I’m standing in the dark.Moonlight breaks through the trees, illuminating the abandoned camp.Wind howls and leaves begin to whisper.I glide between the cabins, like I’m floating rather than walking.
Fear has my brain working in starts and stops.I hate it here.A whack and a thud.I want to run in the opposite direction, but I glide toward the sound instead.My heart is pounding in my ears.I don’t want to see what’s happening.I don’t want to know.
When I move out from behind a rotting cabin, I see a car parked by the tree line.The trunk is up and the headlights are illuminating vines and bushes.Against my will, I glide closer, hearing that strange sound again.
On the ground, barely in the shaft of light from the car, a body lies crumpled on the ground.He seems almost peaceful if you don’t look too closely at his face.Skin blotchy, his eyes are wide open and sightless, his upper lip stained from a bloody nose.The residue of foaming bile clings to the sides of his mouth.Poison this time.
He looks nothing like Aaron, the young man in the shelter.This one is wearing a suit with bloodstains on his white shirt.He looks to be in his thirties, with a good haircut and clean, short nails.
The strange sound cuts through the wind again.I look up and see someone inside the tree line hunched over.After a moment, the movement becomes clear.He’s digging.He’s hidden from the headlights and the moon, his silhouette black against shadow.
My scalp prickles with unease.Someone is watching me.I feel it.There’s movement to the side and I flinch, gazing up.A small boy is sitting on the tree branch above an ever-growing hole, his feet swinging back and forth.He’s insubstantial, a translucent gray, and he seems to be watching the man dig.
An owl calls and the boy looks up.He has an ugly black mark around his missing eye.The one eye remaining holds judgment.It roots me to the spot as my heart gallops out of control.
Beside him on the branch, his legs dangling down, is Aaron, his face a dark bloody mess.On the child’s other side is the teenaged girl who was raped and killed by the pond.Her face is bloated and sad.
There are others around me.Some in the bushes near the killer, some standing outside the glare of the headlights.A few of them point toward the killer.One smiles and pantomimes shaking hands.All of them watch me, waiting for me to do something, to stop him.
My chest feels like it’s caving in.I feel the accusation.No one needs to say it.I feel it coming from all of them.If I hadn’t hidden behind a wall, maybe I could have done something before he’d killed so many.
Someone brushes their fingers over my cheek and I scream.
“Arwyn, stop.Sweetheart, stop.It’s me.You’re okay.”
I scramble closer, trying to bore into his chest.
“You’re shaking, love,” he rumbled.“It was a dream.Everything’s okay.”Declan was on his back, my head in the middle of his chest.
“It’s not, though,” I whispered, telling him what had happened with my father and then the dream.As I spoke, Declan’s body got more and more rigid, his arms crushing me to him.
“Put on your earrings and tell him to get back here and fix it,” he said, his voice strained.“I don’t care if he meant well or not, he can’t destroy what you’ve created to protect yourself.What the hell was he thinking?”
I shook my head.“What if the dream is right?Maybe if I hadn’t closed myself off, I’d have been able to help before there were so many of them.”
Growling, he said, “Damn it, Arwyn, you don’t owe the world your sanity or your life.This is not on your shoulders.”His big hand gently moved up and down my back.
Logically, I knew he was right, but it was hard to shake the judgment in the eyes of those victims.
“We need to cancel dinner tonight,” he said.“You can’t be around all those people.”
I popped up to my knees, feeling a little head rush, and turned to the clock on my nightstand.Four-thirty.“No.We have time.”I slid off the bed.“We need to plan and discuss.I’ll—I don’t know.I’ll try to stay far away from everyone.”
I jogged down the stairs, Declan at my heels.With a flick of my fingers, I opened the shutters.Light fell on the glass pieces on the worktable.“Oh, damn.”
“What is it?”Declan’s gaze fell on the table as well.“Did something break?”He picked up one of the pieces, marveling at the brown glass.“Wait a minute.”He stared at me, then back at the glass tubing branching off in different directions, the housing nestled in the middle.“Is this the replacement light fixture for our dining room?”
I nodded.“I’d hoped to have it done for tonight.Bud, one of the guys on Bracken’s construction crew, was trying to help, but the housing wasn’t fitting properly, so he was getting frustrated.That’s when my dad showed up.”Dejected, I looked at what I had.
“How long will it take you to finish?”he asked.
“More time than we’ve got.”I took the glass from him and put it back on the table.“We should get going.”
“Unlike Bud,” he said, “you have magic.You stay here and work on this.I can make the potatoes.Or, no.I’ll do rice.That’s easier.Call me when you’re done and I’ll come back for you.”He kissed my forehead.“You need a win today.Create something beautiful and find some peace.”
I looked up at him and felt some of the tension draining out of me.“Yeah?”
“Absolutely.I’ve got this.I think we told them six.I have plenty of time.”He kissed me again.“I can’t wait to see what you create for our home.”His hand ran down my arm.“Okay, you get back to work.I’ll pick you up when you’re ready.”
