Far down the dark street their faces float in the foggy lamplight. A woman and a little girl, dark clothing obscuring their bodies. I know them!
The street is a treadmill. Sprinting does nothing. Sweat. Stinking of panic and desperation.
The girl tosses her head, glinting gold as she lifts her arm to sweep the long hair from her neck, a flowing flag of tight waves. She holds up her hand as if greeting me.
Daddy. I'm her daddy! Is that her mother?
The more I try to call out, the more I strangle.
I'm so tense, my body takes off. I can fly!
They're gone. But on the next corner now. Both waving.
I run all night long. Fly. I can catch them. I know I can. They cry out to me from every corner. Always a block away.
I don't catch them and I'm so tired. They have to come to me. I can't take another step. Fall to my knees. Hold out my arms. 'Please. Please! I'm here. Daddy's here! Come to me!'
They both wave and walk out of the light. Gone. No more corners. No more streetlights.
'No! Charlotte! Angela!'
How long can I call them before I lose my voice? How loud can I yell their names?
Nothing but black. I'm falling. They're crying, their misery filling the void. 'Daddy! Why didn't you save us, Daddy? He hurt us.'
'Baby! Angela, honey! I'm sorry! Daddy's so sorry.'
Swimming in the dark. Dying. Want to. Can't breathe. "Let me die." Let me go with them. Don't know where they are, where to go.
Fading. Sobbing. Someone's touching me. Go away!
I'm confused. It's dark. The bed is shaking. Someone's dreaming. Is it me?
Pounding. My heart is trying to break out of my chest.
His sounds are so loud in our quiet room. Panic. And rending sorrow.
Patrick is calling for them in a terrible dream. "Let me die," he says. No!
When I touch him, he cringes. Wake up! Wake up, my sweet boy! My brothers used to dream like this.
It's a bad one. He can't wake. His hands reach but not for me.
I don't care. I crawl into his arms, fill them. I can't bear for him to need, to reach and have nothing.
"Charlotte." His relief is so deep, he's sobbing. Crushing me. Steaming hot.
"Charlotte?" He wants an answer.
"You're Daddy." I can't bring myself to openly impersonate his daughter. But I can insinuate to a lost, dreaming father. I want to bring joy to his dream. Like I would bring ease to a dying man calling out for a loved one who wasn't there. Would never be there.
He breaks my heart sometimes.
His own cries wake him, catch in his throat when he sees me. Confused.
He sobs awake now, rubbing his cheek on my cheek, wetting me with salt. He must be disappointed, but I don't care.
His arms band me, like steel straps around a small shipment. "Teresa," he breathes in my ear, "You're here."
"I'm here."
"I missed you. I needed you."
"I got here as fast as I could." I kiss him. It's soft, but wet, open if he needs it.
"I had another bad dream."
His sweaty hair curls around my fingers as I pet him.
"I couldn't find them. They ran from me."
"I'm so sorry."
"It's okay now. You're here. That's what matters to me now. It was just a bad dream."
"I love you, Patrick. I wish you had them."
"Yeah. No! They're gone. I miss them. And my dreams make them seem real. It hurts. But . . . my family is here, you, and I want you."
Warm kisses all over my forehead, my cheeks. And he's squeezing me tight again.
"I can't believe it's you, Teresa. In my arms. You make me so happy."
So many words, reassurances, I think he might be trying to comfort me, guilty for dreaming of them when I'm here in his bed, our bed. But he's right. Angela and Charlotte are lost to him. I'm here in his life now. And he's glad. I know he is.
I'll give him anything I can.
I tuck his hair behind his ear, stroking and speaking softly. "Shhhh, now. Do you want to go back to sleep?"
He nods and opens his arms.
I know what to do. Turn and wedge my back to his chest. He brings up his legs to seat my bottom and his arms wrap me again, loosely this time.
His big, gentle hand slides the hair away from my neck and his soft lips nibble it. Just a little. Love. Not lust. But it tingles just the same.
A long sigh when he sinks back to his pillow. "I love you, Teresa."
"I know." I squeeze the hand in its resting place on my breast and fall asleep in the arms of my love.