When Sonny wakes up, it's to a crashing thunderstorm, but at least it's from the luxury of their own bed. Lightning bangs outside, casting a burst of light throughout the room.
A glance at his clock shows it's a minute to midnight. But there's no way that's right, Sonny thinks. He didn't go to sleep until after one. Wondering if the storm caused a power outage, he turns on a lamp.
Light illuminates the room, temporarily blinding him.
"Goddamnit." Sonny rubs his startled eyes, then grabs the bottle of water he'd left on the nightstand. Getting up, he goes out on the veranda to watch the rest of the storm.
It's well worth the price of admission, he decides. The rain, the crackling lightning, and the wind blowing through the trees in shrieks and howls. He can hear the fierce blitzkrieg of the roaring thunder.
And a baby crying.
The water bottle slips out of his hands, bounces by his feet, getting them wet.
He's not dreaming, Sonny reminds himself, and reaches out to grip the wet railing. He's not sleepwalking. He's wide awake, completely aware of what's around him. And he's still hearing the baby crying.
He had to force himself to move, but he manages to walk back into the bedroom, pulling on some sweatpants, and checks his flashlight. Barefoot and topless, he leaves the safety of his bedroom and starts towards the makeshift nursery.
He expects the panic to set in-- that unsettling feeling in his stomach, the air that can't reach his lungs, the heart skipping a beat.
But there's none of that this time. Every step he takes is just a step, and the nursery's door is just a door, same goes for the doorknob that still needs a good polish.
And the baby's finally stopped crying.
"I'm already here." Sonny mutters.
His palms are slick with sweat, but it's more from nerves than outright fear. He reaches for the doorknob, turns it. The door opens with only a whine of the hinges.
There's a small fire in the fireplace. The light, coupled with the light of the candles, dance in unusual patterns over the pale walls. The windows were draped with curtains that had cute little flowers on the fringe. The floor is well polished, like a mirror, with two rugs in a pattern of pin and green.
There's a crib with rails, a small cot made up with linens.
She sits in a rocking chair, a baby sucking her teat. Sonny can see the baby's hand on it. The woman's hair was down, going past her shoulders, over the arms of the chair.
Her lips are moving, whether from singing or telling a bedtime story, Sonny can't tell. He can't hear anything. But she's only looking at the baby as she nurses, her face lit up with the purest love.
"You never left him." Sonny says softly. "It's not possible."
She looks up, towards where he's standing, and for one heartstopping moment, Sonny thinks she heard him. Was gonna say something to him. When she smiles, holds out a hand, Sonny takes a step towards her.
Then he feels his knees buckle when he sees the man from across the room--pass right through him like a gust of wind-- and walk towards her.
His hair is black. He's tall as he is slim. He's wearing a robe of royal blue. When he kneels by the rocking chair, he strokes a finger over the baby's cheek, then over the little fingers kneading her teat.
The woman, Alice, lifts her hand, pushing down on his. And right there, surrounded by that soft light, the three of them linked together while the baby's mouth sucks as the woman gently rocks back and forth.
"No. You'd never leave them. I'm going to find out what they did to you. All of you."
As he speaks, the door slams shut behind him. Sonny jolts, spinning around and finding himself once again in the dark, with only the light from the lightning and his flashlight. The weight falls on his chest like a rock, cutting off the air to his lungs. The room is empty again, freezing cold, and the panic jumps into his throat.
He drags at the doorknob, his sweat soaked hands sliding off the cold metal. He can feel his strangled gasping wanting to turn into shouting and screaming, begging and praying. Disorientation brings him to his knees, where he frantically fumbles for the doorknob, yanks and wrenches the door.
When he finally gets it open, he's crawling out on his hands and knees, then lies face down on the floor, heart reverberating in his chest as the storm continues to blast over the house.
"I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay, damnit, and I'm gonna get the hell off this floor and go back to bed."
He may not be sleeping, Sonny thinks as he gets to his feet, legs shaking, but he found out a few things he hadn't known before.
If what he'd seen in that nursery was real and not some subconscious projection, Alice Grayson Horton had not left the DiMera mansion willingly.
And there is most definitely more than one ghost still haunting this place.