My lungs burn. My fists clench. The baby’s wail cuts higher, frantic, while the laughter presses beneath it.
I roar and push forward. But the cries change direction and the laugh moves nearer. If I can get my hands on him, I can make the game stop.
The room stretches again. The laugh stays close and far at the same time, like it’s right in front of me while the baby’s cry keeps pulling away.
Just keep going. You have to save him. You can’t let him die.
The crying is suddenly right in front of me, so close my body heaves with it. I reach out, ready to grab him, but the sound cuts off. Like a switch flipped.
“Net.” The word rips out of me. “Ostav yevo!”No. Leave him!
The silence that replaces it is worse than the crying ever was. But I keep running, refusing to give up.
He can’t be dead. I need to find that baby. I need to save him. Iwillsave him this time.
Except the next thing I register is my father’s voice right behind me, his breath grating up my neck.
“Love makes you weak,” he says. “You have to kill it, or it will kill you.”
The blood drains out of me so fast my hands go numb.
Turning behind me, I try to grab him, to kill him, but he isn’t there.
His laughter hits harder.
“No,” I manage, hating that I’m begging him for anything. But I will for this. “No. Don’t do it. Don’t hurt him. I will do whatever you want.”
“You stupid boy. Getting attached to things I taught you not to. Now you will watch and you will see what happens when you fail.”
I snap, lunging into the dark, swinging at air, at the space where he should be. If I can find him and kill him, I can save the child.
“Pozhaluysta,” I choke.Please.“He is just a baby.”
The darkness moves like it’s alive, the room suddenly tilting. The laugh comes close, then far, and the voice repeats itself like it’s carving into my skull.
Love makes you weak. You have to kill it.
Then he does.
I wake up like I’ve been dragged out of deep water, lungs hauling in air that tastes wrong, heart slamming so roughly it hurts. Sweat clings to my skin while my eyes scan the room in a fury, searching for something solid to hold on to. I have to convince my body that I’m in my own bed and not trapped in that black room, knowing I can’t save the baby no matter how many times the nightmare comes.
And it comes more often than I’d like, the outcome remaining the same: I fail.
When I shut my eyes, I see him as though he’s right here in my arms. He was so little. Helpless. And it was my job to protect him.
Or at the least I thought it was.
The quiet in the room makes my thoughts spiral even more, so I swing my legs out of bed and head for the hallway, knowing I won’t sleep until I’ve checked on Lev.
I know my father can’t touch him, not anymore, but that doesn’t stop the fear. I ease the door open, eyes locking on the bed and the blanket pulled up high.
For one second, I can’t see his face.
My chest drops out. The silence from the dream hits me so hard my vision sharpens, and I cross the room in two steps, already lifting the blanket like I’m peeling back the edge of a nightmare. His eyes are closed, his face slack with sleep.
But it still isn’t enough. I need proof that he’s alive. Two fingers find the side of his neck, waiting for that steady beat.
Then I feel it: a pulse.
