Chapter 213
HANNAH
"Hannah!"
"No," I moaned.
It was bad enough being dragged into that dark, scary place. I couldn't and wouldn't let my father get trapped here too.
That was his voice, calling me. I was sure of it.
Crying and screaming at the same time with the billowing smoke making it hard to breathe, I struggled against Asher's tight grasp.
His hold slipped. I got my hand free and a flare of hope sparked inside me. This was it. I was finally free!
I staggered backwards, and turned to run into the darkness in front of me. Anywhere was better than that blazing hole.
The next moment, those dirty yellow fingers were digging into my wrist again harder than ever.
I looked into that rotting sunken face and knew he had let me think I was going to escape for a moment just to torment me all the more like a cat would do to a mouse.
But I had to escape. I had to find my father before Asher found him first. I-
"HANNAH!"
It was a shout this time. I felt my body being roughly shaken from side to side. A hand, warm and fleshy- not Asher's- touched my brow.
And then my eyes snapped open. I was gasping, taking great gulps of oxygen into my lungs.
I saw the ceiling, the familiar wallpaper of the room in my parent's house, the room they had reserved for me, and a little of my terror died.
It was a dream. Just a dream. Same as always.
It hadn't felt like one though. I could still feel the heat, smell the sickening aroma of burning flesh and those eyes- Asher's eyes- glowing with malice and hate, the orange flames of the fire reflected in their depths.
My father's face appeared above me. His features were blurry because of the tears I didn't know were streaming down my cheeks.
"Hannah," he said again, softly this time.
"A dream?" I gasped, asking him for reassurance.
My voice was hoarse and scratchy from all the screaming I must have done.
"A dream. You're fine. You're safe," he said in a tone of quiet assurance.
But was I? Was I really?
I burst into tears then. Great heaving sobs burst from my throat. My father's face disappeared. I felt his hands on my shoulders, pulling me up into a sitting position.
A hard task because I couldn't even move a muscle to save my life. The terror had locked me like a prisoner inside my own body.
My father hugged me tightly and murmured in my hair, "Let it out, honey. Let it out."
And so I did for a very long time. But he was there, still soothing me until the sobs became sniffles and then silence. I sat there, leaning against his shoulder limp as a wet noodle.
I caught a glimpse of the window. Outside it was still full dark. There was no noon but the sky was dotted with a million stars. Somewhere close a owl hooted and I shivered.
"I woke you, didn't I?" I asked my father.
"Heard you," he said. "At first I thought a burglar had gotten into the house..." He waved a hand at a heavy alarm clock lying in pieces on the floor. I must have knocked it down while in the grip of the nightmare. "Got out of bed and then I heard you crying. I came in and you were struggling. I started getting a little scared when I kept calling and shaking you and you still wouldn't wake up. I thought you might be having some seizure or something."
"Mom?"
"She slept through it all." A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. "She had more than a few glasses of wine this evening so I wasn't expecting anything less."
His face abruptly grew serious again. He had been sitting half in and half out of my bed. Now he shifted to a more comfortable position.
"What's up with you, kiddo?" he asked.
"Had a dream."
"Nightmare, you mean."
I nodded, started to say something and coughed. It almost felt like the smoke from the dream was still choking the breath out of my lungs.
My father got up at once to get me a glass of water. I chugged it down greedily and immediately felt better although my heart was still going like a runway engine.
"Tell me about it," he urged.
I did. I explained it to him in detail from the very first time I had it and the subtle changes in it.
"You told me once you've dreamt of things happening before and they did happen," he said.
"Yes,"
I told him of Willa's theory, that the dreams could be an could be an indication of something about to happen.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
