Her eyes are open wide now and they’re completely gray. No pupil, no irises. Just glossed-over gray eyes that are searching for me, unable to find me.
“Dean,” she says again in a hoarse whisper. She blindly reaches her arm out toward me and her fingers feel around in front of her.
I want to help her. I want to reach out and grab her hand but I’m too weak to move. Or my body weighs too much. I don’t know what it is that’s stopping me, but I’m only two feet in front of her and I’m doing everything I can to lift my arm and take her hand but it won’t fucking move. The more I struggle to regain control over my movements, the harder it becomes to breathe. She’s crying now, saying my name. My chest tightens and my throat begins to close up and now I can’t even calm her down with words because nothing will come out. I work the muscles in my jaw, but my teeth are clenched tight and my mouth won’t open.
She’s pulling herself up on her elbow, slowly scooting closer to me. She’s trying to reach out for me but her lifeless eyes can’t find me. She’s crying even harder now.
“Help me, Dean,” she says.
She hasn’t called me Dean since we were kids and I don’t know why she’s calling me Dean now. I don’t like it.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to focus on getting my voice to work or my arms to move, but all the concentration in the world can’t help me right now.
“Dean, please,” she cries, only this time it’s not her voice. It’s the voice of a child. “Don’t go,” the child begs.
I open my eyes and Les is no longer there, but someone else has taken her place. A little girl is sitting with her back pressed against the pantry door and her head is buried in her arms that are wrapped tightly around her legs.
Hope.
I still can’t move or speak or breathe and my chest is growing tighter and tighter with each sob that racks the little girl’s body. All I can do is sit and watch her cry, because I’m physically unable to even turn my head or close my eyes.
“Dean,” she says, her voice muffled by her arms and her tears. It’s the first time I’ve heard her say my name since the day she was taken and it knocks out what little breath I had left in me. She slowly lifts her head away from her arms and widens her eyes. They’re solid gray, identical to Les’s. She leans her head back against the pantry door and wipes away a tear with the back of her hand.
“You found me,” she whispers.
Only this time, it’s not the voice of the little girl anymore. It’s not even Les’s voice.
It’s Sky’s.
Chapter Eleven
* * *
I open my eyes and I’m no longer on the kitchen floor.
I’m in my bed.
I’m covered in sweat.
I’m gasping for air.
Chapter Twelve
* * *
I couldn’t go back to sleep last night after the nightmare. I’ve been awake since two in the morning and it’s now after six.
I drop down onto the sidewalk when I reach her house. I stretch my legs out in front of me and lean forward, grabbing my shoes while I stretch the muscles in my back. I’ve been tense for days and nothing I do seems to help.
Before I went to sleep last night I had no intention of running with her again today. But I’ve been sitting alone for over four hours, wide awake, and the only thing that even remotely appealed to me was the thought of seeing Sky again.
I also had no intention of going back to school today but it seems way more appealing than staying home all day. It’s like I’ve been living minute to minute since the moment I got back from Austin last week. I’m not sure from one moment to the next what I’m doing or where I’ll be or even what frame of mind I’ll be in.