In Your Dreams

Chapter 19: Hallway happenings

When I wake up, it's still dark and my alarm clock says it's only three am. I stretch and roll over. Didn't I do that in my dream? I was talking to someone. I struggle to bring back more memories. Was it Chris? Something about looking at the stars. No, we did that on Saturday, in real life, but I feel like we were back there again last night...ugh!

My head is pounding from the effort of trying to recall my dreams—and the fact that it's three am.

I need to use the washroom. Peering over at Casey's sleeping form, I edge off the bed. Despite my attempt to clean on Saturday, the usual layer of clothes and books cover my side of the room. I wind my way around them, quietly making my way down the hall, past the elevator and into the bathroom.

I wonder if Chris noticed I'm not in the dream anymore. I step back into the hall. Then again, we've been dreaming for years seemingly without noticing—

Something rams into me and I spiral to keep my balance, smacking with a painful crunch against the wall. Moonlight filters through a small window, silhouetting Hazel's large curly head as she locks her arms around my thighs.

"Hazel? What are you doing?"

"He got them!" Her voice cracks and she starts shaking.

I try to pry her off but her fingers are like iron claws. "Hazel, are you..."

Is Hazel crying?

I crouch and almost lose my balance. "What's going on?"

"He got them." She almost chokes on the words. "He killed them! Just like that. He shot them."

My heart starts hammering. Did she say shot? "Hazel, what are you talking about? Got who?"

Hazel sobs harder and buries her face in my knees. I lean against the wall for support. "What happened? Did someone break in?" I try not to panic. I don't hear anything unusual. No one else is out of their room.

I look down at the top of Hazel's head, watching her curls shake side to side, eyes squeezed shut as she sobs. It's almost like she can't hear me. Like she's...having a nightmare?

I crouch down to Hazel's level but she clutches my knees tighter, pinning them together. I can't bend down any more without tipping to the side.

Hazel looks up at me and suddenly she blurts, "Mommy, Daddy!"

"Hazel—"

She starts bawling. Despite my mixed feelings towards her, every cry tears at my heartstrings; I've never seen Hazel like this. She sounds so sad and vulnerable, like she's eight years old instead of eighteen.

"It's okay. It'll be okay." With the confidence of someone about to pet a lion, I pat Hazel's hair gently. It feels weird to want to draw her in instead of push her away. It's a natural human reaction, I remind myself. We're programmed to respond to crying.

Her cries are so loud, I expect the hall to explode with students at any moment. Maybe we're far enough away that no one can hear.

"It's okay, I'll help you." Hazel tightens her grip and I teeter, flattening my palms against the wall for support. "I'll help you, just let me—"

Chris bursts around the corner, wearing a white T-shirt and red plaid pajama bottoms. "What's going on?" He pauses long enough to take in the scene—Hazel sobbing at my feet, me against the wall—then rushes to my side. Hazel keeps crying, her eyes shut as she chokes on every sob. When Chris tries to pry her hands off, she tightens her grip.

"I think she's having a nightmare." I wince as her nails dig into my thighs. "She keeps babbling and crying."

Chris pulls on Hazel's arms until she finally lets go and sags onto the carpet, banging her fist against it.