Important
She honestly thought she would never see him again. Which was a shame really - after all, the guy was cute and sweet and smart and... important. Yeah, never thought she'd see him again but there was always that tiny hope in the back of her mind. Of course, there was a much stronger hope that she actually wouldn't cross paths with him again. Ever.
After all, she knew he'd been to her house, in her house, in her bedroom - and she knew what he had found there. He and his brother had discovered the bloody mess that was once her fiancée and had even found her discarded engagement ring. She'd not only been told this by others, but had seen the scene play out in her dreams. Those damn prophetic dreams that the two of them shared.
When the dreams - nightmares - first began, she felt sick to her stomach each time she awoke. People - so many different people - being murdered in the worst ways. Never being one for even the fake blood and gore of the movies, the seemingly real outcome of the inhuman executions had her running to the bathroom (glad from the master bath a mere six feet away) as quickly as she could. She'd vomit until she thought her insides would be the next to come out, then she'd brush her teeth and floss and swish with mouth wash and repeat. And repeat. And repeat.
But that was never the end of it. She could still smell the blood and ash and decay on her clothes, in her hair, on her body. She could feel it all like a second skin. She would shower in the hottest water she could stand and scrub until she felt raw. Only once did she draw her own blood, because after the first time she learned when to stop, because that first - and only - time, her own blood made the cycle begin again.
The first dream had occurred the night that she realized that she was a week late. She was never late and was worried that she would become a pregnant bride. A co-worker - a friend only because they were the only two females in the office under 40 - told her that it was common to have bizarre and vivid dreams when you're pregnant. That really didn't make her feel any better.
She started a couple of days later, still unsure what was going on with her body so suddenly. However, the dreams did not stop. In fact, they became more frequent - a now-weekly event. And each time with the same regurgitating, then sterilizing routine. The same co-worker congratulated her apparent diet plan - she'll be so thin for the wedding. She would have preferred eating nothing but lettuce and celery sticks to take off the pounds.
Not that she agreed that she needed to lose any weight. And she decided to stop talking to that co-worker.
Then one day, her fiancée, who had been so worried and keeping an extra close eye on her since the dreams started, was suddenly and unexpectedly unconcerned. He casually began asking questions: how long do they last, how real do they feel, how clear are the faces and circumstances. If they're just dreams, why be afraid of them? Why not just let them play out?
It sounded, not only insane, but horrifying. As if somehow, by allowing the dreams, she was condoning them. But, the dreams weren't stopping and she was willing to try anything to feel better.
And so, that night when she saw a young couple torn to bits by a large black dog with glowing eyes, she sat back and simply watched. She still felt the need to wash off the smell of viscus from her skin, and she did feel a bit ill - but there was no vomiting. It was a start.
The more she let the dreams happen, the easier the mornings after became. She no longer heard the screams and sounds of flesh being ripped from bone for days afterward. She didn't cringe whenever she saw something red, thinking of all the blood she had seen. Instead, she was rewarded with praise from her fiancée.
Then came the morning that her fiancée was the one to gasp awake and bolt upright in bed. Immediately he turned to her and asked about her dream. She told him about the tall guy walking into a shack of some sort and triggering some kind of bomb. His chocolate brown eyes seemed to flash fiery yellow for a moment.
She tried explaining that it wasn't too bad comparatively - she saw nothing more after the explosion than the smoke and a smoldering shoe. He seemed to relax a little, took a breath, then turned to her again. So, the guy might not have died? No, she didn't see it happen, but she just knew that he hadn't survived the blast. That amber glint took hold of his eyes once more.
Three days later and that morning seemed to have repeated itself. Only this time, the fire remained in his eyes for a bit longer. After another two days, the dream returned. Then, it was every night. Her fiancée seemed upset about it - the same exact dream, the frequency, or because of the person involved, she wasn't sure any more. She was beginning to think it was more about the tall guy with shaggy hair.
At breakfast, he grilled her for information. Shack? What kind of shack? A run-down home or an abandoned warehouse? Could you tell what state, what city, what street it happened? Could you see who set the bomb, why the young man went inside, what he was doing there?
Finally having had enough, she asked her own question: Why is he so important?
The marbled flames turned brown once more as he took a deep breath and calmed himself. He told her who the man was, how he was special, how he was important - important to them and their future. He told her that the man had dreams like hers and it was his destiny to lead all of the other children born with special gifts in the coming war between... those who are special and those who would destroy them because they were different.
After another week of the dream, something changed. Suddenly it was not some far away, future happening. This was going to happen soon. And, because she had been searching the dream for more clues, she noticed the note in the man's hand. It was stamped with the name of a motel.
Tip-toeing from the bedroom, down the hall to their home office, she sat down at her computer and looked up the motel. It didn't have a site of its own, but luckily she found it on a site listing all the one-star motels only recommended to those looking to save some money.
She crept back into the bedroom and slipped into bed. The jostle pulled her fiancée from his sleep, so she told him her news. She couldn't keep the smile from her face as he praised her ingenuity and thoroughness.
The following morning, he called his office and told them there was a family emergency and he wouldn't be in. Of course, he actually spent his time convincing her to find the young man and warn him, stating once again how important he was. How important she was.
Within the hour, he was loading her suitcase into her trunk and making sure she had all the proper maps and her cell phone - including the charger for the car. As they said their good-byes, he paused only for a moment before leaning in for the kiss she was already standing on her toes to receive.
And in that kiss, she somehow knew. Knew, just the way she had known without seeing that the tall, important man had been caught in the explosion and killed. She knew that this man was not her fiancée. He was her fiancée on the outside, but inside? Inside he was someone - something - else.
But, she wasn't angry for the deception. She couldn't be. This was important - she was important. The being in front of her was only using her fiancée's face as a mask because it was needed so that he could get close to her, show her that the dreams were not bad, show her that she was special. She couldn't be angry about that - in fact, she felt honored.
She smiled at the marbled yellow eyes in front of her and he smiled back - knowing that she now knew who he was, trusting that she would succeed in her task.
She sat down behind the wheel of the car and he closed the door for her. She had never felt so good, so special, so important, so loved in her entire life.
-----
When she returned after her rescue mission, again, not seeing but knowing that the man - Sam - would be safe, she was bombarded by questions from her irate fiancée about where she had gone, who was she with, why didn't she answer his calls, what the hell is going on.
She sadly realized that she was once again in the presence of her real fiancée - the man who had asked her to marry him and gave her a ring, but a man she no longer loved. She slowly walked to the bedroom, wanting to do nothing more than fall face-forward on the bed and cry at the loss.
Her fiancée followed with his unceasing questions, getting angrier and angrier at her silence.
Instead of going to the bed, she went into the bathroom and found her fiancée's straight razor, intending to end the sudden and over-whelming depression that descended on her. She didn't want to go on without him there. She had once thought it silly that her fiancée had the razor, let alone, used it on occasion. It used to scare her - the sharp blade so close to his throat. Now, the image actually seemed slightly appealing.
That was when she heard the voice. It wasn't a voice she's heard before, but she knew who it belonged to just the same. He had come back for her... all she had to do was get rid of her fiancée, a man who would try and destroy her because she was different. Special.
She walked back into the bedroom, razor held tightly in her hand. Before he even saw it coming, she swiped across her fiancée's belly with the blade. She almost giggled at the look of shock on his face.
Then, without warning, his arms slapped down to his sides and seemed to be held down by an unseen force. She looked at his bleeding belly - the wound would probably need stitches, but he would be able to drive himself to the hospital to get himself fixed up. In other words, it was not enough.
As she was contemplating her next move, his head began tilting back to expose his delicate neck to her. It was an invitation. This was her initiation, her dues, her proof that she was ready to be the soldier that their side would need.
With one quick swipe, she ran the blade deep across his neck. Her part complete, her unseen leader threw her ex-fiancée onto the bed. She slipped the ring from her finger and dropped it carelessly to the floor.
Good-bye old life. Hello new.
-----
She honestly thought she would never see him again after that night. The tall, shaggy-haired, important young man. Sam. A part of her wanted to, but there was another part that worried - had he chosen sides yet? Did he choose the right one?
She had been doing her job for a few months now, seeking out the special people - the future soldiers. She felt a bit like a recruitment officer, but she was happy to do it.
Then, walking down the street to a little coffee shop on the corner, she felt a hand and her shoulder and heard her name almost questioned from above her. And there he was, giant of a man, looking down at her with those beautiful puppy eyes. Her glance shifted to his left and saw his brother standing not far behind.
At first she was terrified. After all, if the brother was still there, Sam had not chosen the right side yet. And worse, he and his brother were hunters - destroyers of her kind, of Sam's kind.
She began stammering something incoherent, not really sure what to say to him, when he put his arms around her and whispered how worried he had been. Even through her astonishment at the tender embrace, she caught enough of the gush of words spilling from above her. Sam was worried about her, thought something bad had happened, thought the demon took her.
The three of them walked to the coffee shop, Sam all the while explaining that she should come with them. At least for a little while. Just to make sure she is safe. He wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.
And that's when she knew - knew what he, her leader, would want her to do. Of course she would stay with Sam... she knew she could lead him to the right path. It may take a little time, but it was important. He was important.