Splotches of red mar her fingers and smear her chin. Leaving her drink on the bedside table, I head toward the bathroom and return with a warm washcloth. I’m aware of each swipe of the cloth, like I’m washing my own hands. Vivienne sighs and flinches when I set her hand down and rub her jaw. A whimper releases from her throat, making me pause.
She brushes her chin against her shoulder as she shifts restlessly. Her forehead creases as she fists the blankets and draws the edge to her mouth, tucking her face in before settling down.
The wind howls as a thick veil of white comes down fast outside my windows. I move from the edge of the bed to a chair across the room, my heart slowing as hers does, and I wait. There’s nothing more I can do.
Bad Dream
Vivienne
Slapping at my bedside table, my hand searches for the incessant vibration dragging me unwillingly from sleep. Finding my cell phone, I fumble with the screen, bringing the device to my ear. “Hello?” I clear my throat and repeat myself when the word barely passes my lips.
“Viv? Where have you been?” Mom’s voice sounds far, far away. I blink rapidly, clearing the sleep from my brain. “Were you asleep, honey? I’ve been calling all evening. Are you sick?”
Her questions come in quick-fire succession, and I struggle to keep up while sitting. Rubbing my aching temple, I peek at my cell for the time. Midnight. What the heck?
“Uh . . . no. Or, yeah. Yeah, I was sleeping. I’m not sick. Just tired.”
There’s a pause. A shift on the other end. “You didn’t call after your run. You know you’re supposed to let me know when you get home if I’m not there. I was worried. Especially with this storm raging and the disappearance of the Bennett girl.”
Heidi Bennett. She went missing last weekend, during the Cold Moon Ball. The adults around town are freaking out, but consensus at school is she probably had a fight with her boyfriend, or parents, and will show up in a few days. I work my head side to side, stretching out the kinks as I wait for her to say more.
“Viv? Are you sure everything is okay?”
“Mmmhmmm,” I hum, focusing on a shadow lurking beyond my window. The hair on the back of my neck stands. I never leave my blinds and curtains open, especially at night. Living on the first floor of an apartment complex doesn’t offer a whole lot of privacy. Plus, the guys across the way are pervs. “Yeah. I’m fine. Sorry I didn’t call. I laid down. I guess I fell asleep.”
After your run. Her words register belatedly, and my pulse picks up.
“Okay, sweetie. Go back to sleep, and I’ll see you when I get home in the morning.”
I nod, then remember I’m on the phone. “Yeah, okay, have a good shift. Love you.”
“I went for a run,” I say to the empty room after the call ends.
The snow outside reflects the bright winter moon and casts long shadows across my small bedroom. Sinking into my blankets, I pull my comforter over my bare shoulders. Wait. Bare shoulders? My hands run over my body. What am I wearing? Running tights and a sports bra? Kicking into a sitting position, I draw my knees to my chest.
I went for a run. I . . . Tears prick my eyes.
A dark flash hurtles at me. Pain. Blood. My throat closes. No. It was a dream. A nightmare.
Hurrying from my room, I search for my clothing. My jacket, pants, shoes, any of the gear I normally wear running. I flip on lights, search closets, the hampers, the washing machine. My heart plays the beat of a thousand drums.
A low, animalistic snarl fills my ears. A cool touch. An urgent voice. My knees give way, and I crumble to the floor, dizzy and spent. Why can’t I remember anything? What am I missing? Nothing is right. I crawl to the couch and pull myself up, drawing a throw over my body. I need sleep. Maybe I am getting sick.
The view from the couch to my bedroom window is unhindered, and there—beside the pine outside my building—is a shadow.
My eyelids grow heavy as I peer across the apartment. A shadow in the form of a human.
I pry my eyes wider, my temples pounding. A shadow with amber eyes.
I should be scared by a shadow outside my window in the middle of the night. I should call 911, I should scream, but I don’t. I’m not afraid. My mind calms as my frantic heart settles. With one last sleepy effort, I search out the shadow, catching a wavering glimpse before everything falls dark.
“You’re bloody crazy, Viv.” Zara blows into her cupped hands as she shifts from foot to foot.
“Are you being British again?” I laugh as I walk the steps from my window to the pine for the third time. My gaze searches the ground for something—anything—that proves someone stood out here last night. “Which Austen movie did you watch yesterday?”
“It wasn’t Austen. It was a documentary on the royal family. It was brilliant.”
“You’re mad.” Though I’m teasing, I can’t help but go into character and pull out my British slang.
“Well done.” Zara’s tone and accent come out a bit Mary Poppins. Her fascination with British culture knows no end. We’ve spent thousands of hours watching, listening to, and studying British entertainment. “But, I would argue I am not the one here who is insane, my dear Viv.”
“I know what I saw. Someone was out here last night.”
“And in your apartment, stealing your clothes?” She steps into the snow and works her way to my side. “There is nothing here. Even if you did have a Peeping Tom, there would be no evidence. It snowed all night. You’re not going to find a fresh set of footprints. You’ve watched too many crime shows.”
Why did I bother telling her?
Zara tugs her knit hat over her ears, smooshing down her thick, dark hair. “Can we go inside? I’m freezing and you don’t have a jacket on.”
“That’s because I can’t find my jacket,” I remind her.
“Did you tell your mum?”
Grabbing her arm, I lead her toward the apartment. “Tell her what? That someone robbed me of my running gear? That I’m seeing things?”
I’m positive something happened yesterday. Something bad. Something dangerous. I rack my brain for any semblance of what it could have been.
A smattering of needles prick across my shoulders, and I pause, my gaze scanning the parking lot, looking for something, sensing it. Other than the kids building a snowman by the building across from mine, the complex is quiet.
“Mom’s already giving me a hard time about running alone since Heidi went missing. If I alert her to anything out of the ordinary, she’ll start making me spend all my free time at the medical center with her.”
“Good point.” Zara weaves her arm beneath mine. “Let’s go. We can drive over to Backwoods and buy you a new coat before the movie.”
“This is not how I intended spending the last of my birthday money,” I complain as I dig for my wallet and hand most of my cash to Willa Kasun, who smiles sympathetically from behind the register.
“The fact that you still have birthday money from last April is telling, my friend,” Zara, the spendthrift, says with a shake of her head.