A gun sat a few feet away from me, and the front door opened to the empty street. My heart sank.It looks like another break in.
Death was in the air, or maybe it was just the smell of the gun. Weren’t the two interchangeable? It was like watching a movie play out in front of me as I dragged my eyes up, up, up.
My breath caught. Slumped across the worn wooden floors was a body, dressed more casually than the men normally in my dream. His pale sweatpants were soaked in red, too much to be possible. I was fairly certain he was dead, or if he wasn’t, he was pretty damn close to it. I crawled across the splintered floorboards toward him.
A bloody handprint covered the naked skin above his heart, surrounding the bullet wound. Lifting my shaking hand, I carefully rested it on top of the handprint. A perfect match, minus the smeared edges. Close enough I was willing to put money on the fact itwasmy hand.
The fact gave me pause, just for a moment.
I had been trying to stop the bleeding, which meant I hadn’t been doing the killing. I had been trying tosavehim.
The man twitched, the wound spurting blood once more, and I jumped back. He was still alive.
I pressed my hand against the bloody handprint again, trying to stop the bleeding. “Help!” I screamed. “Someone help me! Please!”
I looked toward the open door. Maybe I could run and get help before it was too late, if only my body would move, my feet would cooperate.
Before I could even try, the man grabbed my wrist, squeezing tightly. I met his dying gaze, using the last of his strength to try and say something. He was too close to death, and the words couldn’t leave his lips. His mouth rounded around a single word, over and over, a knife to my heart every time.
Sorry.
Sorry.
Sorry.
“Blaire!”
Someone grabbed my shoulder, and I jumped, pulling back my arm ready to strike.
“Blaire.” Calmer this time. Quieter. Soothing, like I was a rabid animal. I blinked, letting my vision settle back into reality.I was back in control.
Winder looked at me, eyes nearly black in the dark room. I could just about make out the slouch of his sweatpants around the toned lines of his body, and the darker ink that decorated it.
I sniffed, the smell of weed thick around me. Something wasn’t right.
“Where am I?” I asked.
“In my living room,” he murmured. “I caught you right before you walked outside. You were sleepwalking.”
He nodded his head toward the now closed door.I was going to get help.
It wasn’t even the same door as in my dream.Shit.
I closed my eyes again, nodding. I would’ve walked out that goddamn door into the streets with no idea of what I was doing. Because that would’ve ended great.Awesome. Just add sleepwalking to the list of things that were fucked up about me lately.
Couldn’t remember getting high at parties? Check.
Constant dreams about killing people? Double check.
Breaking and entering, or rather, breaking and leaving? Triple check.
I should buy a lottery ticket. Maybe even two. As of this moment, I had to be the luckiest person alive.Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Are you okay?” Winder repeated, his voice firmer this time.
“Yes.” I opened my eyes. “I mean. As okay as I can be, given the fact I was just about to sleepwalk out into the streets in the middle of the night.”
Winder was quiet for a moment. “Come on. We don’t want to wake anyone.” He slid his hand from my shoulder to my wrist, taking me back deeper into the house.
