Across the Lake

Chapter 14: The Nightmare

...

I did not sleep well during the night. My dreams were filled with nightmares, but they weren't ordinary nightmares. It felt like what nightmares would have nightmares of. They were unspeakable horrors. Indescribable horrors. I don't want to go into too much detail for my sanity's sake...But I remember being in pitch black darkness...like in the deepest depths of the ocean. Below, I could sense the horrors around me.

There were multiple bloodshot eyes, watching me. A million mouths screaming in agony. Flesh writhing. Bubbling. Teeth gnashing, snapping, biting. Hungry for me. Hands grabbed for me. Their nails digging deep into my flesh, drawing blood. Black blood. My breath got caught in my lungs. Water filled inside me. I was sinking. I was choking. Coughing. Sobbing. The voices screamed for me. One screamed louder than the rest-

I woke up in a flash, sitting bolt upright on the couch. My breaths came out ragged, deep and uneven. My anxiety was a tsunami wave of raw panic. Like an animal of prey in the jaws of the predator. My heart was pounding, beating against my chest. I felt trapped. Chained down where I sat. I could feel them constricting me. Tighter and tighter. I couldn't move-

My thoughts were interrupted when warm air hit my face. I immediately recognized it as a breath. Someone else's breath, not mine. I opened my eyes. My eyes widened when they found themselves looking back at another pair. Jason was sitting on the couch I had been sleeping on. He sat close to me.

Apparently that scream I heard before I woke up was my own, causing Jason to snap out of his thoughts and come up to me. His mask was inches from my face, his cracked leather gloved hands hovering over my shoulders, as if afraid to touch me. He could see me shaking, having a hard time breathing, but had no idea what was going on.

I had been through this horrible anxiety attack multiple times. I needed my meds.

I hadn't taken my meds yesterday as well, which was not good. Where were my meds? My sluggish brain worked harder to figure out where I was and where my meds were. The answer finally clicked in my brain. My meds were up in my room...

Where the book was.

I did not want to be near that book. That book was an otherworldly evil.

Jason stared at me, not knowing what to do. He could tell something was wrong with me, but didn't know how to help.

"I...need... my medication, Jason...it's... in my r-room," I gasped in between the words. I felt like I was going to have a heart attack. Jason continued to stare at me. Then, in a blink of an eye, he was gone. So I wasn't crazy. He really was moving fast...or disappearing. Whatever he was doing. That's how he got around so quietly. I hugged my knees up to my chest, trying to keep my heart from bursting out of my ribcage.

I don't know when I was diagnosed with anxiety. I've had it ever since I could remember. My drowning nightmares were the same. They seemed to have appeared around the same time as my anxiety. Always the same nightmare...

Jason came back normally, not suddenly from thin air. Thumping down the wooden steps in his heavy, dirt caked boots. In his massive hand he held my tiny bottle of meds. I sighed a huge sigh of relief; feeling the mental chains loosening from me and falling from my body. He sat down on the couch next to me and handed me the bottle. My shaking, cold fingers brushed against his leathery gloved fingers.

I turned the cap till it opened. Shook out four tiny pills and popped them into my mouth. I know the medication wasn't going to immediately stop the anxiety. It was going to take a while to get through my system...but they helped with most of it. My heart was still pounding against my ribcage. It felt like the bones were bruised from my heart beating against them. I took a deep, shaky breath and exhaled.

I wasn't sure if I would be able to go back to sleep after that horrific cosmic nightmare. It was tattooed into my brain. A permanent scar. I wanted to throw that book down into a bottomless pit and never think of it again. Something tickled the side of my face. I turned my head.

Jason was slowly reaching his hand up to my neck. I stiffened, feeling my heart rattle inside my ribcage again like a frightened bird. What was he doing? Was he going to strangle me? Was this it?! I held my breath as I felt his fingers against my neck. His fingers did not press into my jugular to cut off my air. His touch stayed at a gentle touch. His palm was against the side of my neck, while his thumb and fingers rested on either side. After a few seconds, I finally realized what he was doing.

He was feeling my pulse.

I wondered if that was the only way he knew how to feel for a pulse. The thought made me shudder at the idea. His hand lingered on my neck a lot longer then I thought it would take for him to check my pulse. His gloved fingers gently brushing over my skin.

He flinched his hand away when I reached up for his hand. He scooted away from me, his back turned. I stared at his broad shoulders, a dark silhouette in the moonlight. I could see his head flinching, his shoulders twitching. Battling the dark thoughts in his head. Or dark voices.

Disgusting boy! A voice screeched in my own head, not my own. It sounded like an older woman...

I stared at his back. "Jason?"

His whole body whipped around so fast at the sound of his name. One of his eyes was shadowed in darkness, the other lit up by the moonlight streaming in through the window. The one moonlit eye gave off a ghostly glint. I felt my question die on my tongue as I stared back at him. We were both not having a good night sleep. Haunted by nightmares. I paused at the thought.

Did Jason dream?

Another question added to my multiple questions about Jason. I wondered if he had a repeating nightmare like I did. Being bullied by the kids. Drowning in the lake. I heard him sigh, the heavy breath rustling my hair. I turned my eyes down to my hands. He sounded so stressed with his own inner demons.

I hesitated where I sat on the couch, bunching the blanket in my fists. I felt bad for him. I wanted to show that he could trust me...but...I had to remember that he was a serial killer. But...was he? So far, he had not shown any signs of wanting to kill me...yet.

I still had my doubts though. He was a huge guy...but acted like a gentle giant. I had yet to see the bloodthirsty machete wielding maniac everyone was telling me about.

Finally, I gathered up my courage and leaned close to Jason. Jason's eyes widened curiously. I wrapped my arms around him. My arms could not reach all the way around his wide torso. He smelled of fresh earth and pine. He flinched away from me, breaking away. I moved away quickly, realizing my mistake. I blushed, pulling away, turning my head to the side.

"Sorry...I should have asked...I just wanted to give you a hug," I said the last part more like a whisper, hiding my eyes behind my hair. I could feel Jason's eyes on me in the darkness. We were silent for a long time on the couch. I felt that my anxiety had calmed down, but my face was burning with embarrassment. I shifted and got ready to lay back down and pretend to go back to sleep, when I felt his strong hands touch my shoulders. I flinched in surprise from the touch.

I turned my head to look up at him, puzzled. His right hand came up to my face. I flinched from the sudden action, but relaxed when his hand carefully tucked my hair that curtained my face behind my ear. Then, he did something I was not expecting at all.

His huge muscled arms wrapped around my shoulders, somewhat pulling me close to his chest. His mask gently brushed up against my forehead. My whole body felt like it was on fire. I was sweating profusely. His breath filtered through the holes in his mask and down the collar of my pajamas; causing goosebumps to crawl up my skin. I tried keeping my breathing at a reasonable pace. I could hear the blood roaring in my ears. The feeling stayed even when Jason pulled away from me.

Jason slowly got up from the couch and went back to the chair and sat back down. He picked up the machete from where he laid it on the table, and rested it on the armchair. He stared out the windows on either side of the front door, as if waiting for someone to dare come in. I laid down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, feeling where his arms had held me, and where his mask had touched my forehead.