“River,” I try again. I can’t force any sound through my voice box.
I can’t reassure him or cry for help or make a phone call.
I try to call 911, but they keep saying they can’t hear me when I speak.
I have no voice. None at all.
I run across the black and oily floor of the warehouse, but as I do, I realize he isn’t tied to the chair, he’s chained to it.
Skin hangs from his ankles. “Oh, baby,” I try to say with tears streaming down my face. “What did they do to you?”
“Wren?” he says.
Yes. It’s me. I’m here. I’m going to help you.
But again. The words are trapped behind my voice box.
My throat is closing in, like I’m choking on my own words. Suffocating under the pressure to release them.
Then, a bullet whizzes past me, and River stops moving completely. A single bullet shot to the temple as blood drips down onto his?—
“No,” I shout and sit up in bed with a gasp.
A dream.
My body is wet with sweat, and I grasp around the edge of the side table to find the cable that runs from the lamp with the light switch on it. When I finally find it, I see the sheets are a mess. Like I’ve been kicking around for a while.
In the cool night air of the ranch house, my skin chills, and I throw back the covers.
Trying to sleep while Catfish is out was a bad idea. Instead, I pad into the bathroom and turn on the shower. Then, I return to the bedroom, strip out of my damp pajamas, and reach for my phone to check where he’s at, if everything is okay.
“God damn it,” I mutter when I realize my phone is dead. I trace the power cord and realize it’s not plugged into the socket. Such a rookie mistake. I switch it on and leave my cell to charge on the nightstand.
Steam swirls in the air by the time I hit the bathroom again. My reflection in the mirror shows my complexion is ashy, my cheeks flushed. It’s an odd combination. Dark and haunted circles decorate beneath my eyes.
It takes a moment to unbraid my hair and let it fall loose around my shoulders. The green will start to fade soon, and Imake a mental note to ask Catfish if I can find some box dye in town before it fades too much.
When I finally step beneath the water, I let it warm my bones. I don’t wash anything, I don’t turn, I just let it pound on my head. Hot and relentless.
The dream shook me. Seeing him so hurt left me with a feeling of helplessness. In the moment, I was voiceless and couldn’t even reassure him of my presence.
Even beneath the water, my eyes sting with tears. I tilt my head back, eyes closed, trying to drown out the paranoia that it was a premonition.
But I’ve long since learned that inaction in any kind of life crisis leads to a deepening despair or even depression. So, I do what I do best. I recommit to my work. I’ll shower. I’ll work.
I reach for the shampoo and lather my hair as I think about angles I haven’t tried. I plan a call with Calista to tell her what I’ve learned about the connection to the warehouse.
Rinsing my hair takes a while because there’s so much of it and it’s so thick.
Conditioning it takes even longer. I apply lots to it and let it sink in while I wash the rest of me. Once I’m washed, I work a thick comb through it to ensure I’m rid of knots.
Then, I hear it.
The slam of the front door.
My heart jerks, and I freeze, every nerve on alert.
Boots thud on wood and then comes a reassuring cry. “Wren!”
