walk.
Sara rode the elevator up to the third floor and was barely able to make it inside the apartment. She hung her backpack on the coatrack and went straight to the bathroom and threw up. Ten minutes later, after a scalding shower, she towel-dried her short blond hair, pulled on her robe and closed herself in her bedroom. Quickly, she pulled on a pair of sleep shorts and a baggy T-shirt, turned on the ceiling fan and the sound machine and crawled under the covers.
—
No matter how hard their shift had been, Chris liked to spend at least an hour in the gym. Somehow the mindless repetition worked through the horrors he had seen on the streets. The smell of sweat, dirty gym clothes and Gatorade helped to push aside the stench of blood and vomit that had filled his nostrils during the night.
They called the late shift Deep Night, not just because of its middle-of-the-night hours, but because of the intense darkness and the desperation of the people who needed help at that time of night when most people were asleep in their…or someone else’s…bed. Deep Night was when tragedy struck. It was all about what happened when inhibitions and resistance were low and truth was a rare commodity. Alcohol, drugs and boredom made a dangerous mix that often resulted in serious injuries or death. And almost always a lot of blood.
He jogged for ten miles on the treadmill and worked on the resistance machines until his muscles ached and his mind was blank. Feeling emotionally cleansed, he was able to enjoy the warmth of the sun on his face as he walked back to the apartment. All he was thinking about now was a shower, a bowl of cereal and a few hours of sleep. Today was the beginning of their three days off, and in late afternoon they had to leave for Julie and Rusty’s wedding. Afterward, he hoped to get in a little studying, and maybe sneak in a nap. He had been trying Sara’s schedule by sleeping during the day and staying up at night, but he still wasn’t completely transitioned.
Chris tried to be quiet as he entered the apartment. He could hear the steady rhythm of waves coming from Sara’s room, so he guessed she was asleep. He peeled off his sweaty gym clothes in the bathroom and stepped into the shower. The hot water felt great, and his skin was tingling when he got out. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he stood at the bar and shoveled heaping spoonfuls of multi-grain cereal into his mouth. He was drinking the milk out of the bowl when a terrified scream came from Sara’s bedroom.
He dropped the bowl with a clatter and crossed the room in four long strides. Without even thinking about it, he opened her door.
The drapes were wide open, allowing unfiltered sunlight to stream in through the tall windows. The crashing waves echoed around the room and Sara lay in the middle of the bed, curled into a fetal position, crying in her sleep.
Chris hesitated. She was clearly having a nightmare. He didn’t know whether he should awaken her and risk making her mad because he had come into her room uninvited, or if he should simply shut the door and let her work her way through the dream alone.
It was the very real pain in her whimpers that drew him in. He couldn’t let her suffer through whatever she was experiencing.
“Sara,” he said in a loud whisper, not wanting to startle her. When she didn’t respond, he stepped closer and called out her name again. She shifted, but didn’t wake up.
Funny, he could handle running out to help a wounded soldier in the middle of a firefight or revive a person who was near death, but dealing with a sobbing female made him feel awkward and clumsy. Gingerly, he sat on the edge of the bed. He reached out and touched her shoulder. “Sara, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”
To his shock, she bolted to a sitting position. Her blue eyes were cloudy and unfocused. She blinked and tried to fight her way out of the dream. “What…what are you doing here?”
“You were
Sara rode the elevator up to the third floor and was barely able to make it inside the apartment. She hung her backpack on the coatrack and went straight to the bathroom and threw up. Ten minutes later, after a scalding shower, she towel-dried her short blond hair, pulled on her robe and closed herself in her bedroom. Quickly, she pulled on a pair of sleep shorts and a baggy T-shirt, turned on the ceiling fan and the sound machine and crawled under the covers.
—
No matter how hard their shift had been, Chris liked to spend at least an hour in the gym. Somehow the mindless repetition worked through the horrors he had seen on the streets. The smell of sweat, dirty gym clothes and Gatorade helped to push aside the stench of blood and vomit that had filled his nostrils during the night.
They called the late shift Deep Night, not just because of its middle-of-the-night hours, but because of the intense darkness and the desperation of the people who needed help at that time of night when most people were asleep in their…or someone else’s…bed. Deep Night was when tragedy struck. It was all about what happened when inhibitions and resistance were low and truth was a rare commodity. Alcohol, drugs and boredom made a dangerous mix that often resulted in serious injuries or death. And almost always a lot of blood.
He jogged for ten miles on the treadmill and worked on the resistance machines until his muscles ached and his mind was blank. Feeling emotionally cleansed, he was able to enjoy the warmth of the sun on his face as he walked back to the apartment. All he was thinking about now was a shower, a bowl of cereal and a few hours of sleep. Today was the beginning of their three days off, and in late afternoon they had to leave for Julie and Rusty’s wedding. Afterward, he hoped to get in a little studying, and maybe sneak in a nap. He had been trying Sara’s schedule by sleeping during the day and staying up at night, but he still wasn’t completely transitioned.
Chris tried to be quiet as he entered the apartment. He could hear the steady rhythm of waves coming from Sara’s room, so he guessed she was asleep. He peeled off his sweaty gym clothes in the bathroom and stepped into the shower. The hot water felt great, and his skin was tingling when he got out. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he stood at the bar and shoveled heaping spoonfuls of multi-grain cereal into his mouth. He was drinking the milk out of the bowl when a terrified scream came from Sara’s bedroom.
He dropped the bowl with a clatter and crossed the room in four long strides. Without even thinking about it, he opened her door.
The drapes were wide open, allowing unfiltered sunlight to stream in through the tall windows. The crashing waves echoed around the room and Sara lay in the middle of the bed, curled into a fetal position, crying in her sleep.
Chris hesitated. She was clearly having a nightmare. He didn’t know whether he should awaken her and risk making her mad because he had come into her room uninvited, or if he should simply shut the door and let her work her way through the dream alone.
It was the very real pain in her whimpers that drew him in. He couldn’t let her suffer through whatever she was experiencing.
“Sara,” he said in a loud whisper, not wanting to startle her. When she didn’t respond, he stepped closer and called out her name again. She shifted, but didn’t wake up.
Funny, he could handle running out to help a wounded soldier in the middle of a firefight or revive a person who was near death, but dealing with a sobbing female made him feel awkward and clumsy. Gingerly, he sat on the edge of the bed. He reached out and touched her shoulder. “Sara, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”
To his shock, she bolted to a sitting position. Her blue eyes were cloudy and unfocused. She blinked and tried to fight her way out of the dream. “What…what are you doing here?”
“You were
Similar Books
