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Someone is under the covers, but when I pull the sheet back, it’s not my grandmother.
It’s Marcus.
My brother lies still, lids closed, like he’s sleeping, but his chest doesn’t rise. I put my hand on his shoulder and find him ice-cold.
The darkness around me shifts and moves, closing in on us. Marcus begins to sink into the bed, as if the mattress were quicksand. He’s disappearing from my sight, and he doesn’t respond when I scream his name.
There’s a pressure at my back, pushing me toward the sinkhole in the bed where my brother has vanished. Terror seeps from the black space.
I turn away, looking for the door. It stands there, closed again.
With fear scraping its way down my spine, I run. The darkness slows my legs, pulling me back, but I push my way through. My fingers clasp the doorknob, wrenching with a mighty tug—
I’m awake.
I gasp and pant, trying to slow down my breathing. My shirt is soaked through with sweat, sticking to me. I shiver uncontrollably.
“Just a dream … just a dream … just a dream …” I mutter the words. A mantra to slow down my frantic heart and to push the terror from my mind.
I know I shouldn’t call him. Sleep is so important for him. But I need to hear his voice or else the panic won’t leave. The hardwood next to my bed is cool on the early fall night, and my fingers slide over the floor until they grasp my phone. My thumbs tremble as I type in the number I know by heart.
“Holly?”
A sigh flows out of me, taking with it most of the tension in my stiffened muscles. “Yeah, it’s me. Sorry to call so late. I just …”
“Are you okay?” My brother’s voice, which started out as a sleepy slur, now sharpens to full awareness.
“Yeah. It was the nightmare. I just needed to make sure you were okay.”
“I thought you stopped having that dream.”
Marcus spent plenty of nights comforting me when I was a kid. Seems things haven’t changed much.
“I thought so, too. Guess it wasn’t done with me though.”
A sigh drifts from his end of the line. “You need to stop putting all this pressure on yourself. This exchange won’t go like the last ones. And, if it does, we’ll get through it.”
“Yeah, okay. I’m okay.” The words sound false to my own ears, but I let the lie go. Marcus should be sleeping, not reassuring me that a dream isn’t real when I already know that. “I’m gonna let you get back to bed. Sorry I woke you.”
“It’s going to be fine. I’m doing okay. Stop worrying. I love you, sis.”
“Love you, too, bro.”
“Night.”
“Night.”
After he hangs up, I shut down my own phone. Luckily, in my loft, my clothes are all an arm’s length away, so it’s no trouble to shuck off my damp shirt and grab a clean one. The dry fabric does a great deal to help distance me from my former terror.
I snuggle back into my mattress, pulling my blankets up to my chin. “Just a dream.”
The claim might work better if it were true. Why my brain chooses to morph the events of that night from my childhood is a question for a therapist.
BEN
I should be heading to my car, not to Huntsman Hall. But my feet said a big screw you to that, and now, I’m walking in the opposite direction. Straight toward the girl I haven’t been able to get out of my head.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
