Startled awake by the clanking club on the cell door, Johnson’s body trembled. He blinked, disorientated. Then the guard’s ugly face came into focus, staring through the bars. Today was execution day, FRY-day as the guards called it. Seething hate churned in Johnson at the audacity. Death wasn’t the end, not for him.
Only moments ago he had been walking down a beach with his dream girl. He could still smell her perfume, feel her silky hair, hear the waves crash, and taste the sweetness of her lips. That damn guard yanked him away too soon. Well, he knew how to find Sarge. He knew how to slip into his dreams and twist them into a nightmare. No one would ever know what killed him.
The man they called Johnson would die today, as had the other shells he’d inhabited, but he wouldn’t. Life and death had no meaning for Elak-Dŏd. He’d jump to his new vessel, the young man at the beach. Already Elak-Dŏd had manipulated others at the resort to pay for his needs.
And the woman, she was a young spirit, just learning to dream-walk. Already she strode his dark path. The look in her eyes had shown him a future he had never thought possible. She was the one. For her, he would do anything.
This time there would be no mistakes, not with centuries of experience. The Dream Guardians would never find them. If all went as planned, Elak-Dŏd would finally have children to battle that pompous clan.