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“I’d love to.” She smiles up at me. “If you’re sure.”
I kiss her brow and caress her stomach, my own smile growing wider by the second. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
The bed is moving.
Someone kicks me in the shins, hard.
Fuck! Ow!
I sit up, ready to grab the gun taped to the back of the nightstand, but I stop when I realize it’s Clara.
She’s frowning, twisting and kicking in her sleep. Muttering something I can’t quite make out, but whatever it is, she’s suddenly very scared. Her breath quickens and she starts whining. Then she shakes her head, slowly at first, then furiously. “No… no! No! I won’t go! Don’t?—”
“Clara.” I grab her by the shoulders and try to gently shake her awake. “Baby, wake up!”
Her frown deepens and she starts to fight me off. “No! Get away from me!”
“Clara!”
I don’t want to hurt her, so I do the only thing that makes sense in the moment: I kiss her, hard, until I feel her gasping.
She scrambles back on the bed and I let her. She needs to gather her bearings and absorb that this isn’t a dream. When she blinks, then focuses on me, she shudders. “Oh, God, Dem. I don’t… Thank you. I thought it was all happening again until I felt… that…” She actually laughs a little. “That was new.”
“You okay?” I reach for her, but she still shies away. I try to not let that bother me as much as it does. “You were having a nightmare.”
Clara slowly nods. Then starts curling in on herself.
That’s not a good sign.
“I… I dreamed I was a little girl again. At first. I thought it wasjusta dream, but then as it went on, I realized it was a memory.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and looks away. “It was the day I was kidnapped.”
I nod for her to go on. To tell me more. To ignore the way my pulse is beginning to race.
“Remember how Uncle Mike left work early that day?”
I nod again.
“I completely forgot. Dad… he left work early, too.”
“Why?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I just remember… and dreamed… that Dad came home early and it surprised Mom and me, and he acted like it wasn’t a big deal. He actually came home close to lunch time. I remember because it was the first time he offered to cook instead of Mom.”
Given what I know about Greg Everett, that does seem a bit odd. “And you dreamed this?”
“Yeah. Then, later on, Uncle Mike came over.” She sucks in a deep breath and hugs her knees to her chest.
“Clara…” Again, I try to reach for her. When she flinches, I rest my fingertips on her knees for a brief moment. “What’s wrong?”
When her eyes finally meet mine, I can see her trying to blink back tears.
“Uncle Mike… he came over for… forcoffee.”
I slowly sit up.
“And…” She sniffs and rubs her nose, looking away again. “I remember bringing him the mug.”
I don’t realize I’ve slid to my feet until I feel the cool floor beneath me. My fists clench at my sides; my mind is racing a mile a minute.
