my sheet. My heart was doing double-time, as the adrenaline still coursed through my body.

  What was that about?

  My mind raced to try to make sense of the disturbing dream. I’d had numerous others like it; chase dreams seemed to be the specialty of my sleeping mind lately.

  I needed to get ready for work. AlterHydro was waiting.

  Driving to work the dream marinated in my mind.

  *

  I’d been working at my desk for about an hour when my phone rang. After one ring, I answered.

  “Hi, Bennett, what can I do for you?” I said, voice imitating an enthusiastic employee.

  I already knew his reason for calling, and I nodded to no one in particular as I tried to convince him that everything was on track for the first draft of the new turbine manual. The project seemed to be his pet project, and I tried to hide the exasperation in my voice, steeling myself for his generous critique.

  “No problem, Bennett, I can be there in ten minutes. Will that work for you?” I asked with a cheerfulness that made my jaw ache.

  You would think that after three years working for him that he’d have some degree of faith in my ability to write a good technical manual.

  “What a control freak.” I muttered angrily, then looked around to see if my co-workers had heard me.

  I should have known that he’d be a nightmare when I interviewed for this job.

  It was the fourth interview–this time with Bennett’s younger brother–that nearly made me ditch the idea of working at AlterHydro.

  *

  “Ann Torgeson,” he said, shaking my hand. “I’m Brock Pressentin, have a seat,” he said with authority. He sat down, leaned back in his chair, put his feet on the long conference room table, and smugly started with, “So, Ann, tell me about yourself.”

  I blinked in surprise. This was his interview ritual, I knew, but his casual cockiness bothered me. I was a profes
sional technical writer and was certainly a good hire for any Fortune 100 company; I expected to be treated with respect by potential employers. The only reason I wanted to work for AlterHydro, which was not a Fortune 100 company, was because of their unique innovation in alternative energy. To say that I was annoyed by Brock’s freshman interview style was an understatement.

  As I prepared to answer him, Bennett barged into the room, taking a seat next to his little brother, while pushing his sibling’s feet off the table.

  “Hi, Ann. Hi, Brock,” he quickly offered with a smile.

  Along with my greeting, I forced a pleasant smile.

  Silence seethed from baby brother as he stared at his sibling.

  “My last meeting finished early, so I thought I’d sit in on your interview,” Bennett announced to me. It was an obvious preemptive strike to Brock’s rejection of his unexpected presence.

  “Like I was saying, why don’t you tell me about yourself?” Brock continued, turning to me, this time with a louder voice, his eyebrows tensed.

  Looking from brother to brother, I suddenly realized that this family dysfunction was something I didn’t want to be a part of. Just as I was speed-formulating my “I don’t think we’re a good fit” speech, I received a friendly wink and smile from Bennett.

  It took me only a moment to realize that I was a small piece in a family game of “appease the younger brother so I can hire you.”

  Okay, I’ll bite. I enjoyed banter and was curious to see how the dynamic between the two brothers played out. I plowed ahead.

  “As I’m sure you’ve seen from my resume, I have significant experience as a technical writer with the government. I’m bound by confidentiality not to discuss those projects specifically, but I can tell you that I wrote about cutting-edge technologies, complicated in both design and scope. Writing for Black Projects was challenging because I had to understand the hardware and software well enough to write for both technical and non-technical readers. Before that, I–”