Mystery
The flickering screen of my laptop illuminated the room, casting long shadows that danced
on the walls. I was chasing shadows of my own, lost in the digital labyrinth of
"manybooks.net." I'd stumbled upon a title – "Dream Walker," by Dima Zales – and the cover
image had ensnared me. A young woman with fiery red hair, clad in black, wielding a strange,
geometric weapon against a backdrop of swirling purple and blue energy. Lightning cracked
around her, and the title, etched in a gothic font, seemed to pulse with a silent power.
But it wasn't the fantasy aesthetic that had grabbed me; it was the unsettling familiarity of
the girl's face. It was vaguely familiar, like a half-remembered dream. I felt a strange pull, a
conviction that I knew her, or at least, I *should* know her.
I downloaded the sample chapter, hoping for some clue within the prose. Dima Zales' writing
was evocative, describing a world where dreams were not just subconscious echoes but
tangible realms, and Dream Walkers, like the girl on the cover, were guardians of those
realms. But the girl herself, Bailey Spade, remained an enigma. I scoured the internet for
information on the author, Dima Zales. Limited details, a single interview where she spoke
vaguely of being inspired by "personal experiences". I found nothing that connected her to
the face on the cover, or me.
Driven by an unsettling intuition, I started digging into old photo albums, childhood
yearbooks, anything that might trigger a memory. Days blurred into weeks, fueled by coffee
and a growing obsession. My apartment, once tidy, became a chaotic landscape of
scattered photographs and scribbled notes, a physical manifestation of the mental maze I
was trapped in.
Then, one rain-soaked afternoon, it hit me. A faded photograph, tucked away in the back of a dusty shoebox. A summer camp, circa 2005. And there she was. Not
wielding a glowing weapon, but sporting pigtails and a mischievous grin, standing next to
me. Her name tag read "Sarah M." Sarah… Mahoney.
Sarah. The girl who vanished from camp one night without a trace. Everyone assumed she'd
run away, but I'd always felt there was more to it. She'd always talked about her dreams,
wild, vivid narratives that seemed more real than reality. She claimed she could control them,
walk through them, even…change them.
I frantically searched for any mention of Sarah Mahoney online. A missing person's report,
filed by her distraught parents. Cold case files, unanswered leads. The search went cold after
a few years. But then, a breakthrough. An obscure forum dedicated to lucid dreaming. A user,
with the handle "Bailey made," posted intricate descriptions of a dream world remarkably
similar to the one described in Dima Zales' book. The post were articulate and
thought-provoking; someone was clearly a gifted writer.
Could it be? Could Sarah have somehow found a way to escape into the dream world she so
passionately described? Had she become the Dream Walker she'd always envisioned?
The forum led me to Dima Zales' website, a minimalistic page with only contact information. I
sent an email, a desperate plea for answers, outlining my connection to Sarah, my suspicions
about "Bailey made." I waited, each tick of the clock an eternity.
Days later, a reply. A single sentence: "Meet me at The Old Mill cafe, tomorrow at noon. Don't
tell anyone."
The cafe was deserted when I arrived, save for a woman sitting in a dimly lit corner booth, her
face obscured by a wide-brimmed hat. She looked up as I approached, and I gasped. It was
her, the girl from the book cover,older, wiser, but undeniably Sarah. Or rather, Bailey Spade.
She smiled, a sad, knowing smile. "It's a long story," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "A
story about dreams, and choices, and the worlds we create for ourselves." And as she began
to speak, the cafe seemed to fade away, replaced by the swirling purple and blue energy of
the dream world, and I knew, somehow, that I was about to walk through the looking glass.