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He fought to wake up as the bed shifted, morphing into the white cold tile floor, as he crab-walked backward from her body.
The blood.
It was everywhere.
The tub had overflowed, and his child was dead floating face down in the water, just like he’d found her when he’d had to pull his baby from the water to see if she was dead.
Her eyes had clouded over, and her mouth was open in some silent sick scream after her own mother murdered her.
Stole her.
The dream held on, as the water was streaming over the sides and ran through the brains and blood making vile streaks of what had once been his wife’s essence.
He sat there screaming and screaming as no one heard him.
He sat there fighting to wake up before it took him too.
Yes, he wanted to die, but not in this dream.
As he screamed one last time, as his broken child floated in the water all around him, the visual was enough to tear him from the nightmare.
He sat up, his body drenched in perspiration, and his stomach twisted in knots.
He crawled from the bed and scrambled to the bathroom where he retched up all the bile and regrets of his life.
Meeting her.
Loving her.
Trusting her.
He emptied his body out, and when he was done puking, Gamble leaned against the wall and did the only thing he could.
He cried.
There was no way he’d come back from this.
And he knew it.
The man he was…well, he was gone.
And all that was left was a shell.
He.
Was.
Dead.
And he hated Storm for what she’d damned him to.
THIS PERSONAL HELL.
Chapter Four
Somewhere In NOLA
Her Hidey-Hole
