Page 18 of Reign of Psychos

“Why don’t you fly?”

“Because Dad’s men will be watching the airport. It’s easier to blend in on the ferry.Buona notte, Dar.”

I watched as she disappeared into the small bedroom and closed the door. After checking the locks on the main door again, I settled down on the sofa and closed my eyes. Only sleep refused to come.

All I could think about was my father’s final moments. Did he suffer? The coroner had told me not, but my brain liked to torture me with all kinds of sick images. Being burned alive was a nightmare scenario second only to being eaten alive by wild hogs.

I tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable on the lumpy sofa. My legs were too long and my shoulders too broad. Just as I was about to get up and call it quits, having decided I may as well mainline coffee until I needed to leave for the airport, I heard a faint whimper from the bedroom.

10

Thea

The nightmares had returned. Since leaving the guys, my sleep had been restless at best. I wasn’t sure why, but having one of them in my bed, usually Milo, helped to keep my long-buried memories locked down.

Maybe I ought to speak to a counselor one of these days but then I’d probably be arrested if I told anyone about some of the shit Torrance had forced me to do.

This nightmare was a peach.

I walked out of the bar, my face covered. Ahead, Fausto’s car burned, flames soaring skyward. People screamed as burning debris scattered. My feet locked to the ground, forcing me to watch as a blackened face pressed up against the door, mouth open in a silent scream.

“Help!” my dream self cried. But nobody did. They all watched, mouths yawning in horror as the car exploded in a fiery inferno. Then I started screaming too.

“Thea!” Dario’s voice cut through the dream and it faded, leaving only a lingering sense of horror and despair behind. “Fuck, Thea, wake up,cara!”

“I’m awake,” I muttered groggily. “Sorry. Bad dream.”

He lay down on the small bed and pulled me against his warm chest. I inhaled his comforting scent and my body relaxed. It wasn’t the first time he’d saved me from a nightmare. As a child, I’d often woken myself up screaming at some imaginary monster. Or not so imaginary sometimes.

The first time I woke to find Dario in my room, I’d nearly stabbed him to death. Luckily, he’d only suffered a few minor defensive wounds before I realized it was him. Once we’d both calmed down, he then explained how he’d found a hidden tunnel into the wine cellar and used it to get into my room.

From then on, he appeared regularly, usually when his father stayed late on business at our house and had brought Dario along. I felt sure Torrance would tell my father about my nocturnal visitor, but he never did.

“You never have to apologize for having nightmares, Thea. Besides, I was awake anyway.”

“Is the sofa horrific?”

He rolled on to his back and stared up at the ceiling. “It’s not great, but mostly it’s because I can’t stop thinking about Papa.”

I reached out and wrapped my hand around his bicep. His muscles flexed under my fingers. Touching him was dangerous with my guard down. It wouldn’t take much to start a fire neither of us could extinguish.

“Your father was a good man. He didn’t deserve to die.”

“He wasn’t all good, Thea. He spent years managing the money for Francesco. I’d say that makes him morally gray at best, and a criminal at worst.”

“We’re all morally gray, Dar. Me more than most. I’ve done things that make your father’s crimes pale in comparison.”

“No, you’re not to blame, Thea. Your father is the monster. He stole your childhood, coerced and manipulated you into doing his bidding, and now he’s taken my father from me,” he growled.

He was right, of course.

“He’s taken your father from both of us. I cared for him, too.” The nightmare still lingered: the stench of smoke and burning flesh, the sense of powerlessness and sorrow.

When I looked at Dario, he’d closed his eyes. Wetness glimmered on his cheeks. The last time I’d seen Dar cry, we were kids. He’d shown up at the chapel late one afternoon, angry and upset. Some asshole had killed his dog - the poor thing had run out of the garden and under the wheels of a passing car.

Was this a normal response to losing a parent? Had I cried when Mama passed? I couldn’t remember.

Seeing Dar so vulnerable made me want to comfort him, even if his emotions triggered me. I’d never been good at dealing with emotions. Not mine and definitely not anyone else’s.

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