Page 162 of Sweet Nightmare

I don’t answer, because the moment my hands touch the three ghosts, they merge into one. The moment they do, the physical pain inside me ceases. And for the first time, I realize I’ve been seeing the same woman in three different time periods.

And that’s when it comes together. She has always wanted me to see. And for the first time, I actually understand.

She lost her life and her baby all in one moment. And I was that baby.

Shock reverberates through me, has my knees shaking and my heart pounding out of my chest. All this time, all these years, and I never knew. I never knew.

I blink, and the ghost has faded into the background while her tiny infant, with its shriveled fingers and cheeks ruddy from crying, is handed to a young woman. The baby—it’s so hard to imagine that it’s me, but deep down I know it is—wraps a tiny hand around a finger tipped with a bloodred nail. My stomach plummets as a whole new shock vibrates through me. That hand belongs to my mother. No, not my mother. To the woman who raised me. Camilla.

But then her hand closes around mine, and she lifts me to her chest and presses soft kisses against my head even as tears run like rivers down her cheeks. And she whispers, “No matter what, I’ll keep you safe here.”

And just like that, the picture—the flicker—fades away.

So much pain. So much love. So many lies and broken promises.

“Who’s crying?” Mozart sounds even more concerned than she did a few moments ago. “She sounds devastated.”

Luis, Simon, and Remy all take out flashlights, and as they move them toward the sound, I realize it’s me.

The ghosts are gone, and I’m the one crying, my newly mended heart breaking wide open all over again.

Mozart gasps and rushes toward me, but Jude puts himself between us. His hands are tender on my shoulders, his dark eyes solemn as they search my face. “What do you need?” he asks. “What can I do?”

“Let’s just finish this. I need it to be over.”

I still have questions that need answers, and breaking down won’t get me what I need. I’ll have time enough to think this through later. Right now, we just need to make the nightmare stop.

“I’ve got you,” he says and takes my hand. “Let’s get this done.”

I look around the room, a blatant ploy to avoid everyone else’s worried eyes, then freeze as I notice that something is very, very wrong.

All of the jars that had been neatly lined up on the shelves are now knocked over. Some are still on the shelves turned on their sides, while others are lying on the ground, and still others are smashed into pieces. The one thing they all have in common, though, is that they’re all open, their lids scattered haphazardly around the room.

“Gotta say, Jude, you’re not much of a housekeeper,” Simon teases, his voice strained despite his attempt at normalcy.

But Jude doesn’t even notice. He’s too busy looking at all the damage.

“This wasn’t him,” I say, and it’s my turn to squeeze his hand in support. “When I was here yesterday, they were all neatly lined up on the shelves.”

“Do you think the storm did it?” Mozart asks, but her voice is doubtful.

“I think the Jean-Jerks did it,” I answer as a combination of anger and horror courses through me. “I saw Jean-Luc snooping around out here yesterday.”

I don’t bother to go into the whole disappearance thing—it’s not important right now. What is important is Jude and what this means to him—for him.

“Hey,” I say, trying to gauge Jude’s state of mind. “Are you—”

“No,” he growls in a voice I’ve never heard before. “I’m nowhere near okay.”

But instead of saying more, he strides to the last shelf. On the top shelf is one lone jar. Not only is it the only one still standing, but it also still has its lid on it.

I start to ask what it is, but before I can, Jude grabs the top of it and tips it forward.

As he does, the ceiling pops open, and a full staircase slowly descends.

“What the hell is that?” Luis exclaims, sounding excited and disgusted at the same time. And I get it.

Luis, Eva, and I checked every nook and cranny of this place, but we never thought to check the ceiling. To be fair, who would? It’s a root cellar. Who builds into the ceiling of something that’s completely underground?

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