the paper and looked up at me, still impassive.
“Flawless,” she pronounced with a curt nod. “I think you could do a better job of showing your work, however, so keep that in mind next time.” She gave me a half smile, the highest mark of affection offered in our house. “You can watch one hour of television, then we do our evening training session.”
I let out a squeak of happiness at her pronouncement of TV privileges (I was fourteen, what do you want from me?) followed by the slightest sigh of disappointment at the news of an impending workout. That was the end of her half-smile.
“You think I’m too harsh, but you don’t know.” Her eyes narrowed and her lips were a thin line. All traces of prettiness vanished in a hard look that drove terror straight through me. “You don’t know what’s out there.”
Her hand pointed toward the front door and I stifled any word of argument I might have given – something along the lines of, “You’re right, but only because you won’t let me outside…”
She went on. “You can’t ever get soft. You can’t ever get weak. It’s a dangerous world out there, filled with people who want to give nothing but harm to a little girl like you.” She stood up and tossed the TV remote on the couch, never looking away as she brushed past me, taking particular care not to touch, and went into her bedroom.
I longed for a hug, affirmation, something. I lowered myself to the couch. All the little words of approval were washed away in the heat of her anger, light as it was. I didn’t pay much attention to the TV that night for the hour I watched it, instead thinking about my life and how much I wanted someone to just hold me.
“I expect you’ll be up to full strength again within a day,” Dr. Perugini spoke, jarring me back to the here and now.
“Good to know,” I mouthed more by instinct than from processing the words she’d spoken. She fussed about for a few more minutes, then admonished me to “get some rest” and retreated back to her office, shut the door and turned off the light. I don’t know why I wasted my time letting my head get clouded with that stupid memory of Mom when I had Wolfe to think about. His threat.
I had let the doctor distract me for a few minutes while I should have been pondering whether to tell Ariadne and Old Man Winter about my dream. I couldn’t blame myself too much, because honestly, I didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to consider the idea that Wolfe might be out there right now, killing people because of me.
I repeated to myself that it was just a dream. Then again. Then five more times. I really wanted this “dream walking” to not be a power but a delusion. I kept repeating it to myself until I fell back to sleep, blissfully uninterrupted by any more horrific visions of Wolfe.
The next morning when I awoke the medical unit was still quiet. I lifted my gown and checked my wound; it was gone. I bent at the waist to sit up and felt no discomfort. I stood, letting my feet touch the cold floor. It didn’t bother me.
A hiss came from my left and the door to the unit opened, revealing Ariadne, a key card in one hand, newspaper in the other. “Glad to see you’re awake,” she said with a perfunctory smile. “We’ve prepared accommodations in the basement, but first we have to go speak with…” She hesitated.
“Old Man Winter?” I said with a nasty smile in return.
She blanched. “I wouldn’t call him that to his face.”
“Think he’d get mad at me?” My smile got worse, I could feel it.
“I wouldn’t care to find out,” she said without further comment. “You should know something.”
I froze. “What?”
She threw the newspaper onto the tray by the bed, and underneath the banner was the headline “Family of Five Slaughtered in South Minneapolis”. A photo of a home not unlike mine sat underneath the blaring headline. Police tape blocked the entire scene and there were at least a dozen officers in the photograph.
My hands went to my mouth, covering it, pushing the words back in before they could come out. I halted, tried to regain control before speaking. My eyes flew up to Ariadne. Hers were fixed on mine, watching to see my reaction. When I