Nightmares of Caitlin Lockyer (Nightmares Trilogy)

by Carlton, Demelza

  "You're home," I said softly. I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened my car door.

  My shoes scuffed and scraped the concrete driveway. I was too tired to lift my feet further as I crossed slowly to her side of the car. I had her door open before she'd even taken off her seatbelt.

  Her expression was troubled. Even though her eyes were directed at mine, she didn't seem to see me. She looked lost in a memory.

  I touched her now-dry cheek. "You're home," I repeated.

  "Home," she murmured, as if she couldn't remember the meaning of the word. She blinked and her eyes cleared, focussing on me. "Thank you, Nathan."

  She let me help her from the car. I slammed the door behind her.

  "I will never like this car," she said quietly, still looking troubled.

  I tried not to laugh. I never had, either. Maybe it was time to buy something new.

  She started to take slow, deliberate steps to the front door. I froze for a second before I rushed to help her. She couldn't make it from the car to the door by herself yet, even with the strong pain medication still in her system.

  I helped her extract the spare key from its hiding place and unlocked the front door, holding it open to let her inside. I followed her in and dropped her meagre bag of belongings on the tiles, alongside Alanna's laptop.

  Her eyes followed mine to the bags on the floor.

  "You can use my sister's laptop for as long as you need to," I said and she nodded.

  We both stood in the entry, suddenly awkward.

  She wanted to be alone. She was finally home.

  I knew all this, but that didn't stop me from asking her anyway. I wanted to stay to watch over her, to make sure she was okay.

  "Do you want me to stay?" I asked, as she spoke.

  "Did you want to have dinner here, or do you have something planned at home?"

  We both laughed, nervously.

  It was fucking stupid to drive her in that car, knowing the memories a Mercedes held for her. The last thing she wanted was to have me in her house reminding her of the atrocities committed against her. She needed to forget.

  I jumped in before she had time to invent an excuse to support her refusal. I already knew I didn't belong here. "You should probably have a rest, maybe even a couple of hours' sleep, and I'd stop you from doing that if I stayed. I'll leave you to it... Here's my phone number. If you need me at any time, feel free to call." I handed her a scrap of paper, on which I'd hastily scrawled a number. "How about I see myself out?"

  She smiled and looked understanding, as I dragged my feet back to the door.

  Unable to resist saying something, I finished with, "I'll stop in tomorrow to see how you're getting on."

  She smiled and thanked me – as if she meant it.

  As I walked out the front door, I had this mad urge not to go, to stay and just sit in the kitchen while she slept. She had surveillance cameras all over the house and Navid or someone else nearby, keeping watch. There was no need for me to be there.

  I made myself get into the car again and pull out of the driveway. For a second I thought I saw her silhouetted in the window, but I must have imagined it.

  Sleep, Caitlin, and stay safe. Please.

  55

  Waking up in the dark, hurting and cold.

  My face wet with tears.

  Screaming for them to let me go until my throat hurt and my voice was almost gone.

  No one. No reply, no light.

  Cold. Rough. Hard. Draughty.

  I was lying on concrete.

  I didn't know where I was or who they were.

  Someone else breathing in the dark.

  Would they hurt me or help me?

  Who was it?

  Had I imagined it?

  Not sure what was worse – cold and hurting, alone in the dark, or hot and in pain, with some prick hurting me more?

  It was always dark.

  And out of the dark came

  Fuck.

  56

  Blood and bare skin; sand and screaming; struggling and shots.

  Oh God, Caitlin!

  My sleep that night was plagued with nightmares about what she'd looked like when I found her, thinking she was dead. That they might get to her again while I wasn't there. I worried that she wouldn't survive the night without me.

  I just couldn't help myself. My waking thoughts at dawn the next morning were of her. I had to see her. For weeks now, all I'd had to do was open my eyes and turn my head to see that she was okay, but now I didn't know and it drove me insane. I put it off for as long as I could, then had to drive over to her house.

  I didn't have second thoughts until I knocked on her door, when I wondered how she'd react to my being there so early. Something told me she wouldn't be civil if I woke her up. I started to wish I'd waited.

  Somewhere nearby, a child started to practise playing the piano. First the slow plunking as the little fingers learned a new tune, before the monotonous drill of finger exercises. The jerkily played scales jarred with the confusion in my head. Should I stay or should I go? I wasn't sure I could go. I'd sit on the steps and wait, until I saw she was safe.

  I knocked again. "Caitlin, it's me. It's Nathan," I called, hoping she'd already be awake and hear me.

  She took a while to reach the door and even longer to unlock it. When I reached to open it for her, she almost fell. I think she would have if I hadn't been there to stop her. As I tried to hold her up, I could feel her exhaustion. It was as if gravity pulled her to the ground harder than it did me.

  Then I saw her face – it was positively haggard. I'd only been gone a night and I wished more than ever that I hadn't left. What if they'd managed to get to her while I was gone? She'd almost knocked herself out, falling out her own front door. She was no match for anyone who wanted to hurt her in this condition.

  "What happened?" I burst out.

  "I can't sleep," she mumbled, not looking at me. Even in my arms she was swaying and unsteady. "The nightmares didn't go away – all night. It got so bad that I woke up and was too scared to go back to sleep again. I tried to write them down, but that only made it worse. I just have to get used to sleeping alone... uh, in my own bed, and at home, again."

  This was my fault. I should never have left. "Come on, I'll take you to bed and make sure you sleep this time."

  She was too exhausted to refuse. Her arms wearily resting on my neck, I lifted her up. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to have her in my arms again, instead of one of the stranger things I've ever done. Nothing I do with Caitlin is normal, I reflected as I re-entered her house.

  "Tell me where to go," I said softly.

  She pointed vaguely. Her hand looked too heavy for her wrist to lift. "My room's down the hallway. On the left."

  It was an old house with wide hallways, so I didn't have to walk sideways to keep her feet or head from hitting the walls. Shouldering my way into her room, I headed straight for the big bed. I laid Caitlin carefully on it.

  She grabbed my hand as I tried to straighten up, pulling me close again. "Stay. Please," she said.

  "Sure," I replied, freeing my hand and sitting cautiously on her desk chair.

  I watched as she smiled and her eyes slowly shut, slipping back into sleep.

  A blinking blue light attracted my attention and I turned toward the desk, where Alanna's old laptop sat. With a glance at Caitlin, I lifted the laptop lid and watched the screen light up, the blinding white of a Word document drawing my eyes.

  Caitlin was definitely asleep, for she didn't stir at the sudden increase in light levels, so I scrolled through some of the document. She'd been writing down her nightmares and it looked like she'd spent most of the night doing it.

  I started to skim through what she'd written. Most of it was just adding details to what I'd typed in for her, but I stopped dead when I came across something she'd never told me. This I read slowly, trying to commit every word to memory.

  I lost track of the days, t
he difference between day and night and any sense of time. Some minutes stretched for hours when I just wanted it to be over, but it felt like I'd only just gone to sleep when someone else would hurt me and wake me up to start all over again.

  I was always tired. Maybe the pain or the horror of it made me so sleepy. Sometimes I was even too tired to fight, too tired to spit the insults at them that I was thinking. Maybe they hurt me less because they didn't get much of a reaction to whatever they did to me. Maybe they hurt me more to get a reaction.

  There were four of them who hurt me, all different.

  One of them was there more often, a big bully who'd crush me under his weight. He was rough and strong and he probably left bruises wherever he touched me. He'd hit me or hurt me some other way with his big, meaty hands, until I'd at least whimper, before he'd start grunting his way to a climax. He was the one the others called Mike. The bastard who'd drugged me in the car.

  This was what I needed, what she hadn't told me or the police. Details about what they did to her... hurting her... My mouth went dry as I started to see what she'd been subjected to, the horrifying view through her eyes in the dark.

  Another one liked to break my fingers, or twist the ones he'd already broken. He liked to pinch and slap, too. He was a small, skinny bloke with a nasal, whiny voice. Torture with him couldn't have lasted more than five minutes. I heard Mike say to him once, "C'mon Pete, your five minutes are almost done!" and, thankfully, Pete had been done, too.

  One of them always brought one of the others along to hold me still. He took forever and his hands were everywhere. It was like being groped by two squids. He'd make comments to himself or the guy holding me for him. I know I fell asleep more than once and I doubt he noticed. If Mike was holding me, he'd hit me 'til I woke up and he'd laugh that he and the other guys had exhausted me before it was Simon's turn. The cold fish was called Simon.

  Simon's preferred accomplice he called Tom. Tom didn't say much, he just did what he came for and left. I asked him once why he bothered with me at all. He told me to shut up or he'd break my jaw. Don't remember if he came back after that.

  Then there was Her. The woman who wanted me to speak to her friend. The woman who drove the red Mercedes. She hit me and pushed me in and she knew what they'd do to me. I'll kill her if I can.

  Caitlin's scream was so loud it rattled the window glass. I'd been too intent on her written nightmares to realise she was trapped in a real one and needed my help.

  I turned, knocking something pink off the desk as I did so. I reached to pick up the nail file from the carpet, dropping it back on the desk. Caitlin cried out again, jerking me into urgency.

  I slammed the laptop shut, twisting out of the desk chair to stand up. "Wake up, angel. It's another nightmare and I'm here. You're home, you're safe..."

  The next scream was longer and louder, drowning out my voice.

  I knelt on the end of her bed. "Caitlin, it's okay, you're safe..."

  She started swearing, loud and panicky.

  I did a bit of swearing of my own, though not as loud, as I crawled across the bed to be closer to her. I started with the reassuring litany again.

  "Let me go, you bastard!" she screamed at me.

  I reached out and lightly patted her cheek. Caitlin went berserk, her hands claws that homed in on my face. Arms and legs flying, screaming like nothing human, I thought she was having a fit. I scrambled off her bed and into a half-crouch on the floor, out of her reach.

  She let out an agonised wail as her hands clutched at the pillow beside her. It took me a moment to realise she was saying my name.

  I wished for the narrow hospital bed now, as I climbed back onto hers so I could reach her. "I'm here, angel, like I promised. It's okay..."

  Hesitant, I touched my fingers to the hand closer to me, her nails digging into the pillowcase. When she didn't turn the nails on me, I slid my other hand under hers, lifting it between mine. "I'm here," I said.

  Her eyes were open and dark with tears. She attempted a smile. "You stayed..." She said it like she didn't believe it, pulling her hand away to wipe her eyes.

  I smiled. "Of course I did. I said I would." I shifted and spread out, so my head was on the scrunched-up pillow she'd tried to strangle. I turned my face toward her. "Bad dream?"

  Caitlin nodded, her eyes not leaving mine. She looked so vulnerable and lost. I made the offer without thinking. "C'mere." I stretched out my arms.

  She stared at me a moment, but she was already moving closer to me. She cuddled up to my side, her wet cheek against my chest, as my arms closed around her. I wanted to kiss her, too, but I fought the urge. Being in bed with Caitlin was crazy enough.

  57

  I woke up when the afternoon sun slanted through Caitlin's window. A lance of light that stabbed me squarely in the eye. I stretched and realised that the warm weight beside me was breathing, as Caitlin let out a little sigh and shifted against my side.

  I still had one arm around her and I was bloody careful not to move, so as not to disturb her any more. I wasn't the only one short on sleep and she needed it more than me. Caitlin was still a long way from well.

  She'd asked me to stay as close as I could in case the nightmares came back. I didn't doubt they would, but for now she was okay.

  My heart lifted with the thought that I'd been able to help, my colossal car fuck-up of yesterday forgotten.

  I looked down the length of her body, modestly clad in pyjamas with long sleeves. One ankle was bare and I could see the pink scar slicing across it. I remembered how sticky the rope had been as I'd sawn through it, how I'd had to peel it from the wound to free her. I swallowed, trying not to think about it.

  I shifted my gaze further up to the fingers of her right hand, splayed across my chest. The nails were curved crescent moons, carefully shaped since Caitlin's fingers had been freed. I could still feel how the jagged edges had cut into my palms when I'd kissed her hands only three days ago.

  She moved her arm further across me, her sleeve catching on my shirt and revealing the red gouge across her wrist. This scar was darker than the ones on her ankles and with good reason. The rope around her wrists had been so slick with blood it'd felt more like liquorice than nylon. It'd stuck to the scissors and they'd squeaked as I fought to free her, only to find that the rope was the least of the hurts to her hands. Her middle finger was still slightly crooked and might never be straight again, but at least the broken bones had healed somewhat. They'd healed enough for her to start documenting her own horrifying story.

  I lifted my head to look at the laptop, to check if I'd closed it so she wouldn't know how I'd spied on her. I thought of emailing the whole account to myself, so I could check it for important info to use for work, but I hesitated. I wanted more than the scant outline she'd sketched out so far. I wanted everything she remembered.

  Caitlin's breathing changed, the evenness broken by a long inhalation, before it was blown slowly out again. Awakening. Emails and other such violations of her trust could wait.

  "So, what would you like for breakfast?" I asked, after I watched her blink, yawn and finally smile.

  "Hmm?" Caitlin asked sleepily. "Breakfast? Isn't it afternoon?" She sat up and stretched, so I carefully looked away. She wasn't my angel and never would be.

  The clock said it was 3:16.

  "Late lunch, then?" I hazarded.

  "Or early dinner," she agreed.

  "Shall I go have a look at what you have in the fridge?" I asked.

  Caitlin's brows dipped. "I wouldn't."

  I stared at her. "Why not?"

  Her voice died to a whisper. "My fridge has fur."

  I laughed and stood up, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. "Show me this furry fridge." I kept a supportive arm around her waist as we headed down the passage to the kitchen.

  Caitlin pulled away from me when we reached the kitchen table, sinking into a chair as far from the fridge as she could. I stopped as she did, raising my eyebr
ows.

  "I don't need to smell it and I can't do anything about it. Not like this," she said. She waved her hands up and down her body.

  "Is it really that bad?" I asked.

  Her eyes were huge and heartbreaking. "Everything's been there since the day I... went away." Went away. What a fucking understatement.

  I couldn't look away from her face. "For more than two months?"

  She nodded, resigned. "That long. Be my guest," she replied, gesturing toward the fridge.

  I sucked in a breath and held it, before opening the door. It didn't help. I swear her fridge smelled like blue cheese. A lot of blue cheese.

  The milk was green. The crisper was black and white with fur, interspersed with streaks of red, like there was a dead cat squeezed into it. The shelves looked like there were rainbow-coloured guinea pigs asleep on them – some of them in plastic boxes. Only the orange juice looked normal. I reached for the bottle.

  "Don't," said Caitlin. "I poured a cup yesterday from the other bottle and it came out in chunks. That one's older."

  I slammed the fridge shut and leaned back against it. The smell lingered, but the worst of it stayed sealed inside. "So what do you want to do about it?"

  Caitlin shrugged. "I don't know."

  I was at a loss.

  "Our cleaner just does the bathrooms, the floors and the dusting. Not the fridge," Caitlin continued.

  "Cleaner?" I asked, feeling like an idiot for not thinking of it.

  "A cleaner. A woman Dad pays to come clean the house once a fortnight, so I don't have to and he doesn't need to worry about it," Caitlin said patiently. "But she doesn't do the fridge and it looks like there are dead mice in there, so I think we'd need the sort of cleaner who does nasty stuff like deal with dead bodies."

  I looked at her. "I think I have a friend who does industrial cleaning. Let me call him and see if he can help." I patted my pockets and realised I'd left my phone in Caitlin's bedroom. "Do you mind if I go get my phone out of your room? Will you be okay here by yourself?"