Dangerous Temptation (Dark Dream 1)

As if mimicking the stillness of my mother’s body would make it less alarming.

It didn’t work.

She was too cold, too inert to pass off as anything but what my mind was screaming at me.

Dead.

In the wake of shock, panic flooded my system. I got to my knees in the bed, somehow cognizant enough not to jar Brando awake as I leaned over Aida and checked the pulse at her throat with two fingers.

Nothing.

Her wrist?

Nothing.

A panicked wail lodged in my throat.

Her skin was pale yellow, bleached of warmth. The texture was cold and smooth, like something inanimate. My fingers trembled as I lightly touched her bone-white lips.

I hovered over her, desperation clawing at my insides, anxiety eating at my extremities so that they shook fiercely, vibrating the bed.

For one brutal, endless moment, I didn’t know what to do.

A childish part of me wanted to lie back down and go to sleep, tell myself it was all a bad dream that would be better when I woke up.

Another, untethered part of my soul wanted to rage at Aida, shake her shoulders until she woke. The. Hell. Up! Because we needed her, didn’t she know that? Didn’t she understand that for all the responsibility I took on, I was just a girl and Brando was only a boy?

How could she leave us?

But then Brando stirred slightly in his sleep, tucking the foot-long, plastic Iron Man figurine tighter into the crook of his arm.

My throat closed up around the agony lodged inside. I thought I would choke until I remembered that if I went to pieces, Brando would wake up beside his dead mother and be scarred forever.

I sucked a deep breath into my lungs, wincing at the taste of Aida’s perfume on my tongue.

There was no one but me to deal with this situation.

So, I breathed deeply until my vision stopped swimming and slowly, afraid I’d collapse with the weight of it all, I stood up.

One step at a time, I told myself as I focused on my breath.

In and out.

I rounded the bed.

Then I gently curled my arms around my baby brother and lifted him into my arms. He was sleep heavy, but I welcomed the heft of him, the warmth of him against me. The next breath I took was against his sweetly scented hair.

It grounded me as I carefully carried him out of the bedroom that had become a death chamber overnight and back down the hall to his own room. He barely stirred as I tucked him into his superhero sheets. I pushed his hair out of his face, staring at him with an intensity that made my eyes burn. My fingers found the pulse in his neck before I could stop myself. I needed the resonance of that heartbeat to fuel me on.

I thought of it, of him, as I moved into the kitchen and picked up the landline to call 9-1-1. I tapped the beat out on the Formica countertops as I told them about Aida, then against my thigh as they instructed me to go back into her room to test for her pulse.

I hesitated over her body, fingers outstretched and shaking as I tried to force myself to touch her pale neck again. It was cold and hard, smooth as stone.

The emptiness replaced the tattoo of Brando’s pulse in my chest and echoed through me. I fought against the despair that swelled in my hollow chest, eating up everything inside me until I throbbed with sorrow, but it was a losing battle.

By the time the emergency operator assured me help was on the way, I was curled in the corner of Aida’s room in a tight ball, my wet cheek pressed against the wall.

“Do you have someone you can call?” the female operator asked softly. “A family member?”

A hiccoughed sob exploded from between my lips and tears fell wetly to the ground. I stared at the spot they fell as I fought the sobs back down my throat.

“No,” I whispered coarsely. “It’s just Mom, my little brother, and me. H-he’s only seven.”

“What about a friend?” she offered. “Someone who can come help you.”

I closed my eyes, rolling my forehead back and forth against the wall as I shook my head. We didn’t have close friends. Aida was too busy dating, absorbing the friends of each man she saw until they inevitably broke up and she lost them too. I was too busy at work and school, at home with Brando so I didn’t have anyone close enough I felt I could call with the enormity of this news.

Brando was charming and beautiful. He had lots of friends, but I couldn’t call a seven-year-old for help and I was loath to call any of their parents when I only knew them from school pickup and the odd playdate.