Chapter 6: Ali's Nightmares and Visions of Her Lost Family
Ali's nightmares crept in like a slow, dark wave. Each night, the scenes twisted deeper into her subconscious, bringing her back to places she'd fought hard to forget. Her family, her father, her baby brother—each one appeared like flickering images on an old, cursed tape, their faces blurred by shadow, their voices fading into static.
One night, she found herself in the living room of her old family home. Her father was pacing, his expression tense as he kept glancing toward the corner, where Hunter's crib was. Everything felt wrong—the air too thick, the light too dim. She tried to speak, but her voice was muted, lost in a muffled echo.
"Papá," she tried, reaching out. He turned, his face hollow, eyes fixed on something behind her. His lips moved, silent and urgent. She could almost read the words: "Ali, corre. Run." But her feet wouldn't move.
Suddenly, she was in Hunter's room, the walls painted with familiar baby-blue clouds, the ones her mom had spent hours stenciling on. Hunter lay in his crib, wide-eyed, staring straight at her. He wasn't crying—he was too still, his tiny mouth open as if he were frozen mid-scream. Ali's heart twisted as she reached in to pick him up, but her hands went straight through, grasping only cold air.
Each night, the dreams intensified, shifting from scene to scene, sometimes mixing her family's memories with violent flashes of shadowed figures, broken voices, dark shapes creeping from every corner. She'd wake drenched in sweat, her body aching. Bruises marked her wrists as if someone had gripped her, and scratches, raw and red, appeared across her back. The bruises mapped out faint, almost deliberate shapes on her skin, symbols she couldn't make sense of.
Her mind felt worn thin, as if her family's deaths were clawing back into the present, haunting her in both waking life and dreams. She couldn't escape them, and every bruise and cut seemed like a sign—a message she didn't understand but couldn't ignore.
Ali looked at herself in the mirror one morning, the dark rings under her eyes a testament to the restless nights. Her father's face flashed in her mind, his mouth moving without sound. The bruises on her arms felt hot, almost pulsing. She leaned against the sink, fighting off the overwhelming sense that her family was closer now than they'd ever been. But was it a warning…or something worse?