Page 59 of Redeem

“Yeah,” I said, thinking back to that time, one of the darkest in my life.

“What, did you kill her and feel guilty about it?”

“No. But I would have,” I said.

She just shook her head.

“I had the opportunity to, and both times I was going to,” I said, shamed at the truth but unwilling to deny it.

“So what happened?”

“I don’t know, didn’t know until just this moment actually,” I replied.

She frowned. “You’re not making any sense,” she said.

“I know. I was interrupted the first time. But the second, something in her face, it touched me, shocked me out of whatever stupor I had been in,” I said.

I remembered that moment so vividly, remembered the acceptance in her face, the peace there. It was so different than what I’d usually seen. Terror, fear, excitement. Something about it managed to break through the shell that I had erected around myself, shattered it on impact.

“So this woman you didn’t kill changed you,” she said.

She sounded skeptical and I understood, but it was the truth.

“Yeah. And some other stuff happened. I got shot, got a fever. Almost died for the second time,” I said.

She frowned, looked almost concerned, but then seemed to shake the feeling off.

“Looks like you made it through okay,” she said.

“Yeah, looks like it.” I didn’t bother to point out that looks were so often deceiving.

“So you had your awakening, were rescued from the numbness by some unnamed woman you planned to kill. What the fuck does that have to do with me?” she said.

She sounded more bitter now, angry, and I understood. I didn’t try to dissuade her, try to soothe that feeling away although I wanted to. Instead I simply said, “After I got shot, while I had the fever… I dreamed about you.”

Her expression, which was already twisted into a grimace, twisted further. “Dreamed about me?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re here because you had a fucking fever dream?”

“Yeah,” I said.

What else was there to say? It made no sense, and I still hadn’t been able to quite wrap my mind around it, but that was exactly why I was here. I tried to explain it to her. “I felt compelled. Something told me I needed to find you, tell you all this. Apologize. Make amends,” I said.

She looked disgusted. “You’re serious right now?”

“Yeah.”

“You really are serious?” she asked, blinking, her voice brimming with disbelief. “You’re here because you had a fever dream that made you decide to make amends. Because you wanted to say you’re sorry?”

“Yes,” I said.

I could see that she wasn’t taking this well, and she seemed as angry as I had ever seen her.

“Get the fuck out of my house,” she said.

Her eyes were fiery embers, blazing with the heat of hatred so intense, it seared me.