Page 48 of The Wrong Track
But eventually, the baby did stop crying and after I was sure she was asleep, I said goodnight to Tobin and snuck back into the room go to bed myself. The day had started so early and now it was…I looked quickly at the old clock next to the bed, the one with the arms that glowed a faint green. Well, it was six minutes after nine, and I was about dead. Before, I’d spent most of each night awake. In high school, I’d been up to finish my homework, to check over Lily’s, and to get us ready for the next day with laundry, dishes, and other housekeeping.
After I’d left home, I’d stayed up even later. Kilian had been a night owl for sure and there were always parties. Plus, I’d been working a lot then. I turned on my side to dispel those memories and then froze in case the sound of the movement had woken the baby. But she was still quiet. I tried to make my mind quiet so that I could sleep, because she’d be awake soon enough. I looked at the blackness behind my eyelids and started to drift.
It's funny that the snow doesn’t seem cold. From my experience in Michigan, I know that snow is a miserable thing, but standing on top of this mountain, I don’t even feel the frigid moisture seeping into my feet. It’s beautiful up here in the bright sun. It glints off the ice and rocks like there are diamonds everywhere and down below, at the bottom of this peak, I can see beautiful green trees that sway with branches like seaweed. They’re wonderful.
I stretch out my arms and sway along with them and I’m not cold at all, not afraid either. It’s what freedom feels like, isn’t it? Freedom is when you can go anywhere and do anything and not worry about restrictions or punishment, about eyes on you watching and waiting for your errors. It’s wonderful.
I close my eyes and enjoy it. But then, when I open them, everything seems to have changed—not drastically, but maybe the sun doesn’t shine quite as brilliantly. The air does seem colder and somehow thinner, like there’s not enough. It’s because there’s something there, down at the bottom of the mountain, among those trees. There’s something after me and I have to go, I have to get out of here, immediately. I try to run but the air is wrong and I can’t get enough of it. I can’t run anymore, either, because I lost that when I went off track and lost everything else: my education, my family, my self-respect. But I’m trying, and then I hear the baby crying—she needs me, too, and I don’t see her—I need to get her and save her but I can’t do anything but gasp—
“Remy, Jesus, Remy! Wake up!”
I opened my eyes as the sun flashed into them. I found myself flailing on the bed, the light on overhead in the bedroom ceiling, Tobin shaking my shoulder, and Ella screaming as he held her in his other arm. I reached for her but he stepped back, like I would hurt her.
“I won’t,” I tried to tell him, but I couldn’t get any words out. I fumbled on the nightstand for my inhaler, knocking the old clock onto the floor before I found it.
“It’s ok,” Tobin soothed the baby, “it’s ok. Are you breathing?” he asked me, and I nodded. I was, but he watched me for another moment to make sure before he said, “I’m going to walk with her.”
I listened to them moving through the house and I tried to bring my respiration under control. Sometimes I’d been able to do a mind over matter kind of deal and help myself by calming my emotions, but tonight nothing worked except for the medicine. I sucked it in again and after a moment, my lungs opened. I put my legs on the floor and stood, dizzy but probably from the dream and not the lack of oxygen. I could almost feel it touching me still.
Tobin was in the living room, rocking his hips back and forth and humming tunelessly because he really couldn’t sing, but Ella seemed to like it. She snuffled against his neck, content. He watched me come closer as I carefully stepped, not wanting to disturb her again. I put my hand on her back and he let me touch her this time, so I could feel her easy breaths. She was ok.
“I’ll put her down,” he told me and I stood and looked out the picture window at the quiet, safe street until he came back.
“You always get up early and this will make you tired,” I said when I heard his footsteps. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I woke her and you.”
“What are you dreaming about?” he asked me.
“Just—just nightmares. Vague stuff, you know. What people dream about.”
“Not Kilian.”
I gulped more air. “No. It’s not him, it’s just something.” He waited for me to continue. “It’s like everything is fine but then there’s something hiding. I know it’s out there and I can’t outrun it and I’ll never get away. I’ll never, ever get away.”
“You already did,” he told me, but he didn’t understand.
“No. No, I never can. You know how you’re afraid of that house where the dog used to live?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to walk by it ten years later.”
“It’s because everything echoes. Things that happen may end, but they echo,” I said. “It’s always still inside you. When you see that house, you remember, maybe not exactly every detail, but you still feel the fear. I’m sure that you remember the pain.”
He nodded a little. “But it was a long time ago.”
“But it’s still there,” I persisted. “That’s what happens to me at night. Sometimes during the day, too, but even more when I sleep. That’s why I’m always tired because I feel like I never rest. It’s always there. Christ, I wish I could sleep.” My voice broke.
“Ok.” Tobin rested his palm on my shoulder. “It’s really late and you’re right, you should sleep. We can talk about this more in the morning.”
“No.” I shook my head. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore, ever.
He moved closer and put his arm over my shoulders. It was kind of heavy but it didn’t feel like he was pushing me down. I leaned, pressing my side against him. I wanted to turn and lean my whole body against him but didn’t let myself.
“Come on. We do need to talk about it, but not now.” His arm steered me toward the bedrooms. Into his, though, instead of the one I shared with Ella.
“I won’t wake her up again,” I whispered. “I won’t let myself sleep, so I won’t have another dream.”
“No, you need rest, too.” He pulled back the covers. “You stay here.”
“Where are you going to go?”