Nightmare (The Noctalis Chronicles 2)

He removes his hand from my arm and I want to pout. “Would you like to continue playing cards?”

“Not really.”

“What would you like to do?” I don't know, maybe kick some puppies and steal lollipops from crying children.

Honestly? “Die.”

“Do not be dramatic. I have died. It is nothing to write home about.” I can't help but grin a little at his joke. Still, I can't stop thinking about my mother. I don't want to disturb her, but I wish I could talk to her and see if she's okay. I just have this horrible image in my head of her collapsing.

“You are thinking negative thoughts. I can feel them.”

“I can't help it.”

“I know.” His fingers circle my spine. If only his touch could brush away the guilt. “Should I take you flying tonight?”

“That would be nice.” It had been a while since I'd flown with Peter. I loved it, being so free, so high up. We'd talk or not talk and it would be just us and the wind and the stars. I wished we could do it in the daytime, but there was too much of a chance we'd be caught. Even if someone spotted us, the chances of anything coming of it were slim. Basically, Peter was a UFN. Unidentified Flying Noctalis.

“Can we just watch something stupid on tv, and you'll let me hold your hand?” It sounds so lame, but it's what I want. Well, what I really want is to kiss him and forget everything. But I can't do that. I don't want him falling in love with me. I should be meaner to him to make sure it doesn't happen. I'd rather hold his hand, though.

I turn on a show about pregnant teenagers and Peter sits next to me on the couch. I wait for him to take my hand. He does, and everything slips into place. I swear I can hear a clunk. And everything sorta seems like it might be okay.

Not quite. Something nags at me, and I get restless after a few minutes. “I'm going to check on my mom, okay?” I don't want to let his hand go, but I need to see how she's doing.

Peter nods and I get up, letting go of his hand. My skin goes cold for a second, but I ignore it. My mother is more important than my own comfort.

I knock on the door, but there's no answer so I push it open. Maybe she's sleeping. I peer in, cautious. What I see makes me run, my feet tripping on the cream-colored carpet.

She's on the bed, flat on her back. Her eyes are closed and her skin is crazy pale.

“Mom!” I shake her shoulder. Nothing. “Mom!” I slap her face, and she finally stirs. “What's wrong?”

“I don't know, I just feel...” She can't finish the sentence and slumps, eyes rolling back.

“Mom!” I scream.

“Here,” a voice says next to me. It's Peter and he's brought the phone. I stare at it like I've never seen one before. What the hell do I do with it? Mom's voice captures my attention. She's awake, but unable to focus her eyes on my face.

“You don't need to call. I'm fine. Just a little dizzy.” She barely has the strength to talk.

“You fainted. That isn't good.” I can't remember the doctor's number. Before I can ask Peter, he's gone and back with the dry erase board that sits next to the phone.

My hands shake as I dial the number. It's Dr. Young's cell phone, so I should be able to reach him. It rings twice before he answers.

“Hi, Dr. Young, this is Ava Sullivan. My mom just passed out and I didn't know what to do.” There's a lot of noise in the background. I think I hear a whistle.

“Is she awake now?” I hear him walking away from the noise.

“Yes.”

“Okay. I want you to bring her in right away. If I'm not available, someone else will be there to see her. How long will it take you get there?”

Mom's trying to get my attention, but I ignore her. She's going to the damn hospital. “About twenty minutes.”

“I'll let the nurses know you're on your way.”

“Okay. Thank you.” I hang up. “We're going to see the doctor.”

“I'm fine. You didn't need to call him.” She closes her eyes for a second. Her skin is still so pale, and there are little droplets of sweat along her wigline.

“Yes, I did.” I hand the phone back to Peter. His calming energy doesn't do much for my panic. I don't know what to do?

“Can you walk?” Peter asks my mother, leaning down so he's inches away from her face. Her eyes fill with fear.

“I don't know.”

“Let me carry you.” She tries to shake her head.

“Oh, no. I'll be fine.” Her eyes go wider as he moves his arms to pick her up.

“Mom, just let him. Please. He doesn't want your blood. Just mine.” It doesn't come out the way I want it to. I wanted it to be reassuring, but it comes out wrong.

Her eyes bounce back and forth between Peter and me.

“I will not hurt you.” He waits for her to nod before he gently picks her up like a wilted flower. She looks startled, but only by how easily he does it. I run around, trying to remember what I need to bring. I grab our purses and her car keys.

“Peter? I don't know if I can drive.” My hands are shaking so bad, I can barely lock the front door.

“Let me.”

“Are you sure?”

“My reflexes are better than yours, even if you weren't in this state.”

“I'm not in a state.” We're wasting time, so I cave. “Fine. Let's just go.” Mom tries to protest, but it's a feeble effort. That just makes me move faster. Even when she's really sick, there is nothing feeble about Claire Sullivan.

I sit in the backseat, holding her hand and watching her face. I feel like I should be putting wet cloths on her forehead or giving her pills or something. Anything that would make me feel less helpless. And guilty.

I try not to think about the fact that this happened just after I told her about Peter. Shit, that was a stupid idea. What had I done? I should not be allowed to make decisions, ever again.

Peter pulls out of the driveway, gravel spitting from the tires. He drives fast, but not too fast. He also pretty much ignores stop signs, so we're there in ten minutes flat.

Mom looks a little better, but I'm not taking her home until the doctor checks her out, no matter how much she complains and says it's not necessary.

Her hand gripping mine is strong as we pull in front of the hospital. I direct Peter to the front door of Dr. Young's office. Peter parks the car in the fire lane and leans over the seat.

“I will be right back.” It seems like hours, but it's probably seconds when he comes out of the door with a wheelchair, a nurse right on his heels. We get my protesting mother out of the car and into the wheelchair. The nurse turns to me asked what happened and I tell her. Of course, not the part about Peter. Or the shocking news she got just before the episode.