Chapter 3
“Well, isn’t this cozy!” Cleo exclaimed as she stepped through the sitting room door.
“Ah!” Abigail yelped as the voice startled her, “What the hell! How’d you get in!”
Cleo laughed and gestured behind her. ”Your door was unlocked, and I tried knocking, but you two nerds have the volume too high to be able to hear me—and neither of you picked up your phones.”
Abigail felt her cheeks flush. “The door was unlocked?”
“Yep,” Cleo replied as she popped the takeaway bags on the coffee table between them all. “I put the chain lock on and turned the latch; I figured it wasn’t intentional.”
“Not at all,” Abigail said, shaking her head, “I don’t like that.”
Her cheeks puffed out as she sighed. She needed to be more careful with the door. Sure, Newport was hardly a crime hot spot, but it still freaked her out.
“Anyway,” Cleo said, “I brought food. Come on, dig in—and hey! I thought you said you were going to wait!”
She was pointing at the TV, which showed a scene from the second film.
“Well... We did so Abby could call London, but then you didn’t say what time you’d be getting here,” Byron said, looking sheepish, “and if we don’t keep them rolling, we won’t get through all three until about four in the morning... And that’s not great for any of us but Abby...”
He gestured to Abigail, who felt her cheeks warm.
“What?” Cleo asked, suddenly interested.
Abigail weighed up how much to tell Cleo, but she was too tired to make a calculated decision.
“I’ve been... Well, I haven’t been sleeping,” she explained, “like, at all, really. Three hours a night at most, and not all together.”
“Abby!” Cleo exclaimed before turning to Byron, “And you! An all-night movie marathon is your idea of a date with an insomniac?”
Uh. What?
Byron’s mouth fell open as he scrambled for his words.
“It’s not a date!” Abigail said, noticing the smirk forming on Cleo’s face, “And it’s fine... Honestly, I’m fine.”
“If it was a date,” Byron said, recovering, “I’d hardly invite you along to spoil the mood, would I?”
Cleo laughed now that he’d cottoned on, “I’m the life of any party, anyway. Come on, let’s eat.”
She gestured to the spread she’d arranged on the coffee table in front of the couch. With a thrill, Abigail realized the only way she’d be able to build her taco and have access to all the dips was if she sat on the couch... Between Byron and Cleo. She took her phone with her just in case either of the twins wanted to follow up on their tense conversation about social media. The couch was large, which was why she had chosen to sleep on it, but she was still hyper-aware of the people on either side of her. Despite how affectionate Abigail was with her daughters, she wasn’t a very touchy person in general. A hug here and there wasn’t an issue, but the idea of spending six hours with her legs pressed against Cleo and Byron’s made her skin crawl.
She would eat her dinner, insist on getting dessert from the kitchen, and return to her armchair, she decided. That would be fine—she could do dinner.
The taco truck Cleo had brought dinner from was parked outside the hospital every night and apparently made most of its profit from people leaving their shift and being completely helpless against the delicious smells wafting out from the mobile kitchen. Considering how good it still smelled even after a thirty minute drive from Cleo’s hospital, Abigail knew she wouldn’t be able to resist stopping there every shift if she worked there. The first bite confirmed all her suspicions as the fresh flavors of lime, tomato, and deliciously seasoned chicken burst onto her tongue.
“Oh... My god, these are…” she started to say, but cut herself off with another bite.
“I know, right!?” Cleo said through a mouthful of her own, “I will literally spend my entire fast food budget at this one place, probably just on these. Honestly though, their other food is really good as well. These are just my favorite, because you said it was my choice and they were right in front of me. I picked my favorite. Just because I could—and it’s not like you are mad about it, right guys?”
The muffled sounds of general agreement must have satisfied Cleo because she stopped talking and didn’t start again until she had finished her third taco.
“What on earth does a hospital car park in Rhode Island have to do to get such incredible Mexican food?” Abigail asked laughing, “There were three places near me back home. They all lasted less than six months, and I bet they must have all been made by the same company because the menus were identical.”
Cleo was wiping her mouth on one of the provided napkins, and as she straightened it out to show her the logo, she laughed and said, “Bee actually runs it. Her family is Mexican and she has decided that her contribution to making sure her family’s culture continues is by making sure that she could cook every single dish that her mum could teach her, and the most profitable way for her to do that was to start her food truck. She has done pretty well for herself actually.”
Oh, Abigail thought, disappointed to find that, in retrospect, the food was a bit less delicious, knowing that it came from the kitchen of the woman who had been so vulgar about the mystery surrounding Jacob’s disappearance. Or, she thought deliberately, maybe her delicious food should maybe make up for her behavior a little bit.
“So, is anyone up for dessert?”
A series of groans from Byron indicated that he was too full—she didn’t need a translator for that. Yet when Cleo laughed and withdrew a final box from the bag and announced that she had already sought ahead and brought churros with dulce de leche, Byron’s face lit up and he seemed to find space for them.
Even cold, these were just as delicious as the tacos had been. The meal had been incredible, so much so that Abigail had almost gotten over her earlier discomfort at being wedged between Cleo and Byron. Before she could think up a valid excuse, Cleo had already made a comment about how late it was getting, and Byron had pressed play.
Abigail could feel her eyelids getting heavy as she tried to pay attention to the film in front of her, but even as another action scene launched into full swing, she found herself thinking fuzzy, sleepy thoughts. She blinked, and what she was looking at was no longer the TV or the coffee table with remnants of the dinner on it. Rather, she was staring out of the back window of a car as it slowly sank. She could see a diffused Ring of light just beyond the surface of the water. She was not that deep. Abigail frantically scrambled to grab the door handle, yanking as hard as she could to try to get it open, but the pressure from the water outside the car pressed it closed. Pain shot up her arm, and she yelped.
“Abby!” Cleo said, almost shouting, “Abby, wake up!”
Abigail looked down as she realized the pain in her wrist was real. Cleo’s hand was latched hard around her wrist, and she was shaking her.
“Ow!” Abby exclaimed, “let go! Let go!”
“Abby, look at me,” Cleo said seriously, pulling on her wrist, “are you awake? Tell me what we had for dinner.”
Abigail recognized what was going on. Cleo needed to know that she was awake and not sleepwalking or just talking in her sleep.
“Uh, um, tacos! We had tacos!” Abigail said triumphantly, “tacos and churros!”
Cleo’s face relaxed, and her grip on Abigail’s wrist relaxed.
“Oh my God, Abby, was that a nightmare?” Cleo asked, gently massaging the red patch on Abigail’s arm where she had been holding onto her.
Abigail felt the tears prickling up behind her eyes and her cheeks turning red. She hadn’t had a nightmare in front of anybody for years. Even during her marriage to Liam, it had come so rare that it almost never happened, and now she had done it in front of someone who was basically a stranger to her.
“I am so sorry,” she said, her voice wavering, “I’m so sorry. I should never have let myself fall asleep. I’m so sorry.”
“Abby, it’s fine,” Cleo said, “honestly, it’s fine; these are the kind of nightmares that keep you awake?”
Abigail nodded, letting the tears roll down her cheeks. This was already humiliating enough. What did it matter if she cried as well?
“They are not usually this bad,” she explained. ”Normally, they just freak me out. I wake up. No harm done.”
Someone shifted beside her, and in a crash of embarrassment, she realized that it was Byron.
“Just because you don’t normally physically respond to your nightmares…” he said seriously, “doesn’t mean there’s no harm done to you—you seemed terrified, Abby.”
She noticed then that he was rubbing his hand and she narrowed her eyes against the low light. Seeing that his forefinger bore very similar red marks to her wrist, Abigail covered her face with her free hand and groaned.
“Did I…?”
He looked sheepish and dropped his hand into his lap, “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”
Her stomach twisted in a painful wave of nausea as she realized that while in her dream she had grabbed onto the door handle of the car, in reality, she had grabbed onto Byron’s hand and pulled as hard as she could.
“I did, didn’t I!?”
Cleo made an exasperated noise and even though she wasn’t looking at her friend, Abigail knew that he was rolling her eyes.
“I am so sorry, Byron,” she said, trying not to cry. “I can’t believe I did that; it really doesn’t usually happen.”
“When’s the last time you had a dream like that?” Cleo asked, “One that made you sleepwalk or...”
She gestured at Byron and Abigail’s stomach clenched.
“Honestly? Not for years. I’ve sleepwalked, but I can’t usually remember the dream. Do you think these? These are straight-up nightmares and... I hate it.”
Looking around, she noticed that all the food was gone and there were more dirty dishes than she remembered.
“How... How long have I been asleep?” she asked.
Cleo checked her watch, “Uhm... Not that long.”
“Five hours,” Byron said, “we didn’t want to wake you up when we both knew how sleep-deprived you were.”
She stared in disbelief, “five hours! That’s more sleep than I’ve had in two days... And somehow, that ends up with me nearly breaking your finger...”
Cleo let go of Abigail’s hand, placing it gently on her knee, “I really think you should get yourself checked out, just some basics... You were really asleep, Abs. I could barely get you off him—and he didn’t want to hurt you.”
“I’ll call Doctor Lavender tomorrow... Or, well,” she glanced at Cleo’s watch, “today, I guess.”
“What will he say, do you think?” Cleo asked in a deliberately offhand way.
Abigail resisted the urge to pout, but instead replied with what she knew Cleo already knew.
“...probably to get my bloods checked and go through the list of things that could have contributed to it.”
Byron leaned towards the standing lamp next to the couch, which pressed his leg into Abigail’s and suddenly she was greeted with the horrifying thought—had she fallen asleep... On him?
The room illuminated a little more as he adjusted the dimmer switch.
“Let’s get some of this tidied up, then I think we should put something on,” he said.
“What? No more elves!” Cleo exclaimed, laughing.
Byron rolled his eyes, “Don’t lie, I saw you tearing up when the White Ship set sail. Anyway, she only started dreaming when the movie finished—maybe the background noise is good for her.”
Cleo didn’t argue; just shrugged and grabbed a few glasses to take to the kitchen. Byron followed behind, leaving Abigail on the couch alone.
She hadn’t told them the whole truth. The only times she had reacted to her nightmares physically had been the times she’d recently had a flashback. Dutifully, she pulled out her phone and typed out the details to share with Doctor Lavender.