Page 8 of Wishing Stone

“It was Claire Stewart, the manager at Stone’s Hope.” She paused and brought her hands up to rub her temples, her distress evident. “A little over a year ago, I had convinced her to take a chance on one of the young mothers who had been a frequent flyer at the shelter. The mother’s name was Hannah. She was constantly leaving her abusive boyfriend, only to go back to him because she couldn’t support her daughter on her own.”

I felt my jaw tighten, already knowing where this was going. The familiar tale of a woman in an abusive relationship was all too common. She may leave him, only to find herself returning for one reason or another. Sometimes it was because she believed the man had changed or had somehow flipped the blame onto themselves. Other times, it was simply because they were afraid. If there was a child involved, it was worse. Society wasn’t designed with single working mothers in mind. It was the story of so many women—including my mother—and the reason I’d spearheaded the opening of the Stone’s Hope Women’s Shelter in coordination with The Stoneworks Foundation, my non-profit organization.

“Is the boyfriend the father of her daughter?”

“I’m not sure. I never asked,” Krystina told me with a sad shake of her head. “There was just something about her story that tugged at my heart, so when I heard the shelter had a receptionist position open, I asked Claire if she would consider hiring her. She did, and Hannah has been working there ever since. We thought things were going well—until today.”

“What happened?” I asked, although I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted the answer.

Krystina pinched the bridge of her nose as if trying to squeeze away a headache. “I don’t want to recap all of it now. It’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow. Besides, I think we were in the middle of something before my cell rang. What do you say we move what we started to upstairs in the bedroom?”

I smiled wickedly. While I was curious about what was happening, I was also irked by the disruption. I had been two minutes away from being balls deep in my sexy-as-hell wife, and I wasn’t too happy that a late-night phone call had interrupted that.

“Angel, you read my mind.”

A cold gustof air whisked across my naked body, jarring me awake. Feeling disoriented, I blinked in the darkness of the bedroom and tried to figure out why I was so cold.

Blankets. Where did the blankets go?

I groggily sat up and felt around in the bed, only to stop short when I heard a soft whimpering coming from beside me.

“Angel, what’s wrong?” I whispered to Krystina. When she didn’t respond, I could only assume that the whimper I’d heard was her mumbling in her sleep. She’d always been an active sleeper. Having entire conversations with herself and stealing all the blankets in the middle of the night was not a new occurrence.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I got up and threw on a pair of boxer briefs, then made my way to the master bathroom. Flipping on the lights, I lowered the dimmer switch to make the light a bit more tolerable to my eyes. Standing in front of the long horizontal mirror hanging over the double-wide sink, I rubbed a hand over my day-old stubble.

I was annoyed that I’d been needlessly pulled from sleep, but I couldn’t fault Krystina for it. She couldn’t help dreaming any more than I could stop my nightmares from happening. She was fortunate not to be plagued with night terrors, but she had very vivid dreams. Some she remembered, and some she didn’t. More often than not, they were bizarre and, at times, even comical.

Turning on the faucet, I cupped my hands together and allowed them to fill with water. Then, after taking a quick drink, I closed the tap and began making my way out of the bathroom. My steps faltered when I heard Krystina’s blood-curdling scream.

With my heart pounding in my ears, I rushed into the bedroom. The low light from the bathroom flooded the room, and I could see Krystina thrashing in the bed. Her chest rose and fell while her legs wildly kicked as if she were trying to throw off an imaginary villain.

I paused at the edge of the bed, unsure about what I should do. Experts believed you shouldn’t wake a person from a nightmare because they may become confused or upset, potentially acting out physically and causing unintended injuries. It was a warning I’d given Krystina many times after she’d woken me from a terrible dream, as I never wanted to hurt her unintentionally.

“No! Please! No!” she cried out in the most terrified voice I’d ever heard from her lips. It was gut-wrenching.

Fuck what the experts say.

“Krystina, wake up!” I said firmly. When she didn’t react, I bent to shake her by the shoulders. Her bare skin felt cold and clammy under my palms. “Come on, angel. Wake up. It’s just a dream.”

A moment later, her eyes snapped open and darted wildly around the room. I slid a hand down to her wrist and found her pounding pulse. Before I could assure her that everything was okay, she snatched her hand away and clutched her stomach. Still naked from our lovemaking earlier that evening, she looked down at her bare abdomen with a horrified expression. Moving quickly, she bolted into a sitting position, then shifted her body and appeared to be inspecting the sheets.

Blood. She’s looking for blood.

Anguish ripped through my soul when I realized what she must have been dreaming about.

“Just a dream,” she whispered, seeming to calm somewhat. It was almost as if she’d still been in her dream and had to convince herself she was back in waking life. Looking up at me, she repeated. “It was just a dream.”

“Yes, angel. Just a dream.” I ran my hand over the curve of her spine, noticing how bad she was trembling.

“I thought…” She trailed off. “Alex, it was awful. There were these dead, black hands coming up from the floor and trying to-to… I tried to get away, but—” She stopped short and choked on a sob.

“Shhh,” I said, sliding in next to her and pulling her close. “You don’t need to tell me about it. It wasn’t real.”

She clung to me as I tried to quiet her tears by stroking her softly. I kissed the top of her head, her cheeks, and her shoulders as if the press of my kisses would erase her demons. Seeing her so visibly shaken had gutted me, and I would do anything to make it all disappear.

I held her for a long while, not sure how much time had passed before her body was finally free of the tremors. When she tilted her head up and brought her lips to mine, I inwardly sighed with relief.

“Are you feeling better?” I asked.

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