She collapsed on the couch, still blinking slowly as different visions passed before her eyes. “Quinn,” she said, glancing up, her expression bleary and confused, “whassa catcher of dreams?” She slurred. Quinn looked over at Aisling, concern shining in her hazel eyes.
“Aisling,” she said worriedly, “are you okay?”
“Yeh. Jus’ fine,” she mumbled, “why?” She blinked hard and concentrated her energy on Quinn.
“I don’t know. You just seem off. Your speech is slightly garbled.”
“Rube’s in da hospisal,” she replied, stumbling over her words.
“Rube…Ruby. Yeh. She’s in da hospisal.”
Quinn looked at Aisling, pity now forming in her gaze. Aisling reminded Quinn so much of Mya near the end of her life, it scared her.
“Why are you talking like that, Ash?”
“Like…what?” she spat out, shutting her eyes for a minute and then popping them open. When she opened her eyes, instead of appearing glazed like Quinn expected, they appeared clear and focused.
Aisling leaned in and pressed her weight on Quinn, staring at her with a menacing glow to her eyes. “I know you knew Mya before she died. What killed her, Quinn? What’s happening to me? What the Hell is a catcher of dreams?” The tone of her voice had changed from incoherent and faltering to a heightened rage. Accusatory practically.
~From my upcoming novel.