Page 93 of Sweet Nightmare

I had the hugest fight of my life with my mother over it, and we both said things we can never take back. Things I’m still not sure I want to take back.

Then I turned to Jude for comfort and he turned me away, just cut me off completely, like the kiss—and the seven years of friendship that came before it—didn’t exist.

And now, here he is, doing the same thing again…and telling me it’s all linked together.

Is he right? Are our kiss and Carolina’s disappearance somehow tied together, after all? Was it not just my traumatized, fourteen-year-old brain putting them together? Or maybe it’s just my traumatized seventeen-year-old brain doing the same thing right now.

It’s been a hell of a day. I’ve lost Serena, and in some ways, it feels like I’ve lost Jude all over again.

At this point, I honestly don’t have a clue what’s real and what’s just my tortured imagination. All I know is that I’m going to figure this out. No matter how much Jude obfuscates, no matter how much my mother lies, I’m going to find out the truth. About everything.

Just…not tonight. Tonight, I’m tired and broken and sad. Really, really sad. So I’m going to take a shower, climb into bed, and try to sleep for a few hours before we have to evacuate.

Normally, I’d be excited about the evacuation—not the storm part, obviously, but the chance to finally, finally, get off this damn island. But between Serena and all these new questions I suddenly have, now seems like the absolute worst time for it to happen. How am I supposed to get any answers if we’re locked in a warehouse somewhere?

Then again, this is Calder Academy. Whenever you think things are as bad as they’re going to get, look out. Because they can always get worse.

The wind picks up, snarling and circling me like a wild beast, but I bend forward against it and keep going. I was so upset I ended up leaving my poncho on Mozart and Ember’s porch, but there’s no way I’m going back for it now. Instead, I hunch lower into the T-shirt Mozart gave me and walk as fast as I can while the wind continues to push against me.

Lightning cracks the sky in half, but at this point I’m so used to it I don’t pay much attention to it—or the thunder that comes after it. And when it happens again, seconds later, I don’t even bother to look.

But then it happens again and then again, and I realize two things simultaneously. One, the lightning is getting much, much closer to me. And two, despite that fact, there’s been absolutely no thunder.

Shit.

I whirl around at the next flash, only to realize my instincts were right. The last few flashes haven’t been lightning at all.

Dread pools in my stomach as a huge guy in a prison uniform appears right next to me. He lumbers forward, a haunted look on his face as he reaches for me.

I jump out of the way, but when he turns to catch me, I realize the left half of his face is covered with a giant tattoo that reads You Should Run.

Is that his actual tattoo or another warning?

Before I can figure out the answer, he disappears.

And if it is a warning, what the actual hell? It’s the second one I’ve gotten in less than twelve hours, which is a little bizarre considering it feels like I’ve done nothing but run for those same twelve hours.

Too bad there’s nowhere for me to go.

I take a deep breath, but I barely have a second to try to figure things out before there’s another blink of light on the path. It’s to my left this time, and I turn just in time to see a woman—half human, half feral animal—flicker onto the path.

There’s blood dripping from her fangs, and I have one second to wonder if she died unmeshed—a terrifying thought considering what happened to me earlier—before she lunges for me.

I stumble backward, screaming. She disappears, and another flicker—a little boy of around seven this time, with mismatched eyes and spiky black hair—takes her place. He clutches a worn, brown teddy bear in his arms as he sobs.

“Jude?” I whisper, because—with the exception of the green T-Rex pajamas—he looks just like him at that age.

But that’s impossible. Jude is alive—I just saw him. I just fought with him. This boy has to be a ghost, right?

Still, when he walks right up to me and lifts his hands like he wants to be picked up, I’m startled enough to drop down to one knee. “Are you okay?” The words come out before I can stop them.

“I need Daddy,” he tells me, eyes wide. “I had a bad dream.”

“Oh, baby.” Even though I know he can’t hear me, the words come out before I can stop them. “Where is your daddy?”

“I need Daddy,” he repeats urgently, his little fingers patting my cheek. And that’s when I realize—just like the toddler in the dungeon—he can hear me. More, he can feel me. “Go get him, please!”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know who your daddy is,” I whisper, and he starts to cry. I pull him to me, and a strong electric shock runs through me as he buries his face in my neck. It’s not as bad as it usually is, though, so I do my best to ignore the pain.

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