Dark Child (Wild Men 5)

Fear seizes me, paralyzes me. Why is the room so dark, and what are those fingers of blackness creeping over the bed? They seem to drip blood on the pale sheets.

No way, oh God…

“Merc!” My own cry startles me, breaks me out of my trance. Forcing myself to move, I hurry over to the bed on shaky legs. I grab his shoulder and shake him. “Wake up. Wake up!”

What’s this craziness? I’m not a little kid to believe in dreams and ghosts. As I shake him again, I think that the mind can play crazy tricks on you. This has to be the explanation. A rational explanation.

Although I tried to dismiss my dreams, whatever caused them—that hard core of worry over something I can’t put my finger on—still bothers me.

And something has to be bothering Merc, too, judging from the cold terror in his eyes when he finally stops thrashing and blinks at me, his face white and drenched in sweat, his chest heaving with each ragged breath.

Then he pushes away from me, scrambling on the bed, clapping a hand over his mouth, and stumbles out of the room and into the bathroom. I hear retching sounds.

My knees decide not to hold me anymore, and I sink on the edge of the mattress. I pass my hands over my face. My heart kicks against my ribcage.

What’s going on?

When I walk into the bathroom, I find him getting to his feet, holding onto the sink for support, his face an unhealthy gray color. His eyes are bloodshot.

“I’m okay,” he says, and tries to smile.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I put my arms around his broad back, against chilled skin, and hold on tight. “You scared me,” I whisper.

He says nothing, his arms coming up to hold me.

“What did you dream about?”

A shiver goes through him. “Nothing.”

I draw back just enough to look up at his face. “Merc. Come on. JC said you have nightmares every night.”

“JC?” He steps back, his arms dropping away, mouth twisting. “When did he say that?”

“Just now.” I watch his handsome face, the emotions flitting over his features—anger, confusion, shame, fear. “I just want to help.”

“You can’t.”

I wince. “Why won’t you tell me? Is it a big secret?” I frown. “Is it the secret your sister is keeping for you?”

He sways a little, which scares the crap out of me. “What the fuck? Why would you say that?”

He’s shaking again. I don’t like this at all. “Come.” I take his hand and tug. He lets me. “Let’s go to bed.”

We walk back to the bedroom, sit on the bed. He’s frowning at something, jaw tight, lips pressed into a line.

“Don’t you trust me?” I ask him. “Why won’t you talk about this?”

“Fuck, CosieCat…” He runs his hands through his hair. “This isn’t… is this a test? I just have bad dreams sometimes. What do my dreams have to do with anything?”

“They make you sick. You can’t sleep. You can’t go on like this.” He’s shaking his head, denying it. “You asked me to trust you. Maybe you can trust me too?”

“Cos…”

Speaking of trust… “Look, I have dreams about you.”

“What? What sort of dreams?”

I bet he can see from my face it’s not the good kind. “If I tell you, will you tell me about yours?”