And when I remembered what Isaac felt, how it seemed to him that his heart had come right out of his chest, like someone had taken a light that lit his entire world and snuffed it out, I did something I hadn't done since my mother's funeral. I sat in the middle of my bed and cried.
Riley had not been mine. That boy, the baby Winston, had not been mine, but I wept like they were. I cried for the loss. For the memory. For the man I'd never known and the life that had been stolen from him.
"Damn."
I fell onto my mattress, dragging the back of my hand over my face, pushing back the ache in my chest until it became duller. Until it was only a small thud that smarted like a bruise and not the gash that pulsed and bled Isaac dry.
Outside I heard voices, many of them, workers likely, a few crews had tackling potholes down on the street below. It was the noise-their voices, the thump from their radios and the squeak from their tires that I tried to focus on; anything to move the ache of my dream from feeling so real.
I wondered, idly, as I lay there, if I'd called out in my dreams. Had I spoken Riley's name? Had I begged her not to die? Had Willow heard me? Despite myself, despite the argument we'd had two nights ago, I still couldn't shake her from my thoughts. I couldn't ignore the connection she seemed to hold between all the strange things that had been happening in my life. Had I had been wrong about everything? No one could make me dream impossible dreams. Not unless their juju was real and by the sweat drying on my forehead and the slowing pace of my heart, I began to believe that Willow's was.
"You're doing this," I'd told her, face tight as I'd yelled at her. "You planned all of this, didn't you?"
"How the hell could I do that?" She'd waved the picture at me, and I caught a glimpse of Sookie's smile. "I'm not supernatural, Nash. I can't make up pictures from ninety damn years ago and I can't make it that you have the same dreams as I do!"
But it wasn't logical, not any of it. It wasn't possible. And I knew it, even before I'd accused her, I knew she hadn't done anything. It was deep down, in the center of my brain, that reality. It told me Willow had only reacted. It told me she was feeling everything I had, reliving the same lives I had.
But how?
The sheets rustled as I turned, arms stretched out over my head and I stared off at nothing, reliving the dream of that day at the hospital. Most likely the worst day of Isaac's life. He'd watched her blink twice, her gaze on him, then shifting to their son. There was softness in her expression, the peace that comes when you know you don't have to fight anymore. It relaxed the tension in her facial muscles and made the whites of her eyes seem brighter. Isaac had watched Riley do all that while she kept her attention on their boy. He'd placed the baby next to her and she closed her eyes, her lips moving like a twitch, her face leaning toward the soft, sweet scent of newborn skin, like she knew, even as she faded, that her baby was there, sleeping next to her.
"My sweet'," he'd whispered so low that only she'd hear him. "My sweet girl. I love you, Riley. Always will." Then Isaac kissed her. Her skin was warm, but pale and one final rattle of breath went out of her. "What do I do now?" he asked, but she was gone, soft like a first kiss, bitter like a rainstorm. She left him and he could not keep hold of her. He could not stop her from going.
My eyelids felt heavy as the flood of pain came on me again. It was worse, this feeling, than anything. Worse than watching Willow walk out of my room. Worse than hearing the click of my front door when she left. Worse that seeing her standing too close to another man in the lobby, no matter that she swore he'd only hired her to make two dozen cupcakes for his niece's birthday. Worse than the jasmine of her scent fading more and more each day I kept away from her. Worse than the look on her face when I took off, leaving her on the roof deck, a catch in her voice as she called after me.
I banged my knee against the bedside table when I sat up, but I didn't feel it. Couldn't. My mind was full of Isaac and Riley, of that baby. Of Sookie and Dempsey and the horror of it all. Of Willow. Of how heavy and thick it all felt as every one of those faces crowded inside my head.
Willow had tears on her cheeks when I walked away from her two nights ago.
I hadn't believed her when she swore she'd done nothing to me. No, I didn't know if I believed her or not, but accepting what she said would have meant everything I have believed before had been a lie.
I left her alone out there. Because I was afraid and confused, I'd just left her …