Page 26 of Don’t Open Your Eyes

James rolled his eyes. “It was crazy. Traffic backed up all the way on Route One. Terrible accident. Pickup truck driving in the wrong lane caused a head-on collision. Ambulance and police everywhere. Looked pretty bad.”

Annabelle

I’m in my office, working on a new file. It’s someone Riggs brought in, a crime podcaster who wants to build up his social platform. Riggs is asking me to hand off another client to Mitch, so I can take him on. I glance at my watch and sigh. Two o’clock. Riggs’s inaugural staff meeting took over an hour, and now I’ve got to scramble to finish everything before I leave. I’ve got two hours before I need to pick up Olivia from gymnastics practice. I spend the next hour assembling a transfer package for the Morgan account. I walk over to Mitch’s office, but his lights are out.

Sherry, our admin, walks by. “Are you looking for Mitch?”

“Yes, is he gone?”

“Yeah, you just missed him. He wasn’t feeling well.”

“Okay, thanks.”

I go back to my office and am about to navigate to the podcaster’s website when my phone rings. I glance at the screen. Now what? I think as I snatch it up.

“Mrs. Reynolds?”

“Yes?”

“This is Coach Calhoun. Olivia fell off the balance beam. She’s in a lot of pain; we think she may have broken her arm.”

“Oh my God. I’ll be right there.”

I run from the office and press the button for the elevator repeatedly. Come on! What’s taking so long? Frustrated, I run to the stairwell. It’s eight floors but I’m pumped so full of adrenaline that I don’t care. I pull the handle on the door, but it won’t open. I yell, “Open, dammit! Let’s go!”

“Annabelle, wake up.”

James is standing over her. “You were yelling. Another nightmare?”

She sprang up and jumped out of bed. “Yeah.” She hadn’t told him that she’d dreamt of the pickup truck. She had no way to prove to him that she’d seen it before it happened. She had written it down in her journal, but she could hear him saying she could have written it after the fact. But it was irrefutable proof to her that she was seeing events before they occurred. Did that mean, though, that every dream was a premonition? She’d always had an active imagination and remembered her dreams—but they were the typical forgotten homework assignment, being naked in public, all those types of anxiety dreams. These dreams were different. Could Olivia truly be in danger or had Annabelle manufactured this dream out of anxiety because of the ones before that had come true? She would have to see how the day played out.

“Yeah, I guess,” she answered, not making eye contact. As she dressed, a pervasive sense of doom filled her. Annabelle was normally an optimistic person. She’d been through a lot in her life, but she always did her best not to let her circumstances get her down. She supposed she’d inherited that trait from her mother. After her father had abandoned them, her mother could have become bitter and angry. But Annabelle never heard her say a bad word about him. She thought back to her mother’s response when Annabelle had asked her why she didn’t hate him or speak ill of him.

“Hate is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies,” she’d said. “Besides, life’s too short to live that way. I prefer to count my blessings. And you are my number one blessing.”

She always made Annabelle feel like the most important person in the world. So, when it was Annabelle’s turn to take care of her mother, she’d done her best to treat her with the same love and devotion her mother had showered on her. She felt so alone right now. She wished James was more open-minded and that he would help her to figure this out. But he kept invalidating her fears about her dreams. She used to like how confident he was, that he always knew what was right. Now she found him overbearing. Was what had always felt to her like a blanket of protection actually him being controlling? But maybe that wasn’t fair. James was fiercely loyal to his family, always one step ahead, doing his best to make sure nothing on the outside penetrated his protective shield. What Annabelle wanted right now, though, was a partner, someone to take her seriously. She didn’t need protection—she needed understanding. She’d been so young when they’d married, right out of college, before she’d had time to live as an adult. She’d become a wife and a mother so much sooner than she’d ever planned. Her dream had been to travel the world before settling down, but an unplanned pregnancy had put an end to that. Annabelle inhaled deeply. She needed to look ahead, not back. No good would come of thinking about the past.

She pulled out the notebook from her nightstand and scribbled down her latest dream. Then she went through the motions for the rest of the morning and got the girls off to school. By the time she arrived at her office, she’d forced the dream from her mind.

—

Madeline was gone now; Annabelle needed to give Riggs a chance. Today was their first staff meeting, and she was surprised to see an assortment of pastries and fruit on the conference table. Riggs greeted her with a toothy smile as he welcomed her. She’d done a little online investigating on his Facebook page and was surprised to discover that he was only thirty-one. She would have pegged him closer to forty. He reminded her of an overgrown frat boy in his preppy polo and chinos, his vocabulary peppered with pretentious phrases and buzzwords. She noticed that he kept the Armani case to his tortoiseshell glasses on display at the table. His dark hair was parted on the side and kept in place with some sort of pomade.

“Good morning! Nice to see you again, Annabelle. Hope you’re hungry.”

She wasn’t, but the coffee looked good, and she poured herself a large cup. Her colleagues began to trickle in, and by nine everyone was there and seated.

“I know Madeline typically assigned clients based on your individual areas of expertise, which is great. But I’d like to ensure that everyone continues to develop and has the opportunity to learn new skills.”

Annabelle groaned inwardly. If he was going to tell her she was the new TikTok expert, she would throw a cinnamon bun at him.

“With that in mind, I’d like to try something new. I want to pair each of you with someone who has a specialty you don’t yet have. This way the client still gets an expert, but you all get to learn something new.”

Annabelle looked around the room. Everyone was doing their best to keep their expressions impassive. Riggs droned on for another fifteen minutes, extolling the virtues of developing a “deep bench” along with a few more sports metaphors before he finally opened it up to questions.

Mitch, a newer hire in his early twenties, spoke first. “How is this going to impact our stats? Who takes the lead and gets the credit?”

“Great question, Mitch. The person with the expertise takes the lead, but that same person will be second in a team where someone else is the expert.”