Page 144 of Heart of The Night

Dr Fielder gave me a moment, ensuring I was fully present. Then, with a gentle tone, he asked, ‘When you feel ready, can you tell me what happens next in your dreams?’

I held his gaze, anchored myself to it, resolute not to be pulled back into that horrific scene in the toilet – not completely.

‘I instinctively turn sideways,’ I began, my voice trembling slightly, ‘leaving his knife to strike my arm – instead of my heart, I believe, as that’s where he seemed to be aiming. I think I’m in shock at first because I don’t feel any pain. My entire focus is on disarming him, so I strike him across the face. The knife clatters to the floor between us, and my next impulse is to kick it away, but before I can, he lands a brutal punch to my eye – so hard that everything starts to blur. I nearly black out. Then, before I really know what’s happening, he’s grabbed my head and is slamming it repeatedly against the basin.’

Dr Fielder’s voice was patient yet firm as he asked, ‘And after that, everything goes dark?’

‘Yes,’ I replied, but in my dreams, the nightmare would unfold further; I’d find myself lying on the floor, enveloped in utter darkness, yet acutely aware of every sound as if my body had become a tomb for my consciousness. Unable to move a single muscle, I’d hear Oliver’s chilling threat that he would get Cara next. The sheer panic of wanting to stop him surged within me, a frantic need to rise and save her, but my body refused to respond. Then, her scream – a harrowing sound – shattered the silence, soon replaced by the heavy stillness of death. She was gone, and I had failed to protect her.

Agony would engulf me then, as I lay paralysed on the floor. Guilt tormented me, insisting that my ignorance was to blame for her tragic end. If only I had steered clear of Francesca, Cara might have been safe. My decisions, my actions – they had led to her murder. I’d think of the knife Oliver had stabbed me with, wishing he had succeeded. The weapon lay mere inches from my arm, and all I wanted was to grab it – to drive it into my chest and end my torment, end the overwhelming despair. But I couldn’t move. Denied even death, I was condemned to live with the unbearable pain and the loss of the woman I loved.

I blinked, struggling to remain focused on Dr Fielder’s gaze. ‘Only, this time…’ I murmured, my voice quivering, and I hated the sound of it – hated revealing any sign that Oliver still got to me, hated the power it gave him.

I reached for my glass of water, my hand trembling slightly as I moistened my parched throat. Dr Fielder waited patiently, pen poised, ready to capture every word.

‘I fall to the floor,’ I continued, setting the glass back, ‘immobile like in my other nightmares, but, this time, I can still see. Then Oliver’s face morphs – it becomes Cara’s.’

‘Interesting,’ Dr Fielder observed thoughtfully, his surprise evident yet measured. ‘And what occurs after that?’

I glanced down at my clenched fists, indifferent to his noticing my distress. ‘She stares at me as I’m bleeding out. I want to beg her to save me, but my lips won’t move. Then, she picks up the knife, aiming it at my chest. I try to stop her, but my body refuses to obey. And then she stabs me, right through the heart.’

‘She kills you?’ he asked, his tone reflecting a controlled curiosity.

‘Yes,’ I managed, my pulse pounding in my veins.

Dr Fielder removed his glasses for a moment, massaging the bridge of his beaky nose. ‘And how would you describe your current relationship with Cara, Will?’

I shifted uncomfortably, my eyes drifting to the window, pondering whether to unravel the complexities of Cara.

‘I won’t force you to talk about her if you don’t want to,’ he said after a while. ‘It’s you who decide the pace of this process, not I.’

I sighed, watching as he put on his glasses again.

‘I’d describe our current relationship as…’ I hesitated, scanning the room as if the right words were hidden in its corners. ‘As almost perfect.’

Dr Fielder tilted his head slightly, intrigued. ‘Almost?’

Reclining, I stared up at the ceiling. ‘For it to be perfect, she’d need to be my wife.’

A soft chuckle escaped him. ‘Well, have you considered doing something about that?’

I blew out a loud breath, my gaze still fixed on the ceiling. ‘I have. In fact, I think it’s why my nightmares have returned, and why they’ve changed. I’m afraid she’ll say no if I propose.’

‘Is that why she ends up murdering you in your dreams?’ he asked gently.

‘Yes. Being rejected… That’s how it would feel.’

‘How poetic of you,’ he remarked, and I could hear the smile in his voice. ‘But haven’t you just bought a new flat together?’

‘Yes.’ I locked eyes with him, seeing a faint trace of amusement in his expression. ‘But that’s not as big of a commitment as marriage.’

‘Some would disagree.’

‘Cara wouldn’t.’

He nodded faintly. ‘Have you discussed marriage with her before?’

I swallowed, my chest fluttering with nerves. ‘Yes, we’ve talked about marriage in general terms, but we haven’t discussed it in the context of our own relationship.’

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