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Some nights, it was just the memory of when I saw him in prison. I would wake up immediately when my fainting spell occurred, and as soon as I noticed Sierra beside me, I felt more at ease.
Sometimes, it was me in the place of his victims. I saw what he was doing. I even imagined what his voice would sound like. He would taunt me, laugh at me, torture me. Even if I begged, he’d laugh it off, and when he was about to murder me, I would wake up in a cold sweat.
And then, the most disturbing dreams occurred.
I had dreams of him. He was doing things to me. And I enjoyed every single thing he did.
He touched me, and it wasn’t tender. It was a touch full of lust, and when he kissed parts of my body, it was as if he’d poured gasoline all over me and then lit me on fire. I woke up before things escalated from kisses and touches.
It disgusted me.
How the hell could I even think of such things, let alone dream of them? I told myself that it was my subconscious trying to fight fear and adding lust instead, but it didn’t change the fact that I felt filthy at the mere thought of those dreams.
His face was everywhere. In the water reflection, in the mirror, outside of the building, in the darkness. I was going insane, and could no longer keep up with my schoolwork. I completely stopped working on my master’s, and almost decided to drop out.
Sierra talked me out of it, but as each day passed, she grew more and more worried. Her work hours were flexible, and she started coming home sooner than usual, and instead of working six days a week, she opted for four.
I was grateful, but also wished that I didn’t involve her in my madness.
Because it was all that it was — madness. A destructive obsession. A nightmare.
A nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.
When I was sixteen years old, I had my first sleep paralysis.
It came from a traumatic event that I’d witnessed. I was with my mother, helping her in the grocery store. It was almost time to close the store, and I vividly remember rushing mom, telling her to hurry up as I had school the next day.
Three armed, masked men entered the store and started shooting. Mom shielded me and hid me behind one of the isles that was furthest away. My curiosity got the better of me, and I glanced at the scene.
At that moment, one of them shot a visibly pregnant woman between her eyes.
They were caught within days, but that picture was forever embedded in my brain. It was one of the main reasons I chose criminology, and why I started writing crime and thriller novels. It was a way to cope with what I’d seen that day.
That same night, I felt myself being awoken at an odd hour. However, all I could do was breathe and look around. My body was completely frozen, and my voice was gone. No matter how hard I tried to scream, not a single sound came out.
Then, a figure appeared above me.
It was floating, and it was very dark. There was no face, only blackness where it should’ve been. But it had red eyes, so bright that the sole glance I threw its way made me too afraid to even look again.
I felt its hands around my throat, squeezing and then its sinister laughter.
That’s when I woke up and never told a soul about that night.
I brushed it off as a nightmare, but after three nights of repeated scenes, I didn’t sleep much. Because it happened at odd times, I always had my alarm set for one in the morning. Then I’d be awake for three, four hours before sleeping for another two. Then it was time for school, and I barely survived on so little sleep.
It took a year before one of my parents noticed the strange pattern of my sleep schedule.
Ever since, I started taking medicine for insomnia. At times, it helped. Other times, I wished I could take more and finally get a full night of sleep, after years.
But now, no medicine was helping me.
And today, I decided enough was enough.
I’d been dwelling in my paranoia for way too long. It was never this rough, and although I didn’t know exactly how to pull the thoughts out of my head, I knew that staying in that apartment, locked up with my brain, was the worst solution.
‘‘You can do it, Storm.’’ I took a deep breath, staring at my reflection in the mirror. ‘‘It’s just across the street.’’
Sierra left for work, though reluctantly. She had to take an afternoon shift and left around five. Since it was wintertime, nightfall came quicker, and by six, it was already dark out.
