The Sinister Silhouette

All I can do is lie there and look at her as she gets closer and closer. Her wraithlike appearance allows me to see the trees above us through her body, but as she draws nearer, her features become more clear. She has a small scattering of freckles across her cheeks. One in particular stands out more than the others because it’s bigger and is just below the corner of her right eye. She also has the beginning of small indents in her cheeks that suggests dimples if she were to smile.

My body tenses even further when she doesn’t stop and keeps floating toward me. Her eyes don’t change, and she doesn’t try to touch me. She’s only inches from me now, and my chest tightens the closer she gets.

She’s so close I can see black specks in her eyes mixing in with the pretty golden amber.

Painful breath rushes from my lungs when she all of a sudden closes her eyes and an agonizing scream escapes her lips. Not a second later, she bursts into a thousand tiny flashes of bright light, her scream still echoing around me. The small fragments fall, and it’s like some magnetic force inside me is drawing them into my body. Each piece that penetrates is more excruciating than the last.

I WAKE WITH A jerk, my eyes flying wide open as I sit up in bed. I clutch my chest as searing pain crushes my lungs. I pull in deep breaths, trying to push the discomfort away. It’s fake, leftover fragments from the pain in my dream. It has to be.

I toss the covers aside and climb from the bed. Stalking toward the bathroom, I stumble a few steps, my equilibrium off.

“Fuckin’ hell,” I mutter as the bright light of the bathroom stabs at my aching head.

I walk to the sink, turn on the tap, and splash cold water on my face. Lifting my head, I look at my reflection in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes stare back at me. I have rings under my eyes, and my black hair looks fucking wild.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and memories of the dream rush behind my closed lids.

When the dreams started back up again a couple months ago, they were different than the ones I had before. The woman was always the same and so was the dark setting with the tiny sparks of light. She never spoke, but I always felt her eyes on me.

This dream was even more different. It was outside in the broad light of day. In a place I know well. What that means, I have no idea. I just wish it would stop.

I used to only have one every couple of months, but since they returned, I have them several times a week. Before tonight, my last one was two nights ago. It’s fucking with my sleep, meaning, I’m not getting much, and it pisses me off.

Why can’t she just tell me what in the fuck she wants from me? Even if she only needs help in my dream and she’s not out there somewhere powerless and in dire need, she could at least tell me what in the hell she needs me to do.

I push away from the sink, start the shower, and don’t wait for the spray to warm before I step inside. The cold water hits my sweaty body. Bowing my head, I step under the showerhead until the water meets my shoulders. The cold distracts me from the haunted amber eyes and my unanswered questions.

Once the water warms, I lift my shoulders a few times and twist my head back and forth to loosen the tense muscles. I stay that way for a while, until the throbbing in my head lessens. The pain in my chest is still there, but that too has tapered slightly.

Turning the water off, I step out and grab a towel. Wrapping it around my waist without drying off, I leave the bathroom and go to my closet, where I find a pair of jogging pants. After slipping them on, I head toward the kitchen and the coffeepot on the counter, knowing there will be no more sleep for me.

I step to the window with my coffee cup in hand and look out into the darkness. The streetlights a couple houses down give just enough light to see littered and overgrown yards. The houses aren’t much better with their peeling paint, dilapidated porches, and cracked windows.

I turn my head to the side and look at the bookshelf that has my collection of books and CDs. Further to the left is my flat-screen TV. It’s not huge, but it’s not small either by any standards. Beneath it is my Xbox console and games. Behind me is my brown suede couch and love seat, with a recliner between the two. There’re tables at the end of the love seat and couch. It wasn’t an expensive set, but it’s still a nice one. My kitchen has matching dishes and pots and pans that I bought at an outlet store. My bedroom set matches too, but again, it’s another department store purchase, nothing fancy.

I’ve worked my ass off on changing this house from a two-bedroom, two-bathroom dump into a decent-looking home. My yard has green grass, and I cut it weekly. The outside was freshly painted two years ago, and my porch is level.

My parents worked hard all their life to ensure my brother, sister, and I had everything we needed. We may have not gotten the stuff we wanted, but we always had food on our table and clean clothes on our backs.

As an adult, I may not have the finest things in life, but I live comfortably, even if I am surrounded by shady shit all day long. I’m happy where I am, and I’m happy knowing I’m in a situation where if my family needs something, I can more than likely get it for them.

I turn away from the window and chug down the rest of my coffee before putting the cup in the sink. Leaving the kitchen, I walk to the garage where I have a weight bench. Lying back, I grip the bar, blow out a breath, and push upward. Straining sure as hell doesn’t help my head, but it feels fucking great on my muscles.

It also pushes away the vision of a woman with sorrow in her amber eyes.

I SLIP MY WALLET IN my jeans and have just swiped my keys off the bar when there’s a knock at the door. Irritation has me stalking over and yanking it open. As soon as I see the small person on the other side, my snarled words die in my throat and something warm fills my chest.

“Hey, Uncle Luca,” Aria, my six-year-old niece, chirps as she bounces past me into the living room. I turn and watch as she beelines it to the kitchen where I know she’ll ransack my cabinets for any sweets.

I turn back to the door just as my twin brother hits the bottom of the steps.

“What a

re you doing here, Theo?” I glance down at the phone in my hand. “The shop opens in thirty minutes.”

He blows out a breath as he takes the last couple of steps.

“I know,” he answers. “We won’t be long. I haven’t had a chance to go to the grocery store in the last week, and we ran out of bread for her lunch today.”