Page 97 of Sweet Nightmare

When I was twelve, I was bitten by a rattlesnake on the far side of the island. While Jude and Carolina got me to Aunt Claudia within half an hour, it was still a very unpleasant experience, and snakes have pretty much been one of my worst nightmares since then.

For a second, I think about waking Eva up to deal with it—she doesn’t like snakes, but she isn’t terrified of them the way I am—but that seems like really, really bad roommate karma.

I can do this.

I can do this.

The snake starts to creep across my comforter, and the scream that I swallowed back earlier escapes.

I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle the sound, and it must work because Eva only grumbles a little, swipes at her face, then rolls over and starts snoring all over again.

The snake is still sliding across my comforter, but it’s getting closer to the edge. Which means if I don’t do something soon, I’m going to spend the rest of the night searching for the damn thing in all the nooks and crannies of this room. And if I don’t find it, I’m pretty sure I won’t be getting any more sleep tonight. Or, you know, ever.

I take a deep breath, count to three, and then go. I dive for my bed, grab the edges of my comforter, and wrap the snake up in it. Then I run through the cottage, open the front door, and throw the snake—and the comforter—out into the pouring rain.

Which is totally fine because there’s no way I’d be able to sleep with that bedspread ever again.

I slam the door and lock it—because that’s going to keep a wandering snake at bay—then lean back against it as I try to catch my breath. Except for yesterday when I was trying to outrun the snake monster, I don’t think I’ve ever run that fast in my life.

When I can finally breathe again, I grab a glass of water from the kitchen and sneak back into the bedroom. I try to decide if there’s any way I can get back in my bed tonight without changing the sheets.

Logic says it was just one snake, just one big, ugly snake, and that there’s no way another one is lurking under my bed or between my sheets. But logic and phobias don’t normally go hand in hand, and after sipping the water and catching my breath, I decide if I have any chance of catching a couple more hours sleep, the sheets have to go.

It takes about ten minutes to remake my bed and thoroughly—I mean, thoroughly—check my blankets and under the bed. But I’m finally satisfied that there will be no more surprises and crawl back in between the sheets and reach to turn off the light.

But just as I’m about to flip the switch, Eva makes a strange gasping noise.

I turn to check on her and watch in horror as she goes up in flames.

CHAPTER FIFTY

SCORCHED

SORROW

For one long, horrible second, I don’t believe my eyes.

For two even longer seconds, I think that maybe she’s a phoenix, like Ember, and just never knew it.

But somewhere about four seconds in, I realize this is nothing like what happened to Ember.

Eva is on fire.

She reaches for me, and I jump up, screaming, as I look for something to smother the flames with. Because I’m a total jerk, I just sent my comforter flying into the rain, so I rip my sheet off my bed and throw it over her in a desperate attempt to stop her from burning. And then I swat at her much like Jude did to Ember, but the fire just keeps on raging. Even worse, Eva is screaming now, too, and it’s the most horrific sound I’ve ever heard.

“You’re going to be okay,” I tell her as I grab the glass of water I just got and throw it on her before reaching for my bottom sheet, too. But even as I slap it down on top of her, I know it isn’t going to work.

“Eva, you’re going to be okay!” I yell as I grab my phone and dial the emergency dorm director for help.

Then I pull my extra blanket from the basket at the end of my bed and thrust it outside to get wet.

It only takes a couple of seconds for the rain to soak it, but even that’s too long. Because the fire is spreading, climbing up the walls and curtains to the ceiling. I throw the soaking-wet blanket on her anyway, but she’s not sitting up anymore, and she’s not moving. What’s left of her is just lying, still, in the center of the bed as flames engulf the entire room while the phone I’m holding goes straight to voicemail.

I stare at Eva in shock as the fire spreads across the floor, its greedy fingers eating up the cheerful rug we’d picked out together as soon as we found out we were going to be roommates this year. There’s a part of me that knows I need to get out, that knows it’s dangerous for me to be in this room any longer.

But I can’t just leave Eva here to burn. Even if she’s gone, I can’t just walk away and let her—

“Clementine!” A voice makes its way through the roar of the fire and the creaking of the wood as it’s slowly burning away. “Clementine!”

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