Page 78 of The Sound of Him

I hit one of the walls of the closet and start to follow it, wanting to make sure I’ve checked every inch of the small space. I grab at the wall, scrabbling at it, trying to find him, trying to find a way out.

“I’m sorry,” I say again and again.

My fingers finally catch on a light switch. I’m too relieved to think about how it shouldn’t exist. I just hurry to flip the little lever.

The light is blinding at first. It hurts. But then I manage to open my eyes.

I’m already grinning as I turn, somehow knowing the person I was looking for is behind me.

Except, I turn to find someone else.

A young boy - so fucking young - with vacant blue eyes and blood-matted blonde hair.

I was too late, too distracted.

He’s dead.

I jerk awake choking on a sob.

I freeze up the moment reality sinks in. It’s cold, but hot too. I’m shivery. The wet, clingy fabric of my sweat-drenched shirt tries to squeeze the life right out of me. I consider letting it. Decide against it. Force myself to fight for breath until each inhale and exhale is calm and steady.

Knowing what comes next never makes it easier. There’s no use trying to fight the deep, aching feeling that sinks its way through my skin and down to my bones. I still don’t have a word for it. All I know is that I hate this. I am so fuckingtiredof this.

I’m so fucking tired, period.

I set an alarm on my phone. 60 minutes. Not long enough for REM to kick in. Shouldn’t be, at least.Can you have a nightmare outside of REM?

Whatever.

Either way, 60 minutes of a nightmare isn’t as bad as being trapped in one endlessly. At least there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Whether the me in the dream will remember that, I have no fucking idea, but it’s better than nothing.

I lay back down and close my eyes.

I see Elliot, vacant eyes looking back at me, his dead body sitting up on its own in a way only nightmares can pull off.

I was too late.

He died.

And Matt.

It was Matt I had been searching for first. Matt who had been so upset. Matt who had been trying to tell me something.

I was too late for him, too. I didn’t find the light fast enough. He disappeared before I could help.

I didn’t save either of them.

I was too late.

What the fuck am I doing?

I force my eyes open. I force my body out of the bed. I close my eyes against the wave of dizziness that kicks in when I first get to my feet, using a hand on the nightstand to brace myself.

I reek, the thick scent of fear sweat combining with the usual funk that comes from having avoided self-care for a little too long. It clings to my skin, worse than my damp shirt.

So, a shower first.

Then back to work.