by Morgan Rice
*
I am standing in our old apartment, in Manhattan. I don’t know what I’m doing here, or how I got here. Nothing seems to make sense, because the apartment is not at all as I remember. It is completely empty of furniture, as if we had never lived in it. I’m the only one here.
There is a sudden knock on the door, and in walks Dad, in full uniform, holding a briefcase. He has a hollow look to his eyes, as if he has just been to hell and back.
“Daddy!” I try to scream. But the words don’t come out. I look down and realize that I am glued to the floor, hidden behind a wall, and that he can’t see me. As much as I struggle to break free, to run to him, to call out his name, I cannot. I’m forced to watch helplessly, as he walks into the empty apartment, looking all around.
“Brooke?” he yells out. “Are you here? Is anybody home?”
I try to answer again, but my voice won’t work. He searches room to room.
“I said I’d come back,” he says. “Why didn’t anyone wait for me?”
Then, he breaks into tears.
My heart breaks, and I try with all I have to call out to him. But no matter how hard I try, nothing comes out.
He finally turns and leaves the apartment, gently closing the door behind him. The click of the handle reverberates in the emptiness.
“DADDY!” I scream, finally finding my voice.
But it is too late. I know he is gone forever, and somehow it is all my fault.
I blink, and the next thing I know I am back in the mountains, in Dad’s house, sitting in his favorite chair beside the fire. Dad is sitting there, on the couch, and he leans forward, head down, playing with his Marine Corps knife. I am horrified to notice that half his face is melted away, all the way to the bone; I can actually see half his skull.
He looks up at me, and I am afraid.
“You can’t hide here forever, Brooke,” he says, in a measured tone. “You think you’re safe here. But they’ll come for you. Take Bree and hide.”
He rises to his feet, comes over to me, grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me, his eyes burning with intensity. “DID YOU HEAR ME, SOLDIER!?” he screams.
He disappears, and as he does, all the doors and windows crash open at once, in a cacophony of shattered glass.
Into our house rush a dozen slaverunners, guns drawn. They’re dressed in their signature all-black uniforms, from head to toe, with black facemasks, and they race to every corner of the house. One of them grabs Bree off the couch and carries her away, screaming, while another runs right up to me, digs his fingers into my arm and aims his pistol right to my face.
He fires.
I wake screaming, disoriented.
I feel fingers digging into my arm, and confused between my dream state and reality, I am ready to strike. I look over and see that it’s Bree, standing there, shaking my arm.
I am still sitting in Dad’s chair, and now the room is flooded with sunlight. Bree is crying, hysterical.
I blink several times as I sit up, trying to get my bearings. Was it all just a dream? It had felt so real.
“I had a scary dream!” Bree cries, still gripping my arm.
I look over and see the fire has gone out long ago. I see the bright sunlight, and realize it must be late morning. I can’t believe I have fallen asleep in the chair—I have never done this before.
I shake my head, trying to get the cobwebs out. That dream felt so real, it’s still hard to believe it didn’t happen. I’ve dreamt of Dad before, many times, but never anything with such immediacy. I find it hard to conceive that he’s not still in the room with me now, and I look around the room again, just to make sure.
Bree tugs on my arm, inconsolable. I have never seen her quite like this, either.
I kneel down and give her a hug. She clings to me.
“I dreamed these mean men came and took me away! And you weren’t here to save me!” Bree cries, over my shoulder. “Don’t go!” she pleads, hysterical. “Please, don’t go. Don’t leave me!”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, hugging her tight. “Shhh…. It’s OK…. There’s nothing to worry about. Everything is fine.”
But deep down, I can’t help feeling that everything is not fine. On the contrary. My dream really disturbs me, and Bree’s having such a bad dream, too—and about the same thing—doesn’t give me much solace. I’m not a big believer in omens, but I can’t help wondering if it’s all a sign. But I don’t hear any kind of noise or commotion, and if there was anybody with a mile of here, surely I would know.
I lift Bree’s chin, wiping her tears. “Take a deep breath,” I say.
Bree listens, slowly catching her breath. I force myself to smile. “See,” I say. “I’m right here. Nothing’s wrong. It was just a bad dream. Okay?”
Slowly, Bree nods.
“You’re just overtired,” I said. “And you have a fever. So you had bad dreams. It’s all going to be fine.”
As I kneel there, hugging Bree, I realize that I need to get going, to climb the mountain and scout out our new house, and to find us food. My stomach drops as I consider breaking the news to Bree, and how she’ll react. Clearly, my timing couldn’t be worse. How can I possibly tell her that I need to leave her now? Even if only for an hour or two? A part of me wants to stay here, to watch over her all day; yet I also know that I need to go, and that the sooner I get it over with, the safer we will be. I can’t just sit here all day and do nothing, waiting for nightfall. And I can’t risk changing the plan and moving us during daylight, just because of our silly dreams.
I pull Bree back, stroking her hair out of her face, smiling as sweetly as I can. I muster the strongest, most adult voice that I can.
“Bree, I need you to listen to me,” I say. “I need to go out now, just for a little while—”
“NO!” she wails. “I KNEW it! It’s just like my dream! You’re going to leave me! And you’re never going to come back!”
I hold her shoulders firmly, trying to console her.
“It’s not like that,” I say firmly. “I just need to go for an hour or two. I just need to make sure our new house is safe for our move tonight. And I need to hunt for food. Please, Bree, understand. I would bring you with me, but you are too sick right now, and you need to rest. I’ll be back in just a few hours. I promise. And then tonight, we’ll go up there together. And do you know what the best part is?”
She looks up at me slowly, still crying, and eventually shakes her head.
“Starting tonight, we’ll be up there together, safe and sound, and have a fire every night, and all the food you want. And I can hunt and fish and do everything I need to right there, in front of the cottage. I’ll never have to leave you again.”
“And Sasha can come, too?” she asks, through her tears.
“And Sasha, too,” I say. “I promise. Please, trust me. I’ll be back for you. I would never leave you.”
“Do you promise?” she asks.
I muster all the solemnity I can, and look her dead in the eyes.
“I promise,” I reply.
Bree’s crying slows and eventually, she nods, seeming satisfied.
It breaks my heart, but I quickly lean in, plant a kiss on her forehead, then get up, cross the room and walk out the door. I know that if I stay for just one second more, I’ll never summon the resolve to leave.
And as the door reverberates behind me, I just can’t shake the sickening feeling that I’ll never see my sister again.
T H R E E
