But he doesn’t.
26
BANE
“Ara. My Ara, wake up,” a sweet feminine voice says. Is that a British accent?
I blink my eyes open and see a woman leaning over me—dark hair, brown eyes, a face so similar to my own. It’s like I’m looking at myself.
“Mom?” I croak.
A hand reaches down and touches me softly.
“Yes.”
My eyes grow wet, tears streaming down my cheeks as she wipes them away.
“Don’t cry. I’m just so happy I got to see you once more. You’ve grown up.”
I nod and reach out, touching her cold hand.
“I forgot about you. I forgot. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I didn’t forget about you, my beautiful son.”
Those words make me let out a sob, and I hold onto her tighter.
“Where am I?”
“In the space between,” she says. “But don’t worry, you’re not staying. You’re going to wake up. Someone needs you.”
“Who?”
She lets out a small laugh and then leans down and presses a kiss to my wet cheek.
“Someone who loves you.”
I want to ask more questions, to stay with her a little longer, but she’s already starting to fade.
“Wait. I don’t want to go.”
“You have to. They need you.”
Her fingertips cling to mine, holding on, and I find myself weeping even harder. I want to talk to her longer, to see her. To hear her voice.
“I love you, Ara. I’m so proud of the man you’ve become.”
And then she’s gone.
I cover my face with my hands and weep into them. The woman from my dreams visited me, and now she’s gone once more.
Only this time, I won’t forget. I won’t.
“Bane,” a different voice says—deep, Russian. “Bane. Wake up. Please, umnyashka.”
A warm hand gently touches my cheek, just under my eyes, and I find myself slowly following it, back to the living, to the light.
“Bane. Ara.”
