Page 31 of In the Dead of Night

CHAPTER EIGHT

Rain poured with the roar of a thousand waterfalls. Seven-year-old Sara huddled beside her mother’s body. Giant sobs wracked her. Oh, how she wanted her mommy to wake up and hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay.

But Sara knew the bad man was out there. On the balcony. With a gun. Covering her face with her hands, she pressed against her mommy’s shirt and closed her eyes. The scent of roses and baby powder, the lingering warmth, chased away the terror.

A gust of wind made her lift her head. A fresh wave of horror enveloped her when the man walked into the room. Water dripped from his raincoat onto the floor. Behind him the curtains billowed wildly.

A whimper escaped Sara when she saw the gun. Horror transformed into wild panic when he raised the weapon and aimed it at her face. She cried harder. Great, shaking sobs tearing from her throat.

“Mommy. Wake up. Mommy!”

The bad man wiped his face with his sleeve. “Sorry, kid,” he whispered.

Sara saw tears in the man’s eyes, and for a crazy moment she wanted to run to him, throw her arms around his hips, beg him to stop. But she was too afraid to move.

She closed her eyes.

The ensuing gunshot rocked her brain.

And Sara began to scream.

“Easy. Whoa. It’s me.”

The familiar voice pried into her consciousness. Strong hands gripped her shoulders. Disoriented, Sara brushed at the hands, tried to twist away. All she could think was that the man with the gun was in the room, that she and her family were in danger.

“Sara. It’s Nick. You’re okay.”

Recognition cut through the fog of terror. Sara blinked him into focus. His face registered. Strong features and concerned eyes. His hands firmly but gently squeezing her shoulders. The fear receded back into its deep, dark hole.

She knew it was silly, but she looked toward the window, almost expecting to see the man with the gun. The nightmare had been so terribly real….

“You cried out in your sleep.” Nick tilted his head as if to get a better look at her. “You okay?”

Sara tried to smile, but it felt phony on her face. “Yeah, just…embarrassed.”

“Don’t be.” He grimaced. “That film was pretty hard to stomach.”

Only then did she realize he thought the tape had given her nightmares. “It wasn’t about the film.”

“Then what?”

“I dreamed about the night my parents were killed.”

His eyes burned into hers. “Did you remember something?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s almost as if…after all these years my subconscious is trying to tell me I saw more that night than I ever realized.”

“More than you were able to tell the police,” he finished.

She nodded. “It’s hard to tell how much of the nightmare is from the power of suggestion and how much of it might be a true memory trying to surface.”

“You want badly to exonerate your father.”

“Yes, I do. That’s why I don’t trust this.”

He nodded as if he understood. “What do you see in the dream?”

“I’m there. In my parents’ room. My mother is on the floor. I’m huddled against her. When I look up there’s a man in a raincoat standing on the balcony. He has a gun.” A tremor rippled through her at the memory. “I’m terrified. I look at him. I think he’s crying. He raises the gun, points it at me. I close my eyes. The gunshot sounds like a crack of thunder.” She shook her head. “It always ends the same way.”