He gave me a look, but then spun on his heels and left for the stairway.
Turning from the bedroom door, I moved to the glass doors leading to the bedroom’s balcony. I stepped out into the cold air. It was early winter but the weather was in the low thirties. My fingers curled around the frigid metal railings as I gazed up at the darkening sky. It was close to five and the street lights were already coming on. I lamented that Patience and I hadn’t spent nearly enough time out on this balcony. She loved all types of weather. Closing my eyes, I inhaled, letting the cold air burn my lungs on the way down.
“Emma,” I said out loud, “I need you. I need your help.” I sighed, doing the thing I’d vowed I’d never do but feeling like I had no other alternative.
“I’m here.”
My eyes opened and I turned to see her, long, brown hair still falling around the shoulders of her long, white nightgown. She floated closer.
“What do you need, Aaron?” She knew but she needed me to say it.
“Help me find my wife. Please,” I begged.
She nodded. “To find your wife we need to broaden your perspective.”
I frowned, lowering my brows. Emma didn’t say anything further. She moved closer, pressing her hand to my forehead. Again, everything went black.
Chapter Thirty
Aaron
I blinked my eyes open to find myself standing on a darkened road, woods on either side as cars sped by.
“Where the hell are we?” I asked, glancing around, and turned to Emma anxiously. “Is she here?”
She lifted her gaze to me. “No. You are.” She nodded for me to look over my left shoulder.
I pivoted my gaze and my heart nearly stopped. “What the fuck?” I growled, staring at the three bodies that laid at the side of the road, a banged up and crumpled cream-colored Lexus farther down the embankment.
“Heeelp!” the woman’s weak voice called.My mother. “A-Aaron,” she croaked out, calling my eight-year-old self.
I had no idea how I’d moved so close, but the next thing I knew, I was standing right over the bodies of my father, my mother, and myself, just moments after that fatal crash. It wasn’t a car accident because my father had purposely driven us off the road. He’d tried to kill us all.
“He died on impact. Tossed from the car after the first flip,” Emma stated, standing next to me.
I glanced over at my father’s lifeless body. He had massive head wounds, his legs contorted in an unnatural way. I looked up as I heard a car speed past the scene.
“Help!” my mother wailed, trying to raise her hand to get the car’s attention.
Anger filled my chest.
“They left us to die,” I growled. “Why the fuck have you brought me here? I need to find my wife!” I insisted.
“I am helping you. Your anger clouds your vision, Aaron. You need to learn to see people for who they really are,” Emma countered, patiently.
“I see them for who they are. Look at that…” I pointed angrily at another passing vehicle. “They all just fucking sped past us, leaving us to die. They could see the scene even from the road.” The mangled vehicle should’ve been evident to the passing drivers that someone need their help.
“Emma! Emma! Save him!”
I turned, hearing my mother call for Emma. I frowned, as I watched Emma move from my mother’s side to mine.
“Heeelp,” my eight-year-old self croaked out, laying there in a pool of my own blood.
My heart squeezed in my adult-sized chest as I watched my younger self suffer. Just as I remembered that night, Emma moved to stand over me. She lowered to her knees next to my side.
“Heelp. It hurts.” I sounded so weak.
“Shhh, little one,” Emma consoled, moving her hand to cover my chest.
