Page 25 of In All My Dreams

I knock softly and place my ear against the door. I don’t hear anything, so I knock again, a little louder this time. “Dad, are you in there?”

I hear a loud crash from inside the bedroom, and I throw open the door.

The gasp that leaves my lips sounds inhuman, and my heart stops in my chest at what I see.

My father’s body is lying at a bent angle in the middle of the bedroom floor, a broken teacup sitting next to his outstretched hand. And my mother’s ghost is standing over him.

“Daddy?” My voice shakes as I look from one parent to the other. I risk a step forward, and as my foot hits the soft padding of the cream carpet, the door slams shut behind me. I turn in horror as I stare at the closed door, grabbing the handle and pulling with all my strength, but the door won’t budge.

I take a shaky breath before forcing my body to turn back toward my parents. A blood-curdling scream leaves my mouth when I come face to face with my mother. Her face is mere inches from mine as she stares at me with her bloodshot eyes.

She opens her mouth, revealing those yellow-stained teeth and more white foam.“Don’t trust...don’t trust...protect,”she moans out as she points toward the bedroom door.

My body shakes uncontrollably as I continue to be stuck in her throes. I open my mouth, then shut it again. My teeth slam together furiously as I try to force myself to say something. Anything.

“Don’t trust . . . don’t trust . . . protect . . .”she moans again.

My tongue feels heavy against the roof of my mouth. “Don’t trust who?” I finally manage to blurt out. My mother continues to stare at me, her head cocked sideways as if she’s thinking. “Don’t trust who, Mom? Is any of this real?” I yell out, nearly biting my tongue off due to my teeth still shaking ferociously.

She looks down at my father’s unconscious body.“Don’t trust . . . don’t trust . . . protect . . .”

I glance over my shoulder when I hear a loud knock from behind me, and when I look back, she’s gone.

My knees buckle, and I fall to the floor painfully.

“Mr. Harris?” Ian’s voice echoes from the other side of the door. “Lincoln?” Ian knocks again.

Dad.

“Dad!” I scream, crawling over to him as Ian throws open the door.

“Oh shit,” Ian says before dropping to the floor next to us and grabbing my father’s wrist, checking his pulse. He looks straight at me as he mutters numbers to himself. “What happened?” he asks as he pulls a small flashlight out of his pocket, using it to check my father’s eye response.

I fall back, slamming my tailbone into the carpet while wrapping my arms around my knees. “It was her. It was her. It was her.”

The world melts away. Ian is talking, but there’s no sound. My eyes are fixed on my father as I rock back and forth.

Warm hands cup my face. “Eyes on me, Georgie. Breathe, baby. Just breathe.”

I watch him as he takes a deep breath and exhales it a moment later. I close my eyes and copy him, breathing in and out until I’m back in control of my body. When I open my eyes, his hazel-colored galaxies are the only thing I see.

A lifeline in the riptide of terror.

“That’s it. Deep breath,” he repeats and places his forehead against mine, his hands still cupping my face gently. I reach up and put my hands over his, our fingers intertwining. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

I’m safe. He’s here. I’m safe.

“My dad, Ian!” I gasp, ripping my hands out of his. I rush past him and kneel next to my father. I reach out to touch him, then stop, chastising myself. I don’t know how to comfort my own father.

“The ambulance is on the way. He’s going to be okay.” Ian’s voice is gentle and reassuring as he kneels beside me. I focus on the steady rise and fall of my dad’s chest; watching him breathe calms something in me.

I can’t lose him, too.

This house isn’t allowed to take another person I love.

13

Georgia

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