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eart. He needed her now, needed her strong and patient and loving. And that's what she'd be. Every day, in every way, she'd let him know that, secret or no secret, he was loved. And maybe, when he really believed it, he'd be ready to trust her.
"We'll get through this, Jack. I promise."
Chapter Twenty-four
The storm waited until midnight, then struck hard.
Jack writhed restlessly. Sweat crawled across his forehead, and a low, frightened moan escaped his lips.
"No." The word was a dry, hopeless whisper. He whipped his head from side to side, fighting to wake up. "No . . ."
The nightmare sank its teeth into his soft flesh and pulled him downward, into the whirling, terrifying blackness lodged in his soul.
The clearing smelled of gunpowder and fire and death. Jack stood frozen with fear.
Gun and cannon fire exploded around him. Smoke filled the clearing and stung his eyes. Rain slashed at his head and ran in cold, gushing streaks down his face. The endless, hammering thunk of each droplet echoed the pounding of his heart.
"Jacko!" Johnny yelled from up ahead. "Come on."
Woodenly Jack started to run. The winter-hard ground sliced his bare feet and sent shafts of pain up his legs with every step. His rifle thudded against his back. Smoke stung his eyes and blurred his vision.
"Johnny, where are you?" He stumbled to a stop and desperately scanned the hazy battlefield. His gaze darted through the fallen and the dead. Fear clawed up his throat. "Johnny!"
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Suddenly something hurled out of the foggy haze and landed in his arms. Warm blood splatted across his face. Jack looked down at what he held and screamed. "Noooo ..."
He kept screaming until his voice was rasping and weak.
He sank to his knees in the wet dirt. The smell of blood and gore clogged his throat and nose, and tears stung his eyes until he couldn't see anything at all. Not even his brother's cold, dead eyes.
"Jack ... you're hurting me. Let go of my wrist." Jack thought he heard something. He opened his eyes. They felt painfully dry and unfocused. A headache pounded through his head.
He was looking at a face. Frightened brown eyes peered up at him through a maze of spun-gold hair. "Jack, please ..."
He blinked hard, trying to focus. The eyes changed subtly, blurred into glassy, dead gray orbs that stared at him accusingly. Johnny.
Fear chilled him to the bone. Wildly he looked around, but the world was cold and dark. "Jack, honey, I'm right here. You're okay. You're safe." The night exploded with thunder. Jack came awake with a start. Terror tingled in icy shards through his body, turned his stomach into a twisted knot. He lurched out of the wet grass?or was it his bed??and stumbled to his feet.
He stood rooted to the spot, his heart pumping in his ears. Rain slashed against a familiar window. Wind rattled the glass.
The bedroom, he realized. He was in the bedroom. With a sigh of relief, he yanked his long Johns off the bedpost and got dressed. Lightning flashed twice in rapid succession, trans-
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forming the window into an eerie mirror. For a split second Jack stared into his own haunted, frightened face. Then the image changed slightly, and he was staring into Johnny's dead, lifeless eyes.
It was happening again.
The darkness was coming. He could feel it creeping up on him, inexorably padding through the shadowy blackness of his mind. It was coming to take him away.
He turned for the door and ran down the hallway, through the menacing shadows of the house. As he rounded the kitchen table, thunder reverberated. The dishes in the dresser clattered together, the table creaked.
He skidded to a stop. Lightning flashed, and in the momentary light, he saw Johnny's face again in the window. Pale. Dead. Accusing. Jacko, where were you? I needed you, needed you, needed you. . ..
Fear devoured Jack. His heartbeat turned into a deafening roar in his ears.
