The Dream Thief Read Online Free PDF

that house."
    I sighed. "You already know—she told you. I spilled a dream by mistake. It got into the walls and the floor—"
    "And I'm supposed to help you clean it up. Which necessitates being on the premises."
    "But we don't have to sleep there, Will!" I was almost in tears again. Despite all of the very bad things that had already happened, having Will find out that I'd ordered a dream in which I repeatedly blew him to smithereens was about the worst thing I could imagine left to come.
    Someday I'll learn not to think things like that, because the instant I have a thought like this is the worst thing ever , fate laughs and lobs another surprise in my direction.
    The door to the diner opened and Marsh stepped in, looking a little worse for wear. The stubble on his chin had gone from GQ to drunk and disreputable and his hair was greasy and uncombed. He stood blinking in the dim light, his fingers twitching to some beat I couldn't hear, and then his eyes caught sight of me. His jaw dropped and his mouth fell open, and he stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet, lurching sideways into the doorframe.
    Recovering his balance, he blundered toward us, knocking against another table with his hip and sending water and ice cascading into the lap of an elderly man in shorts. Close up, I could see the fatigue clearly etched into his face. He looked like a guy escaping from a low budget horror flick—as if he'd burst through the big screen into the light and heat and incredible savory food smell that was Dave's, leaving monsters and darkness on the other side.
    I'd thought it was me he was gunning for, but he sank down in a chair beside me and stared at Will instead. "You're alive."
    "Mostly." Will scooted his chair back a couple of inches. Marsh was leaning forward and his presence was pungent and intense. He still wore the jeans and t-shirt he'd been wearing when he spilled the dream on himself, and I guessed he hadn't slept much since then, either.
    He grabbed Will's hand and held it between both of his. "But your truck blew up. Over and over. You exploded into pieces and your arm…" He choked and heaved and I thought we were about to have a vomit condiment added to our dinner, but he managed to swallow it back. "And then Jesse split you open with a tire iron—"
    Marsh’s eyes locked on mine. He whimpered like a child and held his hands in front of his face as though he thought I was going to try to spike him with my fork. "Don't hurt me, Jesse. I'm sorry for what I tried to do back there—"
    "It's a dream," I said, matter of fact and totally calm, as though my insides weren't shaking like Jell-O in an earthquake. "Nobody's planning to hurt you."
    He shook his head. "Can't be a dream. I saw it. My ears were ringing—"
    "Marsh. Pull yourself together. People are looking."
    This was true. And while I wasn't crazy about the way they were watching us like they'd tuned into the afternoon soaps, this time I truly wasn't being selfish, just using my knowledge of the man to good advantage. It worked, at least a little.
    He wiped the trail of snot that wet his upper lip with the back of his hand and took a deep breath.
    "Look," I said. "Will is fine and well and here in the flesh. You haven't been blown up lately, have you, Will?"
    "Define blown up."
    I glared at him.
    "Right. Not that I know of."
    "See?"
    Marsh scrubbed both hands over his dirty face. "But I know what I saw, what I heard."
    We couldn't talk more here. All eyes were on us, nobody even pretending to eat anymore. So I snuck in one last fry and pushed my chair back. "Let's go outside and talk, okay?"
    "I dunno—"
    But Will was with me on this one, and he had Marsh by the other arm. "Come on, Bud. Let's take it outside. See? I'm alive and even mobile."
    Once through the doors and over by the truck I scrambled for a way to explain that wouldn't be blocked. "Remember that little bottle you broke at my house?"
    "I said I was sorry."
    This