I loved the thought of that, even though it was weird.
“Anyway, you need to relax now,” he said. “Time to sleep it off.”
I didn’t want to sleep, despite the fact I let out a natural yawn. I still had so many questions.
The trapdoor.
“No,” Hans said. “Not now.”
If I wasn’t so exhausted, I’d have pushed him to talk about it, but I had no strength left to fight, and none to focus. I was drifting in and out of sleep as he took me from the bath and wiped me dry.
“Bedtime,” he whispered.
He sat me in the gorgeous plush armchair, wrapped up tight in a towel as he changed the bedsheets to a fresh set of the same.
“Time to sleep now,” he said, taking away my towel and lying me down in his bed. He wrapped me up under the covers, like I was a dainty little girl.
Because I was to him.
I didn’t want him to leave me, so I reached for him as he moved away, but he was only circling the bed to reach the opposite side. He slid under the covers to join me and pulled me close, flesh against flesh, his arms snaking around to hold me tight. He was so strong.
Sleep consumed me so easily, and I felt secure to go along with it, safe in his arms.
“You’ve never been held like this, have you?” Hans asked me, breaking into my dream state with a whisper. “Not even by your mother.”
I felt the emotional pain in my ribs, remembering the many times I’d cried in the dark with nightmares, screaming for Mum’s arms, even when she’d cussed along with Grandma and said I wassilly.She’d told me there were no such thing as monsters, and witches, and wizards. No demons, or ghosts, or vampires.
Just a silly little girl.
My dream voice spoke in a tiny echo, straight into Hans’ mind.
She knew, didn’t she?
He sighed before he answered me.
“Yes. She’s known your whole life. So has your ghastly grandmother.”
I caught a glimpse of the trapdoor again, under the water, and this time it was glowing red around the edges. Its heavy round handle was calling me. But no. Not tonight.
I spun in my tracks like an underwater ballerina and swam the other way.
“Good girl,” Hans said, full of pride. “Keep on swimming until it’s time.”
Time.
It faded in and out in a cycle, the trapdoor, the lake, the trapdoor, the lake.
Still, I didn’t approach that trapdoor, just kept looking at it from a distance whenever it appeared.
“Where is the lake I keep seeing?” I asked. “Is it in the subconscious, or does it really exist?”
“It’s symbolic,” he replied. “But it’s based on memory, yes.”
“Have I swam in it? For real?”
“No. But your family have.”
“Mum and Grandma?”