Chapter Twenty-Two
Precious Things
Oliver awoke to the sound of a door slamming.
At least, he was fairly sure that was what woke him.
He had been having a stress-dream about the butcher being out of meat for Felipe and having to exhaust the Paranormal Society’s cheese supply with more ridiculous lies, and the woman who ran the kitchen slammed the door in his face right when he woke up.
Oliver groaned and shoved his face into the pillow.
Most of his stress-dreams were about forgetting corpses in the preservation drawers until they were skeletons floating in organ soup, but somehow, this one was worse.
Turning onto his side to reach for Felipe’s comforting warmth, he found the bed empty and the coverlet thrown back.
Oliver shot up. The door to their bedroom was open, but he didn’t think that had been the sound that woke him.
Where was Felipe? A wave of guilt washed over him at the way he handled Felipe’s concerns the previous night.
They should have talked it out more. Something was bothering him, and now, he was gone.
Oliver scrambled out of bed, stuffing his feet into his shoes and throwing his bathrobe over his pajamas.
The ring hanging from his neck thudded against his chest as he took the stairs two at a time to the darkened foyer.
“Felipe?” he called louder than he intended.
The floor creaked overhead in Gwen’s bedroom a moment before her bonneted head appeared in the hall haloed in lamplight. “What is with the yelling and banging? Do you know what time it is?”
“I’m looking for Felipe. I woke up, and he wasn’t in bed. I told him not to go outside without me at night, but...” Oliver let out a frustrated huff as Gwen came down and followed him through the dining room. “I can’t sleep not knowing where he is.”
“You know he’s probably outside using the facilities or sneaking a snack.”
“I hope so, but I’m worried, Gwen. He was upset with me before bed, and I know something is going on with him, only he won’t tell me what it is. I—”
The words died on his lips as they reached the kitchen.
The back door stood open, banging against the kitchen wall in time with each leaf-laden gust. That had been the noise.
Oliver ran outside. It was so dark he could scarcely see, but something felt wrong.
Felipe didn’t just leave doors open. Oliver’s mind jumped to Sheriff Ridder breaking into the Stills’s home.
He hadn’t heard anything inside, but— A flash of light near the trees caught his eye, disappearing as quickly as it came.
“There he is!” Gwen cried, pointing as the glint appeared a second time.
Oliver could just make out a Felipe-shaped shadow crossing the yard, but he was nowhere near the outhouse this time.
Anger rose in Oliver’s breast at the realization that Felipe had gone off without him again and that the previous time probably hadn’t been an innocent trip to the bathroom either.
They were going to have a long discussion about this.
Pressing the oil lamp into his hand, Gwen nudged him back into motion. “Go get him. I don’t have shoes on.”
Oliver stomped through the grass toward his partner, vacillating wildly between anger and relief.
He didn’t want to yell and wake up Mr. Allen, so he called to Felipe in a stage whisper.
But Felipe kept moving. He bobbed and weaved as if dancing to an unseen tune.
It wasn’t until Oliver was nearly on top of him that he realized he held a very large knife in his hand.
Running ahead of him, Oliver called his name again, but Felipe didn’t seem to hear it.
Every motion was exaggerated and slow, as if he moved underwater.
The way he held his knife wasn’t quite right and neither was his stance, but what scared Oliver most was the way his face twisted with anguish with each slash and parry. Whatever he saw, it wasn’t Oliver.
“Felipe!” Oliver yelled as he leapt out of range of the next strike. “Felipe, wake up!”
“Is everything all right?” Gwen called.
“No, but stay where you are. He’s sleepwalking, and he has a weapon.”
Felipe jerked like he had been struck and murmured something under his breath in pained Spanish.
For a brief moment, his movements slowed, and his hand hovered in the air.
Now, was his chance. Setting the lamp on the ground, Oliver slipped behind Felipe and grabbed his arm.
He had taught Oliver how to disarm someone, and while Awake-Felipe never would have let go, Oliver had surprise and agility on his side for once in his life.
“Drop it!” Oliver gritted as Felipe bucked wildly against him.
He pried his fingers off the hilt one-by-one, and when the knife hit the ground, Oliver quickly put his foot over the blade without letting go of his partner’s arm.
Felipe thrashed and tried to wrench from his grip, but with each attempt, the words streaming from his lips slipped further into the incoherent, breathy babble of the wounded.
His body locked and stiffened beneath Oliver’s hands.
Turning Felipe toward him, Oliver watched in horror as Felipe’s eyes went wide with terror and his mouth parted in a silent scream.
“Felipe! Felipe! Look at me. It’s Oliver. Wake up,” he yelled into his ear, giving Felipe’s shoulders a less than gentle shake. “You’re having a nightmare.”
Fear coiled around Oliver’s heart as Felipe’s eyes rolled back in his head.
He hoped to god this was just a nightmare and not some form of compulsion.
He needed to snap him out of it. He didn’t want to slap him or douse him with water, but he would if he had to.
Grabbing the soft flesh on the back of Felipe’s arm, Oliver pinched it as hard as he could.
Felipe hissed with pain, but when he opened his eyes this time, the bubble of delusion seemed to burst. Oliver let out a sigh of relief as Felipe’s body relaxed beneath his palms and he looked around the yard in confusion.
“Where is it?” Felipe asked, his voice rough as if he had been yelling or crying.
“Where’s what?”
“The demon.”
“Darling, there isn’t one. You’re safe. Whatever you saw was a nightmare,” Oliver said calmly, though that explained the knife.
“Is Felipe all right?” Gwen called from the back door.
“Yeah, I think so.”
Holding Felipe steady, Oliver wrapped an arm tightly around his shoulders.
Fear, confusion, and something akin to shame flooded the tether as he tried to ground him and reassure him it was only a dream.
After a minute of continuously sweeping the yard for danger, his eyes seemed to clear, though it did little to slow his pounding pulse.
When Oliver was sure he wouldn’t fall over or go on the attack, he picked the oil lamp off the ground.
In its soft glow, he could see the deep bruises forming beneath his partner’s eyes.
He needed to do something about this. Two nights of broken sleep and several days of mismatched meals were taking their toll.
As the fog of emotions across the tether cleared, Oliver kissed Felipe’s temple.
“Are you all right now?”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I’m fine,” Felipe replied quickly, running a tired hand over his face.
“You were sleepwalking.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
Oliver held his arms. “Yes, you were. We saw you! You had better be disoriented and not trying to lie to me, Felipe.”
“I—” The words died on Felipe’s lips as he looked toward Gwen and then the outhouse on the far side of the yard. When he turned back to Oliver, his features tightened, and a murky sluice of guilt wound beneath his heart.
Oh... Well, that explained some things. “Let me guess, when I found you out here last night, you were sleepwalking too, weren’t you?”
Without meeting his eyes, Felipe nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want to worry you with everything going on. It only happened once, and I didn’t think—”
Anger rose in Oliver’s breast like a dirigible at the thought of all the things that could have gone wrong.
“You’re right. You didn’t think. Did you know that you grabbed a knife this time?
” Oliver said, pointing to the blade still pinned beneath his foot.
“You could have hurt yourself or someone else. For god sakes, you could have walked into the Dysterwood, Felipe! What then? I could have lost you.”
Oliver was furious and relieved and hurt and so many emotions at once that tears burned the backs of his eyes from the sheer weight of it all as he stared into Felipe’s features.
He didn’t know if he wanted to scream or cling to Felipe and sob.
It didn’t seem to matter as long as Felipe was safe and never ever did that again.
The thoughts must have been obvious on Oliver’s face because the other man looked far guiltier than Oliver had ever seen him.
Felipe reached out to touch Oliver but hesitated until his partner stepped closer.
Taking his hand in his, Felipe shut his eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry. I am. This has never happened before, and I didn’t mean to—”
Felipe went quiet as his brows furrowed, and for a horrifying second, Oliver feared he had slipped into a nightmare again until he put his hand up for quiet.
At first, there was only oppressive silence, but then, Oliver heard it too: the crunch of grass and leaves beneath heavy footfalls.
Whatever it was, was behind them near the overgrown pasture at the edge of the Dysterwood.
“A deer?” Oliver whispered.
“I don’t think so.” Felipe paused to listen again. “There’s more than one. Give me the knife and tell Gwen to go inside until I know what we’re dealing with.”
“Until we know.” When Felipe looked like he wanted to protest, Oliver quickly added, “After what just happened, I’m not letting you out of my sight. I’ll give you the knife, but you need to wait for me.”
“Fine, but if it is something dangerous, promise me you’ll go in.”