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But when I looked up again she was already gone.

Ten

ANDREA

The dream began as it always did, halfway between light and darkness.

I was in the garage of the house I’d grown up in, surrounded by tools, projects, supplies. I could smell oil. Gasoline. My father’s usually neat things were complete mess, and for once in my life I wasn’t responsible.

I tilted my head upward. Fifteen feet above me there it was — the hole in the upper wall that served as our attic. An unbroken rectangle of pure blackness, with a metal-runged ladder leading down from it.

A ladder I was forbidden to climb.

I’d never climbed the ladder in my dream, nor had I even climbed it in real life. I wasn’t ever to know what was up there. I’d always imagined it could be anything. Everything.

And then suddenly, just like always… the skeleton stepped into view.

It grinned down at me facelessly, gripping me with instant terror. It was so stark white, it almost seemed to glow. Or maybe the black rectangle was so impossibly dark, it only looked that way by comparison.

With agonizing slowness, it began to move. It gripped the ladder first, then climbed down in a halting, jerking way that made absolutely no sense. I ran as I always did, down the hall and into our kitchen, which was exactly — down to every last painstaking detail — the way I remembered it.

My mother was there again, seated at the kitchen table. Drinking coffee. Reading a newspaper.

Not paying any attention to me.

I screamed, but no sound came out. I ran, but my feet barely moved. Everything went slow-motion again, except for the ever-increasing beat of my thundering heart. The skeleton appeared in the doorway, grinning manically, chasing me without running, catching up to me despite barely moving at all.

And then all of a sudden, something changed.

For the first time in the dream, I actually reached my mother. I touched her. I shook her! The newspaper rattled and her coffee spilled but she still ignored me, still went on sipping as if I weren’t there. As if I weren’t screaming for help, yelling into her face…

I’d had the dream countless times, and I’d never gotten this far. The skeleton was an afterthought now. The most terrifying thing was my mother, completely ignoring my cries and screams. The feeling of being there but not there, of being totally helpless and utterly alone.

The bony hand finally closed over my arm. The pain was icy, agonizing. It squeezed down hard, and now I could actually hear myself scream. The sound grew louder and louder until it split the night, until it ripped through our little kitchen as the skeleton crushed my arm down to the bone…

ANDREA…

And still, the terror of watching my mother. Looking down at her newspaper. Sipping her coffee.

Doing absolutely nothing.

ANDREA WAKE UP!

I bolted upright, aware of the two big hands gripping my upper arms. These hands were warm though, covered in flesh and blood. And there was no pain…

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” a gentle voice said. “You were dreaming...”

I gasped, gulping in my first breath of air in what had to be half a minute. My heart was racing! My whole body tingled.

“You were screaming too,” said Holden. “So loud you almost brought in half the neighborhood.” His arms went around me, all warm and inviting. They felt comforting and wonderful as he crushed me against his chest. “Holy shit honey, you’re shivering all over…”

I looked down at the cracked leather couch, all cold and uncomfortable. It had been my idea to sleep here. They guys had tried insisting I take one of their beds, but I wouldn’t have it.

He called you honey.

The word was warm. Soothing. It made me feel good, on some much deeper levels I hadn’t visited in a while.

“Grab that,” Holden ordered, pointing at my threadbare blanket which had slipped to the floor. His voice was firm and commanding. “You’re sleeping with me.”