Page 165 of The Spider & the Storm

“I'm coming home, my love,” I whisper, then open my eyes to the hooded figure of a faceless man, standing mere inches from where I stand.

“Don't forget what's important, Charlie. Don't forget me.”

His hands reach out to grab me. I step backward and trip over something hard and solid, falling to my hands and knees. Turning, I see the grave and the name etched into the headstone.

Then, I scream.

“Charlie! Wake up!”

With a desperate gulp of air, I snapped my eyes open to find Stormy's wide, terrified gaze staring down at me, her hands gripping my shoulders.

“Oh my God,” I gasped, clapping a shaking hand over my sweat-drenched forehead.

I wasn't in the cemetery. I was in her parents' house, in her old room. We had come back after the wedding to sleep. I was safe, I was okay, and I reminded myself of all these things, yet I couldn't calm my heart or steady my lungs.

“Here.” She left me momentarily to grab a bottle of water from the nightstand. She uncapped it and handed it to me. “Drink this.”

I did as she’d said, swallowing what was left of the bottle in two hearty gulps. It helped, and as I pulled myself into a seated position, I focused on forcing steady breaths in and out, in and out, in and out, until I was sure I wasn't going to hyperventilate.

“Holy shit,” Stormy said on a breathless whisper, pushing the loose, frazzled strands of hair off her forehead. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I'm sorry.” Despite the water, my throat felt dry and sore.

“You just started yelling and yelling, and it took a good … I don't know … thirty seconds to wake you up.”

I furrowed my brow, turning to look at her with a sinking feeling in the pit of my gut. “Really?”

She nodded. “That must've been one hell of a nightmare.”

With my arms folded over bent knees, I told her what I could remember. Running through the storm, weaving through the headstones, trying to get back to the cottage. The hands reaching out from the road, holding me in place. The faceless, hooded man. What he had said.

“Then, I saw this grave and … couldn't stop screaming,” I mumbled, feeling simultaneously spooked and foolish.

“What did it say?” Stormy asked, clearly invested.

I shook my head, trying to envision the dirt-encrusted stone. “I can't remember. You know, like … when you try to read something in your dreams and you can’t process what it says, but dream you knows?”

She bit down on her lip. “Damn. I wanna know what it said.”

“It was probably Tommy's,” I grumbled, now rolling my eyes and flopping back against the headboard.

The early morning light streamed in from between the curtains. I didn't know what time it was, but I knew it had to be too soon to be awake. We'd come in close to midnight, and I'd made it a point to not set my alarm, granting myself the permission to sleep until my body was ready to wake.

I guessed my mind had other plans.

***

Exhausted and buzzing with a fresh bout of paranoia, I sat in the passenger seat of Stormy's car, allowing the music from the radio to entertain us in an otherwise comfortable silence. She'd insisted on me trying to rest on the drive to her sister's house in River Canyon, which was roughly two hours from her parents' house. But every time I closed my eyes, there was that faceless, hooded man again and his words …

“Don't forget what’s important, Charlie. Don't forget about me.”

I wasn't a stupid man, but it didn't take a genius to decipher what this nightmare symbolized. Tommy—or my subconscious, whatever—didn't want me moving forward from that Halloween night years ago. His ghost wanted me to dwell in a mundane purgatory of reliving that nightmare, repenting my sins for the rest of my days in this life. I'd been so agreeable a few months ago. I hadn't fought against the torment his spirit continuously dealt upon mine. But that was before I'd foundhappiness. It was before I'd foundher. Now, I was fighting it. I was battling against him, struggling to escape the hold he still had on me.

It explained so much, now that I thought about it, and maybe the secret was to simply ignore it. Maybe, eventually, he'd just … fade into the background, the way things often did after enough time passed.

But he was there every time I closed my damn eyes, his face shadowed by that hood.

Fuck.

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