* * *
Dell didn’t know how long it took to return to reality.
He never did.
When his vision started to clear, when his skin prickled with cool air, flowing in through the still-open sliding glass door, he doubled over, stomach immediately swamped with nausea. He managed, a second later, to close the door, stumble toward the bathroom. The cold porcelain of the toilet felt good against his forehead, which was clammy and hot, even though he knew he shouldn’t actually be putting his face on the toilet. He needed to take a shower. He was so tired.
He needed to figure out what had just happened.
One second he was at his computer. And then…and then he was here.
He thought he remembered Mae. Mae had been outside. But as soon as he thought it, his mind questioned itself. Had it been Mae, or someone else?
Had anyone been outside at all?
Were they still there now?
Panic rose in his throat, and a rush of bile flooded into the porcelain. He blinked wetness from his eyes, unsure if it was sweat or tears. Had he locked the door? Were the dogs safe? He had to make sure the dogs were safe.
Numbly, he forced himself to stand, to toss some water at his face, in his mouth. Crosby was there, right there, staring at him from the doorframe of the bathroom. Good. That was good.
He spotted Nash next, not far behind, his concerned pittie eyes staring right at him. Young sat by the kitchen island, tail thumping the floor, ears back. She whined, cowering the tiniest bit when Dell approached, and he hated himself. He left her alone, muttering curses as he searched for Stills. Eventually, he found her exactly where he should have expected her: down the hall, on her bed right outside the door to his workshop, sound asleep.
Feet heavy, he returned to the living room. The nausea had receded, but the dizziness lingered, a distant ache he knew was an incoming headache that would last for at least a day. The deep exhaustion began to permeate. He sank onto the couch and put his head in his hands.
He tried to remember. He always tried to remember, even if he knew it was useless, right after. He needed to know if it was Mae. If he’d done something to Mae.
He forced himself to lift his head, look around, try to ground his five senses.He could smell…the lingering scent of his coffee, the ever present smell of the dogs. He could see, across the room, through the glass door?—
The broken pieces of Lauren’s mug, smashed across the planks of the deck.
“Fuck,” he said, louder, clearer, punching a fist into a cushion.
And then he took a heaving breath. He didn’t know what to do. No, no, he did. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he’d promised her he’d always call.
He found his phone. Returned to the couch.
And he called his mom.
“Dell? Is everything okay, honey?” Concern laced Georgia’s voice already. It always did, whenever he called her outside of his regular call schedule, every Sunday afternoon. Dell couldn’t remember what day it was. But he knew it wasn’t a Sunday.
“I…” He cleared his throat, blinking more dampness out of his eyes. “It happened again.”
“Okay. That’s okay, Dell, honey. Where are you? Are you safe?”
“Yeah. I’m at home.” Dell closed his eyes. “No one else is here. Everything’s fine. I…I don’t know what happened.”
“That’s okay,” Georgia repeated, voice soft. “I’m here with you.”
A few quiet seconds ticked by. Dell breathed. In, out. In, out.
“Was there a loud sound?” Georgia asked eventually.
“I think so. Must’ve been.” He swallowed. “I think…maybe…Mae was here. Maybe Mae just knocked. I don’t know.”
As soon as he said it, though, he could picture it. Mae knocking on the glass as hard as she could. She was loud about everything. He breathed out.
“But she’s not there now?”
