“The couch, huh?” Sal smiles slightly, brushing damp hair from her face. “I might be wrong, but I did notice a few empty spare rooms.”
“I like the couch.” Luke pretends to stretch. “Makes my back feel good.”
Sal rolls her eyes and lets out a soft chuckle. “Uh-huh.”
Fixing her with a look that means business, Luke says, “I’ll be right downstairs. Holler if you need anything, you hear me?”
With a smile, Sal watches him exit, closing the door behind him. She nestles down into the pillows, stretching her legs in the cool sheets. Sleep beckons, a sleep as dark as her memory, and soon Sal’s consciousness dims.
A ragged scream pierces the night air.
Luke sits bolt upright on the couch. Chest heaving, he listens close.
The scream sounds again.
Sal.
Sal’s screaming.
Adrenaline thundering through his veins, Luke vaults over the couch and bolts. At the foot of the stairs, he meets a wild-eyed Seth. Bypassing his brother, Luke takes the stairs two at a time, Seth on his heels, until he’s slamming into Sal’s bedroom.
The room’s cast in a pale-yellow glow as Luke flicks on the light.
Sal writhes on the bed, violently. Her face twisted in pain, she moans and whimpers as ragged gasps wrench their way out of her mouth.
Nightmare, Luke thinks.
He’s by her side in an instant. He tries to take her in his arms, but she punches up and down and across. She clocks Luke in the temple, and he wants to laugh, to cry out, “That’s my girl.”
Crawling onto the bed, Luke manages to get a firm yet gentle hold on her. Carefully, he slips her into his arms, cradling her against his bare chest. She tenses, then goes boneless. Her bloodless lips part in a cavern of a scream, her anguished whimpers pricking Luke’s heart like darts.
“Sal, darlin’, wake up,” Luke soothes, running a thumb across her delicate cheekbone. He cups the curve of her pale cheek. Feverish. Her hairline’s damp with sweat. Luke looks at Seth, hovering worriedly in the doorway. “Get her some water, will you?”
Seth disappears with a nod.
Luke rocks Sal until she calms, quiets. Her lashes flutter, dark against her pale cheek, then her green eyes are blinking, staring up at him.
Confusion slurs her words. “What happened?”
“You were having a nightmare,” he says softly.
She shifts in his arms but lets him hold her as she fully comes to.
“A split-apart,” she whispers.
Luke dips his head to hear her better. “A what?”
“It’s where the world peels away. Bit by bit. First the sides, then the floor, the ceiling. They all disappear. Then there’s fire, breaking glass ...”
“The plane crash,” Luke murmurs, and Sal’s eyes lock on his face. “You’re describing the plane crash, darlin’.”
He’d never forget the change in pressure, the slow death of the engine, the ground getting closer and closer, the flames swallowing up the plane like an inferno.
Sal’s voice comes disjointed and dreamlike. “I always wondered what it was ... sometimes it happens when I’m awake ... sometimes it’s so real.” She smiles faintly. “Funny. I guess I do remember something after all.”
The sadness in her voice cracks open Luke’s heart. He lays Sal back into the bed, wanting to keep her close and protected in his arms. He’d give anything to chase away all her bad dreams. To take away every ounce of agony she’s ever felt, all because he’s the one who put her on that plane.
He’s the one who couldn’t save her.