I groan as I rub my head.Nightmares. And the worst kind.
In my nightmare, my baby was torn from my belly. Shadows chased me through a desolate wasteland. Darkness hunted me around every corner with drooling monsters that remained just out of sight, their shapeless presence snapping at my heels.
Just like in the real world.
The sheets rustle as Pavel slips from the bed. He looks tired. Exhausted. Just like me.
I guess he’s having nightmares, too.
I’d ask if he’s okay, but what difference would it make? We’re just going to tear at each other’s throats again. Talking with him lately has become a chore that leads nowhere. And I’m tired of running in circles.
I want tea. I want a scone. I want to sit in the sunroom, where I can pretend all of these terrible things happening around the city aren’t real. Where my husband isn’t about to mount what can only be described as an elaborate form of suicide.
Both of our phones go off at once. I hold my head in my hands, dreading what could have possibly been sent to us this early in the morning.
You know what this will be.
Pavel quietly lifts his phone. He’s braver than me. I need something to eat first. I can’t look at Zoya’s tortured face withoutsomethingin my stomach.
Pavel’s face blanches. “Liya!”
The strain in his voice—the sheerpanic—is enough to make me grab my phone. I hold his shoulder as I open my messages.
What’s so bad that it makes Pavel look sick?
And then I see it.
I fumble my phone. It lands on the rug with a soft thump, the sound barely registering in my brain. My stomach twists while I use Pavel to ground me.
Don’t leave me trapped in this reality. A shuddering breath shakes my resolve.Don’t make me look again.
But I can’t help it.
I clutch my chest. Terror winds around my heart.What’s it called when you can’t look away from a car crash?
My breaths are shallow. My shoulders are shaking from adrenaline. I want to look away. Itryto look away. But I can’t.
Rubbernecking. That’s what it’s called.
Zoya is pale. She’s paler than pale. She appears ghastly, with bluish veins surrounding her marble eyes. The way her skin looks resembles wax, like those weirdly lifelike statues in a history museum.
We can’t look away because we want to help.I gasp for air.We want to do something about it.
A wicked tremble rips through me. “No...”
I reach for my phone like I can still save her. I think that if I can just reach the phone, I can reverse the irreversible. If I can reach the phone, then that’ll stop me from screaming in horror.
But I can’t. Not with the way she’s staring through the screen with those eyes.
Like she’s accusing me of something.
Murderer.
Her mouth hangs open. Her tongue is slightly pink even though the rest of her is dull, faded,lifeless. A perfectly circular hole sits in the center of her head. Blood trickles from the wound in thick rivers down the bridge of her nose.
Shot in the head, in the same dirty cell where she suffered endlessly.
I grab my phone, shrieking. “NO!”