Page 88 of Nothing Like the Movies

I stepped inside, letting the screen door close behind me. I quietly shut the front door and wondered what the hell I was even doing.

The music sounded like it was coming from the living room, so I went up the five steps that led from the entryway to the main level. I walked slowly, because it was so incredibly dark in there. Suddenly this seemed like the worst idea I’d ever had. “Wes?”

I looked to my left, and it was a little easier to see. The front curtains were wide open, so the bright moon and streetlights illuminated the very empty living room. Not a picture, not a piece of furniture, not a single familiar item remained from the Bennetts’ former home.

I could see the glow of the tiny red light on the Bluetooth speaker that was playing the Foo Fighters, but no one was in that room.

Dammit. I hit the wall switch and the recessed light above the fireplace turned on, confirming the room’s emptiness.

I started down the hallway, walking in the direction of the bedrooms, my heart pounding in my chest.

I didn’t know what I was doing, but it seemed very stupid.

“Wes?” I said quietly, not wanting to scare him.

I walked past his room and Sarah’s room, which were both dark and quiet.

Then I heard a sound coming from his parents’ room at the end of the hall, like someone was talking.

Thank God.I’d pictured him unconscious in a puddle of his own vomit.

“Not,” I heard him mumble, but then he made a weird noise.

Like a whimper. Like a moan.

Oh my God, is he with someone?

I turned on the hall light, my heart pounding in my chest as I crept closer to the bedroom.

“Wes?” I whispered, and when I reached the bedroom doorway, I could see him lying shirtless on the floor of the empty room. There was a sweatshirt under his head, and he was facing the other direction, but he was agitated in his sleep.

He was thrashing, his head moving as he made a sound that sounded alotlike a sob.

Oh my God, is he crying?

In his sleep?

“Wes,” I said a little louder, wanting to wake him up but not scare him.

“Help me,” he muttered, his sleeping voice infused with panic. “Do something!”

“Wake up, Wes,” I said, feeling panicked as I dropped to my knees beside him and touched his arm. I didn’t want to scare him, but heneededto wake up.“Wes.”

“I’m so sorry, so sorry,” he mumbled, and my heart broke for him as his voice cracked.

“Wes!” I lightly slapped at his cheeks, my heart in my throat as desperation to wake him from the nightmare clawed at me. I didn’t know what was going on in his subconscious, but I knew he needed to escape it. “Wake up!”

Suddenly, he sucked in a huge gasp of air, sounding like someone who’d just come up from being held under water. His eyes flew open, and he looked completely disoriented.

“Help me,” he gasped, sitting up, turning his head to look down the hall. “We have to do CPR.”

“Wes,” I said, setting my hands on his shoulders, trying to calm him while he woke up, empathy burning in my chest for the raw anguish I could see on his face. “It’s okay. You were dreaming.”

“No, though,” he said, his voice panicked, his eyes glistening with tears in the darkness. “He’s by his chair and needs us—”

“It was a dream,” I interrupted, wanting so badly to get him back from whatever terrible placehadhim. “Wes. Shhhh, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay; it’s my fault.” His chest was rising and falling, like he was breathing too much and couldn’t catch his breath. He shrugged off my hands and climbed to his feet. “I have to go help my dad.”

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