How far would you go? (Currently Editing)

Luke

The night was still and the only sound to be heard was the distant noise of animals howling or fighting somewhere nearby. Luke glanced over to the bedside clock and stared at the light green display. Only one minute had gone since he last gazed at the mesmerising digits. No matter how hard he tried to sleep, Luke could not find the rest he desperately needed. His mind was racing from what happened at the funeral. Who was Sam, and why did he want to help?

Searching through his memory, Luke tried to picture the conversation, thinking back to what was said. Who was he? No matter how hard Luke tried, he could not see the face of the man that spoke to him. All he saw was wet, misty rain and wrenching pain from losing Jessica. What was more troubling was what the man told him. He knew Jessica. How? How did this man know the person he had ever loved? The images were vague, and Luke could not understand what had happened. Someone had spoken to him, and they knew Jessica intimately. Did this man kill Jessica? Luke had too many questions, and not enough answers. Perhaps he should speak to the police. Luke sat up and stared into the darkness. What would he say to them? He had no details to give them, except a name. Sam. Who was Sam?

Luke felt the tears gently roll down his cheek as he reflected on his beautiful Jessica. He could see her perfect smile melting his heart, and her eyes, he always got lost in them. The tears started to flow more freely. How desperately he wanted to see Jessica again.
Looking at the side she slept on, Luke stared at the vacant spot, slightly indented from her body. He reached out and gently touched the sheet, and for a moment, he felt her. Her soft skin, her golden hair, then he looked away, trying to hold back any further tears.
If dying meant he would see her again, then he would happily give in to it. Death would end his misery. But would Jessica want him to feel like this? No. She would tell him to live his life, meet someone new and remember all the good times they had. Except Luke could not. She had been taken away from him. Why? Why had that happened?

He flicked on the bedside light and the room lit up with a soft white glow that cast shadows in various directions. The green display from the clock had barely moved. Time was ticking by incredibly slowly. There was something in the back of his mind that he could not reach. It was there, like a splinter you could not find. Something was troubling him. He closed his eyes to allow the memories to flow, but they remained lodged deeply in the recesses of his mind. Was it something Jessica had said? No. Something Jessica did? No. What was troubling him? Luke would worry about it another time. What he needed was sleep and his mind was muddled, reliving events, pondering question. He had to rest. In the morning, he would talk to Russell in the hope that his friend might have seen the mysterious Sam at the cemetery. He may have seen the man's face.
Sleep was now coming, and settling back down, Luke shut his eyes. The memory of his perfect family filled his dreams. Jessica laughing while playing with their beautiful daughter. She giggled and tried to crawl away. Jessica pursued her, reaching out her arms and scooping up the crawling toddler. It was perfect. Except for the shadow standing in the corner. Luke tried to call out, but his cries were silenced. The figure was a silhouette, hidden by the dark. There was nothing Luke could do. The man from the funeral stepped out of the darkness and before Jessica could react, he stabbed her. It was brutal and quick, and Luke flinched as the dreams turned into a nightmare. He tossed vigorously on the bed, seeing his wife scream in terror as the man continued his attack. Not his daughter. Please do not hurt her. It was too late. His wife and daughter were dead. Luke was crying. Tears soaked the pillow. The nightmare would haunt him forever, and he wished he could have saved them.
Finally, the nightmare evaporated, and Luke drifted off into a deep and restless sleep. He would confront this problem in the morning. For now he needed sleep.

The morning had dragged on and when it was a suitable time, Luke walked over to Russell and Debbie's hoping to talk about what had happened. He sat at the breakfast bar slipping a black coffee and nibbling the edges of a delicious cookie Debbie had baked.
'So run that by me again?' asked Russell, looking confused.
'I don't know Russell. It was such a blur. Someone was there, saying they could help me. Did you not see it? He had me pinned to the floor.'
Russell took his coffee and paced around the room thinking. He shrugged.
'I'm sorry, mate. The weather was crap, and I could barely see you. By the time I reached you, you were on your knees sobbing. No one was with you.'
'You must have seen someone running away. The man was there, he called himself Sam; he wouldn't hang around to answer questions.'
'Like I said. It was just you when I got there.'
'Please, Russell. Think. Someone else was there.'
'No, mate. I'm sorry. I called out. Ran up the hill and you were alone.'
'Luke, why don't you stay for lunch?' suggested Debbie. She placed her hand tenderly on Luke's shoulders, but he got the message. Russell did not see anyone. However, Luke was having none of it and rose from the stool aggressively and walked over to the window.
'Someone was there, I'm telling you!'
'We believe you, Luke. It's just I didn't see anyone. It was so grey and misty up there it was difficult to see anything. What did he look like?'
Luke turned back to face them. 'That's the strange thing. I can't remember.'
'They say when you face a trauma your mind blocks it out, sort of like a self-preservation thing,' said Debbie. She passed Luke another cookie. It was difficult to refuse.
'I don't know, Debbie. Someone was there and he said he knew Jessica really well. Things only I know.'
Russell spat out his coffee into the cup. He walked over to Luke.
'What? Do you think he.' Russell stopped mid-sentence, trying to find the right words. 'Hurt Jessica?'
'You need to tell the police,' suggested Debbie.
'And say what?' groaned Russell.
'He's right. I can't remember a face. You don't remember seeing anyone. I've got nothing. Maybe I dreamt the whole thing.' Luke sighed in frustration.
He was freaking out, and felt confused, wondering what had happened. The colour in his face had drained away, and he looked pale.

Luke didn't dream it. The loss of Jessica was tragic, and Luke wanted to die. I want to help him, and if Russell hadn't interrupted us, I may have got through to him. Another time.