CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
The First Morning
Notes from the dark:
The journey out of the cave is painful, but necessary.
I opened my eyes, gasping for air. I tried to move, but I couldn’t.
My mind was strangely quiet despite my nightmare.
Vivid and cruel, it called out to me as I lay there, unable to move.
Despair and something else foreign tugged at my centre.
The anguish was so intense, it was as though I’d lost something intensely profound.
I stared up at the dark ceiling, feeling the hot tears slide down the side of my face, pooling around my ears.
Take a deep breath.
I drew another breath in, but when I blew it out, it was shaky and weak.
The dream dissipated within seconds, already escaping my reach. I slowly turned my head to the side and watched the rise and fall of Oliver’s chest as he slept peacefully in the bed beside me. I looked away from him quickly and very slowly slipped out of bed.
It was hardly five in the morning when I stepped out of the bedroom. Far too early to be making breakfast. Far too late to go back to sleep.
I didn’t want to sleep, either. Not after waking up feeling like this.
My legs were shaky as I trudged to the kitchen.
The silence was interrupted by the intermittent clicks of the air conditioner and the constant low hum of the air purifier.
I paused only briefly to peer into Rowe’s bedroom.
My heart tugged as I gaped at the room, that strange feeling of loss intensifying.
Frowning, I closed the door and continued down the long hallway.
Something was wrong.
I stepped into the spotless kitchen and stopped at the counter.
My body knew what it should be doing. I could be preparing for Oliver’s breakfast. Two strips of bacon and a boiled egg.
I removed the kitchen knife off the magnetic holder and opened the drawer.
I pulled out the chopping board and set it on the counter.
It’s too early.
I knew that, but there was nothing else to do. My purpose was Oliver.
I looked at the oven clock, unable to shake the feeling that something was very wrong and it had to do with my nightmare.
I put the knife down and walked out of the kitchen.
That heavy feeling grew in my stomach as I walked down the corridor.
I nervously glimpsed over my shoulder. The back of my neck prickled.
The way it did when someone gave chase to you.
My heart quickened as I stopped and spun around, staring at the darkness like there was something there.
There was nothing.
I didn’t move for a few moments, waiting. When nothing happened, I began to turn back and stopped, my eyes catching on the blown-up photo of my wedding day. It was too dark to see all the details, but I knew it by heart.
I approached the picture and raised my hand, taking the moment to pay attention to the one figure I desperately missed.
I traced my sister’s soft face.
She was smiling back at me, but I knew her smile was hollow. She was hurting here, and I was too focused on my own fairytale to notice.
“I have to do something, Daisy…I just have to. It’s the only way to stop these nightmares.”
I always wondered what her nightmares consisted of.
I tore my gaze away from her face and stared at Rowe. My chest tightened. An enormous pain spread across my chest like wildfire. I almost doubled over at the grief, shocked by the suddenness of it. That prickly feeling returned, and my unease grew like cement in my stomach.
I backed away from the picture quickly, my skin now slick with sweat as I raced back up the steps, determined to go back to bed.
Stop.
The voice in my head wasn’t angry or panicked. The word came as a gentle, affectionate caress over my body. I halted immediately, and though my body urged me to go to bed, my mind prodded at me to relax.
Nothing’s wrong. You’re okay.
Daisy, you’re alright.
Then why was I so jumpy? Why did I feel like something very bad was about to happen?
I didn’t go to the bedroom. On trembling legs, I inched to the only space that was mine. I nearly collapsed into the chair of my nook. Exhaustion weighed me down, and I closed my eyes, determined to enter that dreamy place between sleep and wakefulness.
But it didn’t come.
All I saw when I closed my eyes was a dark place. The same place I jolted awake to escape from.
That’s not all you saw.
There was something else in my dream. An image I was trying to grasp. It sat on the fringes of my mind, just out of view.
Goddammit, what was it?
I waited for the dream to come to me. The only explanation for being this jumpy had to do with the dream.
The nightmare was haunting me, and I needed to remember what it was.
Then I could make sense of all this and carry on like usual.
Make that bastard his breakfast and maybe catch some hours here, reading.
The bookshelves usually relaxed me, but I found no solace in their presence.
I glanced at my latest book, my fingers twitching to touch it—
No.
I refrained and shut my eyes instead. I didn’t need distractions. I needed to understand why I felt like I lost the most important human being in my life.
Come to me. Please….
Remember, Daisy.
Remember.
I didn’t move. I sat still, cleansing my mind of all thought, waiting for the curtain to rise. I waited, with bated breath, as the darkness pulled apart, and the images flooded in.
THE CAVE
I’m somewhere dark and cold. I’m sad. So immensely sad, the grief has stolen my words. When I open my mouth, I can’t speak. I can’t move, either, and I’m so, so alone.
I’m paralyzed as I sit here on a hard seat, my gaze trapped to the rocky wall before me. There are shadows dancing on the walls. An eerie melody plays. It’s a flute and the tinkle of a music triangle. It’s so repetitive, it hurts my ears.
I keep thinking, this is how it is. This is how it will always be.
I think this thought on repeat with that blasted tune, and the grief never goes away. It just exists inside me like it’s part of me. After a while, I stop trying to talk. I accept my prison, and it seems close to relief when I do. All is as it should be. Nothing exists besides the shadows and me.
This is how it is.
This is how it will always be—
Something flickers in my peripheral.
It doesn’t stop.
The movement is distracting and happens so often, it starts to interrupt my repetitious thought.
I attempt to turn my head. It takes a lot of work. I feel like something is grabbing my head and forcing it in place, but I fight against it now, curious to know what’s causing the movement.
Now that I know something is there, I can’t stop myself from wondering what it is. My heart picks up. I’m scared, but my desire to know outweighs the fear of knowing something else is here, with me, causing it. If I don’t look, it might stop and I’ll never know.
And I need to know.
With gritted teeth, I fight against the force and manage to turn my head.
Immediately, I freeze in place.
The cavernous room is large and dim, but more than that, it isn’t empty.
I thought I was alone, but there are many silhouettes standing together…
staring at me. The flickering doesn’t come from their movements, but from something on them.
Lots of little somethings that flutter off their bodies and then settle back on them.
Butterflies.
I’m so scared, my breaths come out shaky and fast, but I can’t stop looking at them.
Ignoring the shadows on the wall, I fight against the force trying to keep me in place and come to a wobbly stand.
I haven’t stopped staring at the beings in the room with me.
They scare me, but I’m more scared they’ll vanish if I look away for a second.
It takes everything to move to them. The crushing force never abates. I walk with the weight of the world on my shoulders. I walk and it isn’t easy to breathe as I do. My heart is hammering away in my chest as I draw closer to them.
There are so many of you.
Why are you here?
But I know why.
They’re trapped, like me. They’re in this place, but they aren’t staring at the shadows. They’re staring at me.
You’re the only thing real to them.
The thought doesn’t come of my own volition. It’s been given to me. Seeded by something else. Something foreign and outside my realm of understanding.
“I don’t understand,” I grit out, though no sound is made. I don’t have a voice, and it feels strange because I never noticed that because I never had to use it.
I get closer to the sea of faces. Most of them are empty forms with no faces. Their bodies aren’t solid but made of thousands of fluttering butterflies. I stop and stare at them, unsure of what they want.
Until I see them.
Other figures, their butterflies glowing orange.
Figures…with faces.
They stand amongst the faceless forms, looking at me.
One of them is a tall man with glowing blue eyes. I feel like I’ve seen him before. He’s beautiful in a way that leaves a deep ache in my chest. He stares at me, his eyes heavy and sad. His lips have parted, but I don’t think he has a voice in here, either.
The other form next to him is a girl with long black hair. She’s weeping soundlessly. Butterflies flutter constantly around her chest where there appears to be a gaping hole. I stare, horrified, at the black holes.
“I don’t know what you want,” I say, but again, I have no voice.
The third form flickers in my peripheral. I turn my head to look—
Terror slams into me with full force. I let out what would have been a guttural sound as my knees buckle, and I fall to the ground. No. Nonono. The weight doesn’t concern me anymore. I crawl against the force that screams at me to turn back to the wall—back to what I comfortably am told to believe.
But my son is in this fucking place, and I let out a soundless scream as I stare at his tiny form, looking at me with a blank stare.
“ROWE!” I beg for him to come to me.
I’ve lost him.
He’s gone.
He’s dead.
It’s my fault.