her eyes fluttered open, the condemnation there shattering his heart.
“Why didn’t you come?” she asked, her brownish-green eyes the exact mirror of his, the anguish reflected there sucking the breath from his body.
He opened his mouth, but there were no words, and still she held his gaze, imploring him, condemning him. “I believed in you,” she whispered, and then slowly the life began to fade. He screamed her name, trying to pull her back to him. To will her to life.
“Harrison.”
The voice pulled him from sleep, relief making him giddy.
“Bree.” He reached out and grabbed her, his fingers digging into her arms. “You’re all right. You’re really
okay.”
“Harrison. Wake up.”
And then it hit him. As it had a thousand times before. Bree was dead and gone. He hadn’t saved herthen, and he couldn’t save her now. Disoriented, he fought against the last remnants of the dream—the sensory memory as strong now as it had been all those years ago in Texas.
“Harrison,” the voice called again, and this time reality surfaced. It was Hannah. His eyes flickered open, and her face swam into view. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “It was just a dream.” She was leaning over him, concern stretched tight across her face.
The room came into focus. He was in Hannah’s house on the sofa. They’d been working late, trying to find the place at the lake. He must have fallen asleep. The events of the day had clearly brought on the nightmare, and he was gripping her arms as if there were no tomorrow.
“Oh, my God,” he said, releasing her. “I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she said, as she rubbed her arm, the action negating the words. “I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about.” She sat down next to him. “You were calling for someone. Your sister, I think.”
He blew out a breath, still trying to assimilate his thoughts. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He’d never had the dream when someone else was present. And now, he wasn’t sure how much to share. He trusted Hannah, but he liked the idea of his past staying just that.
Except that with Sara’s disappearance, past and present seemed to be set on a collision course, every nerve in his body screaming that history was repeating itself.
“You didn’t scare me,” Hannah said, reaching over tobrush the hair out of his face, the gesture soothing in its simplicity. “I was just worried.” She searched his face. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
He didn’t. And yet, he couldn’t seem to stop the words. “You were right. The dream was about my sister. Bree was murdered.”
“Oh, God, Harrison, I…” Hannah trailed off, her eyes filling with tears. “I can’t imagine.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Yes, but that kind of thing never goes away. And all this stuff with Sara Lauter, it’s bringing it all back.”
He nodded. “After it first happened, I had the dream almost every night.”
“Sometimes the mind just needs an outlet.” She talked as if she really understood. “A way to cope.”
“Yeah, I guess. But I can think of more productive ways to deal.”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Sometimes it’s just easier to put it in abstract.”
“Believe me, this dream is anything but abstract. It’s like I’m there, experiencing it all over again.” He tried, but couldn’t contain a shudder, his body still drenched with sweat.
Hannah waited, and he realized she wasn’t going to press. This was his chance to pull away. To keep his secrets. But suddenly, sitting here with her, he realized he didn’t want to deal with it all alone. He wanted to talk about it. Because it was Hannah.
“Brianna was my ground wire. She was the one who always cleaned up my messes when we were young.”
“Was she older than you?”
“No. That honor goes to me. By two minutes,” hepaused, looking down at her hands. “We were twins. She was my best friend.”
“So what
“Why didn’t you come?” she asked, her brownish-green eyes the exact mirror of his, the anguish reflected there sucking the breath from his body.
He opened his mouth, but there were no words, and still she held his gaze, imploring him, condemning him. “I believed in you,” she whispered, and then slowly the life began to fade. He screamed her name, trying to pull her back to him. To will her to life.
“Harrison.”
The voice pulled him from sleep, relief making him giddy.
“Bree.” He reached out and grabbed her, his fingers digging into her arms. “You’re all right. You’re really
okay.”
“Harrison. Wake up.”
And then it hit him. As it had a thousand times before. Bree was dead and gone. He hadn’t saved herthen, and he couldn’t save her now. Disoriented, he fought against the last remnants of the dream—the sensory memory as strong now as it had been all those years ago in Texas.
“Harrison,” the voice called again, and this time reality surfaced. It was Hannah. His eyes flickered open, and her face swam into view. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “It was just a dream.” She was leaning over him, concern stretched tight across her face.
The room came into focus. He was in Hannah’s house on the sofa. They’d been working late, trying to find the place at the lake. He must have fallen asleep. The events of the day had clearly brought on the nightmare, and he was gripping her arms as if there were no tomorrow.
“Oh, my God,” he said, releasing her. “I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she said, as she rubbed her arm, the action negating the words. “I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about.” She sat down next to him. “You were calling for someone. Your sister, I think.”
He blew out a breath, still trying to assimilate his thoughts. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He’d never had the dream when someone else was present. And now, he wasn’t sure how much to share. He trusted Hannah, but he liked the idea of his past staying just that.
Except that with Sara’s disappearance, past and present seemed to be set on a collision course, every nerve in his body screaming that history was repeating itself.
“You didn’t scare me,” Hannah said, reaching over tobrush the hair out of his face, the gesture soothing in its simplicity. “I was just worried.” She searched his face. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
He didn’t. And yet, he couldn’t seem to stop the words. “You were right. The dream was about my sister. Bree was murdered.”
“Oh, God, Harrison, I…” Hannah trailed off, her eyes filling with tears. “I can’t imagine.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Yes, but that kind of thing never goes away. And all this stuff with Sara Lauter, it’s bringing it all back.”
He nodded. “After it first happened, I had the dream almost every night.”
“Sometimes the mind just needs an outlet.” She talked as if she really understood. “A way to cope.”
“Yeah, I guess. But I can think of more productive ways to deal.”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Sometimes it’s just easier to put it in abstract.”
“Believe me, this dream is anything but abstract. It’s like I’m there, experiencing it all over again.” He tried, but couldn’t contain a shudder, his body still drenched with sweat.
Hannah waited, and he realized she wasn’t going to press. This was his chance to pull away. To keep his secrets. But suddenly, sitting here with her, he realized he didn’t want to deal with it all alone. He wanted to talk about it. Because it was Hannah.
“Brianna was my ground wire. She was the one who always cleaned up my messes when we were young.”
“Was she older than you?”
“No. That honor goes to me. By two minutes,” hepaused, looking down at her hands. “We were twins. She was my best friend.”
“So what
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