Page 24 of Stone’s Cage

"Stop," she says between kisses. "Stop." Then, "I'm here. I'm here. Don't be afraid. I'm here."

I don't realize that I'm gasping until my eyes are open. But I can barely get air into my lungs. She's helping me sit up and I'm drenched in sweat and I can’t seem to get my breath. My heart pounds in my chest while my gut roils with acid.

"You were screaming," she says. "You were doing that thing where you can't breathe again."

I'm trying to slow my breathing down, to measure each breath, but it's hard. I shake my head trying to clear it and she rises to turn on the little light on the end table. I don’t want to scare her.

"Maybe I have sleep apnea." That doesn’t even sound like the joke I want it to be.

"There's something else going on with you. What is it?"

I shake my head again and tighten the sheet around my stomach.

Her eyes are wide and the pulse in her neck throbs. "You scared the shit out of me."

I lean forward just as she kneels again to rub my back.

"I know a nightmare when I see one."

Shrugging, I grab my T-shirt from the chair and wipe my face. "I'm fine. It happens sometimes."

"Sometimes? This is two for two." Pausing, she takes my head in her hands and looks me right in the eye. "Carson Stone, my daddy told me many times that if you tell your dream, if you say it out loud, it will blow away."

She scoots to her knees so she's taller than me, and then leans forward and I catch that elusive note to her—cinnamon. As she kisses me fully on the lips she lays one hand on my shoulder, and the other reaches behind my head and then slides down the side of my neck to my chest. Under her hand, my chest flinches while my heart tries to find its beat and I grab her, folding her into my arms.

How do I tell her about this old, familiar, horrible nightmare? The same old, new terror. I'd have to tell Lily about Cassie, my sister, this person I love. In the dream, I'm nine or ten and on this black glossy floor by myself, crying. Cassie and I are separated by a white, opaque wall. It looks like it's made of sheer glass and it can shatter, and I know this. If it breaks, one or both of us will be cut. I can't get to Cassie. I can sort of see her, and then I can't. But I can hear her crying.

I'm just a little boy, though, and I start to cry too. And then a man steps in wearing a flannel shirt, a hoodie, and workpants, and he's holding a giant hammer. I know he's going to break it so we can be together, but I'm scared. And he takes the hammer, and he breaks it, glass shatters, and I finally see my sister.

She's lying there on the floor, bleeding everywhere. The glass is broken all over her. She starts to disappear, not shrink though. It's just as if someone's put her in a huge slingshot and she's being drawn backwards, away from me.

I scream at the man with the hammer. Why did he do that, why did he kill her and then he pulls back the hood . . . and it's me.

"Tell me what's wrong," Lily says again, stroking my hair.

I shake my head. "It's just a bad dream. What was I doing?" I ask, not really wanting to know.

"You looked like you were drowning." Her hand is smooth on my face. "What's wrong. What's wrong sweetie?" She slips a slender arm under mine and I catch my breath.

For just a moment a part of me shuts down. The part that keeps a wall jacked high. "It's a nightmare I have about my sister."

She's silent. And then, "Go on," she says, turning off the light, and we both lay back down, as she wedges herself right next to me. She pulls the cover up to our chins.

I want to kiss her. It's easier to talk in the dark.

"You want the long version or the short one."

I feel her take my hand. "I want the real one."

My eyes sting hot with tears and I hope to hell she doesn't hear them in my voice. Deciding to cut right to the chase, I launch without any preamble.

"My sister and I were in foster care basically our whole lives. My parents were both drug addicts." I feel her shift under the blanket. "My dad was the one who used to pack my little backpack full of money and send me off to people's houses when I was a kid."

Silence. I clear my throat. "He OD'd and died and my mom—she ended up in prison. She's still there."

"For what?"

"She murdered her supplier. Self-defense. He pulled a gun. She had a knife."