Paul jolted upright as the stark memory of that night hit him with renewed force. He tried to steady his breathing, but it was as if those frightening remembrances were unfolding anew, as if he held the key to stop all the trauma and tragedy from happening, but as he glanced down at his shaking hands, all he really had was the knowledge of those past events and no magical way to stop the horrors, anymore than he had when they occurred seventeen years earlier.
"I guess Peter's not the only one with troubling dreams about the past," he muttered to himself.
He glanced around, checking for any sign of danger after his unscheduled siesta, but it seemed no one was paying any attention to him. He was simply a gringo and most of the inhabitants of El Nocturna Negro only cared about earning some of his money.
Granted, there were plenty of good, honest people in the area, but Paul had purposefully kept his distance, and didn't encourage conversation. The less the people knew of him, the safer they would all be.
He stood, anxious to be on the move. He returned the photo to its hiding place before he fished out a few wrinkled bank notes to toss onto the table. Paul left the cantina, deliberately keeping his thoughts neutral as he walked the barely used path back to the house he was renting. There was no denying the fact that he was still shaken from the intensity of his dream and even the physical activity of walking couldn't loosen the dream's grip on his conscious thoughts.
Was there something he could have done differently with Peter? Maybe if he'd handled things in another way before that fateful night, Peter would have settled into the family more easily and not have been plagued by those awful nightmares nearly as often.
Paul's gaze stayed mostly on the path, though it occasionally darted around to make sure he wasn't being followed. For some reason, he was still on the alert for trouble. In fact, it was as if all of his senses were set on high alert. "Probably that damned dream still firing warning signals inside my head!" he cursed.
His hands curled into fists from frustration. He sure wouldn't last long if he continued to fall asleep in public places, that much was certain. Lapses like that gave people ideas and left him wide open for an attack from his enemies or anyone else looking to grab a quick buck. His self-recriminations didn't last long, and soon his thoughts drifted back to Peter and that fateful night.
Funny how a person could go years without thinking of a particular incident and then something could trigger it to the point that it was all he could think of. Yet, Paul couldn't go back and change the past. Nothing could do that. If he'd had that power, he would have used it long ago, so that he wouldn't be enduring this forced separation from his family.
Paul's mind was again firmly centered on Peter. He wasn't much more than a boy when he came to live with them, but by the time he'd entered their door, Peter had already experienced more grief than most adults did in a lifetime.
Paul sighed. It seemed young Peter would be his companion for the coming night. Paul didn't fight it, though. He was lonely. So, he just let the memories flow over him, taking him back to an earlier time. A time when he was with those he loved. A time of happiness. A time of fear. A time of discovery.
oOoOoOoOo
Paul was still moving down the stairs as he raised his voice, "Annie, call the sheriff's office and have them get in touch with Kyle Coster. Tell them Kyle needs to set up a search grid ASAP, using our house as a command base. We've got to find Peter and Carolyn and find them fast."
He reached the back door. It was still open from Peter's escape, or maybe it was from Carolyn as she followed him out. He swallowed as he pushed the door all the way open.
"Dammit," he muttered to the emptiness of midnight.
It was a dark March night. There were no moon or stars to help guide him to the kids. The wind blew hard, sweeping past him in a wild rush, as if trying to hold him back from the unseen dangers.
"Peter?" he called out, trying to decide which way the boy would have run.
"Carolyn?" he shouted.
Finally, in frustration, he raised his voice even more, "Dammit, somebody answer me!"
His only response came from the wind, still blowing hard, but now it seemed to simply glide past him, silencing itself as it rushed past him, as if it knew the frantic father needed all his concentration to find his children. Still, once it was beyond him, the wind howled with all the fury Mother Nature could summon.
The sound made Paul shiver, and not just because it was a cold night. He glanced down at his pajamas, robe, and slippers, and remembered the 11:00 News said something about overnight temperatures were expected to be in the low forties.
"Dammit!" he repeated, more emphatically this time as he imagined Peter, barefoot and in pajamas, wandering the mountainside in a dream-induced haze. The feverish skin he'd touched earlier now seemed burning hot.
He had to find the children and find them fast. He could only hope that wherever Peter was, Carolyn was there with him. Paul circled the area, calling the children's names as loud as he could. The dogs in the homes scattered around the lake started barking and howling, but Paul didn't care who he awakened. In fact, he was hoping he would awaken everyone. The more people who were up and searching for Peter, the better.
He turned toward the direction of his own house and paused in indecision. If Peter was startled awake, he could run like the wind with those long, lanky legs of his. Who knew where he could end up?
Paul rubbed a cold hand over his mouth. "How long did those blasted medical articles say waking nightmares could last anyway?" Paul asked aloud.
He cursed his memory as the exact figures eluded him. He glanced at his watch. It seemed much too long for Peter to still be dreaming. Childhood nightmares had to be the cruelest of its kind. He slapped a fist against one thigh.
If the child placement paperwork was accurate, Peter had experienced these bone-chilling nightmares for years. Paul put a hand to the back of his neck and stood in place as he realized he was now experiencing a waking nightmare of his own with the children missing. Damn it to hell, he had to find them and soon!
He started jogging back to the house, praying that Peter would stop in a place where Carolyn could call for help. Or that he'd awaken on his own and come back to them. Paul closed his eyes as an image of Peter lying unconscious in a ditch swept across his mind.
"Dammit, Peter," he whispered, "Don't do this to us. Don't do it to yourself."
He returned to the house as two sheriff's vehicles pulled up in the driveway, parking behind Doc Brinley's car. Both of the patrol cars still had their red-and-blue lights flashing, leaving a visual beacon for the kids to find their way home to them.
Paul rubbed his face again. "Please, God, watch over them and bring them home safely," he prayed as he caught sight of Annie standing at the front door, and then his prayers went silent as he took her in his arms.
There was some slight comfort in the fact that no words were needed for her to feel his disappointment. No words. Only a lengthy embrace that spoke volumes in the language of the unsuccessful, accentuated with an underlying current of fear, a combination which left them both holding more tightly to each other for strength and courage.
Somehow, even the sighted people in the room seemed to understand and gave the Blaisdells additional time and space to come to terms with the challenges their children now faced.
oOoOoOoOo