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We say goodbye and ride out of Ironworks together. Once we reach the highway, we go our separate ways.
My fingers ache. Not enough to interfere with handling my bike but a throbbing reminder of the violence committed tonight. Sometimes fists and raw violence are the only means of communication a bully understands. It was necessary. Some people need protection from the bullies of the world. And I’m fine with being that protector.
But no matter how many times I’ve had a night like this, it doesn’t make up for the times I’ve failed my loved ones.
And it never completely chases away my demons.
Emily
Horrors from my past hold me hostage. Dread and panic rip out my throat, stealing my voice.
I can’t do anything for them now.
Gruesome. Blood. So much. Everywhere. The stench of death.
Don’t look.
Find Libby.
“Libby! Libby!” I keep trying to scream until my throat’s raw, but no sound comes out of my mouth.
Blind, I search the home where I grew up. Every room. Every closet. No Libby.
Then it turns into my aunt’s home. I shove my way into Libby’s room. A pool of something dark leaks from under her closet door.
“No, no. Libby. Please, Libby. No…”
“Emily! Wake up!”
Bright light snaps me awake. My sister’s firm grip on my shoulders sears the last remnants of my nightmare away.
“Libby. Are you okay?” I throw my arms around her, hugging her tight.
My wild heart thunders as the last bits of the nightmare recede into the haunted corners of my mind.
I press my palms to her cheeks. No flecks of blood. Her eyes are full of concern, not horror. Brutality hasn’t stolen her voice. The older Libby of the here and now replaces the memories I’ve tried so hard to bury.
“You’re okay,” I whisper, more to reassure myself than anything.
“I’m fine.” Libby wiggles out of my hold. “You were screaming and sobbing.” Sadness haunts her eyes. “You haven’t had a nightmare like that in years.”
The damn letter.As much as I tried to ignore it and pretend it didn’t bother me, obviously it burrowed into my subconscious.
“I’m sorry.” Guilt bites into my soul. Libby’s endured enough in her short life. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She squeezes my hand. “You didn’tscareme. I wasworriedabout you. That’s all.”
“I’m okay,” I try to assure her. How embarrassing for my little sister to have to comfort me like I’m a child. I’m supposed to be the parental unit, not her.
“You tried to deny it, but Iknewyou were scared of Chucky,” she says, but there’s no smile to go with the joke.
“Yeah, that must’ve been it,” I murmur.
“Was it about Mom and Dad?” she asks in a small voice.
Little sister or not, she knows me too well. “Sort of. Not exactly.”
How can I say the dream was abouther? Instead, I pull her into my arms and hug her.
