4 Chapter 4-London-Bus Dream

Lunchtime passed by with no actual lunch. She had a bundle of data compiling to finish by 4:00 pm so Catherine ate the single leftover egg sandwich from this morning and typed single-handedly. Where was the cup of coffee when she needed them most? She murmured.

When she was finished, with still five minutes to spare, she gathered all the files with one hand and hurled them on her desk to finish tomorrow. With that, she stood up and trudged out the door, slamming it shut on her way out. Her day was done, and it exhausted her like hell. She sighed, thinking about the new boss. The bus ride took an hour which gave her enough time to rest her mind and her eyes, waiting for the bus to come while snacking on her savory turkey sandwiches from the subway.

Why does he look so familiar? Even his scent was recognizable. Where did she meet him before? With that thought and the chilling wind outside, Catherine knew for sure a ride from home wasn't any better, she'd threaded her way in and out of the stream. She felt alone in this crowd, she felt like she does not belong here, she felt unwanted!

Closing her eyes inside the bus, she seemed detached from the world. With a stretch and a yawn, Catherine fell asleep and for an unknown reason, she felt like someone snuggled right into her. Her dreams were always the same. She could recall the flat shade of blue-grey hue of his eyes the last time he scowled at her — the glow was striking against the background of his pale skin with his dark copper hair. Today, his eyes were different hue: a strange amber, but with the same blue-grey tone.

She saw a coin, an ancient-looking hand covered in dirt, the engravings worn and the head so stained from times. She held it in her left grip, staring at the mud that dirtied her skin. Flipping it over and over. So close to her face that the coin had the aroma of musty blood and rustiness. She turned to her right palm and in the seizing was a new cloverleaf, fresh and beautiful.

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And as far as Catherine could remember, according to Irish tradition, those who found a four-leaf growth were destined for good luck, as each petal in the clover symbolizes good omens for faith, hope, love, and luck for the finder.

A perfect sphere of clique dew completed the leaf, reflecting a picture of Catherine's face, softened and peaceful, yet the sadness was recognizable. When she flipped back the coin, the form of the mysterious man had freed himself and journeyed over to the cloverleaf yet, she couldn't tell up from down. Her vision was blurry. And she felt so dizzy. Her heart was beating faster, she was not indeed sure if she was breathing at all.

The misery was unbearable, growing, and strengthening. Again, that dream; the dream of her pain.--and a scream was torn from her chest. A moment of silence followed.

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