Spotlight On: Dead Dreams, by Emma Right

Dead Dreams
By Emma Right




Blurb: 

Eighteen-year-old Brie O’Mara has so much going for her: a loving family in the sidelines, an heiress for a roommate, and dreams that might just come true. Big dreams–of going to acting school, finishing college and making a name for herself. She is about to be the envy of everyone she knew. What more could she hope for? Except her dreams are about to lead her down the road to nightmares. Nightmares that could turn into a deadly reality.



Dead Dreams, Book 1, a young adult psychological thriller and contemporary mystery.

Available to purchase at

Book Trailer

Prologue & Chapter 1

Prologue







bphoto

of her child. Of course,

I wouldn’t know, for I am no en, the way I’d stooped to ield to my basic instincts. My mind wandered to her,

what her unique smell would be when, and if, they ever were

to find her.





  

fter what happened, I decided to write out the events that led to that day and details in case Id missed It started on a warm pril afternoon. Gusts of wind blew against the oak tree right outside my kitchen balcony, in my tiny apartment in Atherton,

California. Sometimes the branches that touched the side

of the building made scraping noises. The yellow

huckleberry flowers twining their way across my

apartment balcony infused the

air

with sweetness.



sn’t really new, just new to me, asofinished high school

and debuted into adulthood.



, her

oice blaring from the phone even though I didn’t set her

on speaker. “You need to eat better.” So, I

skipped down three flights of steps and headed

toward the side of the apartment building to await my

in an á la chicken style,

her insistent recipe to cure me of bad eating habits. At

le-oiled till the bones

melted, I consoled myself.



when a vehicle careened round

the corner. I heard it first, that high-pitched screech of brakes wearing thin when the driver rammed his foot

against it. From the corner of my eye, even before I turned to face it, I saw the blue truck. It rounded the bend where Emerson Street met Ravenswood, tottered before

it righted itself and headed

straight at me.



My mother arrived

a half minute later but she had seen it all. Like superwoman, she leaped out of her twenty-year-old Mercedes and rushed toward me, all

breathless and blonde hair disheveled.



help me up.



pants.



I followed her, admittedly winded.“Seriously, Mom.

It’s just one of those things. Mad drivers could happen anywhere

I live.”



“Mom, stop worrying,” I said.



“I’ll find someone dependable by the end of the

week, I promise.” No ay I was going back to live at

home. Not that I came

from

a bad home environment. But

I had my reasons.



advertised on Craig’s List, despite my mother’s protests that only scum would answer “those

kinds of ads.”



’was, what

would that make me?



had money. Their ancestors had emigrated from Scotland

(where else, with a name like McIntyre, right?) in the

early 1800s and bought an entire mountain (I kid you

not) in West Virginia. It was a one-hit wonder in that the

mountain hid a coal fortune under it, and hence the McIntyre Coal Rights Company was born. This was the





AnI sat across from her, the coffee table between us, in the small , Because of

abuses of the

coal company? kWe sipped hot cocoa and sat cross-legged in the

crammed living room, which also doubled as the dining

read tips on the

Internet.



said, twirling her dark ringlets round and round on her pointer finger.



, “I guess, bunderstand? Anyway, I’m almost twentyone now. That’s

own space.” She took tiny sips of the cocoa, both handI walked to the thermostat and upped the

temperature. A slight draft still stole in from a gap in the

balcony sliding door I always kept open a crack to let the air circulate.





, our family’s okay with you living here? In

that’s

probably smaller than our bathroom? 

W“First off, it’s none of their business. Secondly, you and I won’t stay strangers.” Sarah flashed me a grin.

“Besides, I’m tired of big houses with too many rooms to

et lost in. And, ave you lived

in West Virginia?”



The farthest I’d been was Nevada

“heard i“If you like hotdShe looked about at the ceiling. I wondered if she noticed the dark web in the corner and the lack of

cornices and crown moldings. I was sure I smelled mold choose. Sarah was.



s“path part” She

“e tossed me a navy blue booklet with gilded edges and with lden words “Bank

of America” on the cover.



“Should I peek?”



S“No secrets. I can

well afford to pay rent.

AndI’m a stable individual.”



My mouth must have been open l?”



in my landlord’s leaseShe didn’t want anything down on paper—o checks, no contracts, and no way

of tracing things back to She fished in her Louis Vuitton and handed me a brown paper bag, the kind kids carry their school lunches in. I peeked inside and took out a stash of what looked like a wad of papers bundled together with a rubber band. Her three-month share of the deposit, a

total of twenty-four crisp hundred-dollar bills. They had

that distinct new-bank-notes-smell

that spoke of luxury.




secrecy? I hope your parents will at least know your

address.said as I wrapped up the interview. I could

understand not wanting parents breathing down her

neck, but as long as they didt insist on posting a uard at the door, what was the harm of them knowing where

she lived?



She leaned forward and, her face expressionless,

said

softly,