like gunpowder and insect repellant mixed with the scent of the sea.
Violet!
I turned, tugging at my seat belt that hadn’t released from its locked position. Violet’s face was covered in blood as she lay, eyes closed, on her airbag that had expanded from the steering column and not receded. Airbags that I was grateful the old, piece-of-shit car still had in working order.
“Vi,” I groaned. Her eyes didn’t even flutter, and panic filled me.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the knife my dick of a father had given me, thanking God, for the first time ever, for a gift from him. I cut the strap on my seat belt and reached over to her, pushing the strands of purple and white from her face, feeling for a pulse at her neck. It was there, but she still didn’t wake, even at my touch.
I pushed on my door, shoving against the weight of the ocean anchored against it. I hauled my aching body around to the driver’s side, wrenching that door open with even more difficulty. Just as I got it open, the car groaned and shifted, pulling the metal heap down into the depths and taking Violet with it.
I woke up from the nightmare in a cold sweat, like every single time I’d had it.
Heart pounding. Body and mind screaming.
It took me a few seconds to center myself in the room at Leena’s and away from the stormy night on the edge of a cliff with the water sucking us in.
It took even longer for the anguish in my heart to give way to the reality. The reality where I hadn’t lost her. Where I’d cut her seat belt, slid the driver’s seat back so I could put my arms around her, and pulled her to safety. I’d carried her up the slope to the shoulder of the road, trying to assess where the blood was coming from. There’d been so much of it—on my hand, from where I’d unknowingly sliced it, and all over her face. When I’d sat on the broken guardrail with her in my arms, her eyes had fluttered open and closed and then opened again, meeting mine.
She’d whispered, “I guess that didn’t work the way I’d planned,” with her normal, spunky, wry smile. “They’ll never give me a license now.”
Then, her eyes had closed again, and I’d called 9-1-1.
That was the reality. The other was the true nightmare. Violet was safe.
I rubbed the scar on my hand. I hadn’t had the dream in months. I’d seen worse things since that moment with Vi on the edge of the road. It seemed ridiculous for it to be the moment that still haunted me. Maybe it hung on because none of those other moments had ever been with a blonde-haired genius I could never replace.
Guilt and horror twisted in my gut as they always did after the nightmare.
As I lay in bed, hand on my bare chest, listening to the creaks and groans of the old house settling for the night, I wondered what had caused the dream. I’d had none of the usual triggers. Usually, a close call on the water or an accident I’d witnessed sent the dream to me. Maybe it was because I had the real-life Violet with bruises on her arms and a boyfriend moping around her.
A sudden crash broke through the house, wood hitting wood so loud I was sure it would be splintered apart. I was at the door with my Glock tucked in the waistband of my sweats before I gave it much thought. I twisted the knob silently.
There was a lamp on a side table that dimly lit the hallway but cast it into shadows. I was halfway down the stairs, hand on my gun, when the second crash came from the kitchen and caused me to sprint down the remaining steps.
It took me more seconds than it should have to register what I was seeing.
Vi was sprawled out on her back, near the stove, with a bottle of brandy cradled on her stomach and laughter bubbling from her lips. There was a chair tipped precariously against the cabinet next to her, looking like it was going to fall on her or the floor at any moment.
“What the fuck?” I demanded.
The laughter stopped, and I grew worried. I took my hand from my gun as I moved toward her. Her eyes were shut.