Read an Excerpt
The arm he had wrapped around me had his wife’s name tattooed on it. We were lying together, skin against skin, our bodies glowing with the flushed sweatiness of great sex, and as his fingers traced idle circles on my hip, I wondered if he would ever come to regret those Gothic letters spelling out ‘Nicky’.
I paused, wondering how much detail I should go into. Dr. Hector had stressed that I should write down every significant point of the dream, but this all felt too intimate.
When I had agreed to take part into this research into the existence of pre-cognitive dreams, it was because when puberty hit I had somehow been given the knack of predicting disasters. Over the years, I had witnessed everything from rail crashes to devastating tropical storms. They had appeared in my dreams in vivid, unforgettable detail a day or two before they had actually taken place. And though I’d known they were going to happen, I had never been able to do anything to stop them. So I had hoped I would be able to give the scientists more information about why these images appeared in my brain, and how these warnings might be used to help save lives. I was sure Dr. Hector and his assistants had thought the same.
But since the first night I attended the university’s sleep research laboratory it had all been very different. Three times a week, I settled between those crisp white bedsheets and allowed the researcher on duty to attach electronic sensors to my temples to monitor my brain activity. Then I closed my eyes and dreamed about nothing but sex. Hot, raw, filthily explicit sex.