Abigail woke from the same dream that had haunted her every night for thirty-seven years. She kept her eyes squeezed tight, breaking softly as the images flickered, faded, refused to die. She was ten years old and half-frozen on the bank of her mother’s creek. Her teeth chattered, and her mind ached with a terrible emptiness. She didn’t know what had happened, only that she’d done bad. She saw it in her mother’s face, in the leveled eyes and the sly, contented smile.
Now you’re mine forever.
And Abigail looked down at what she’d done. She saw the face of that baby boy, water in his mouth, eyes half-open. She tried to wake him but he wouldn’t wake. He was still as a doll, all powder blue and lifeless in her hands.
Now you’re mine forever.
“No, Momma.”
Forever and ever and ever…
“No!”
“Abigail.”
“No!”
“Abigail. It’s okay. You’re okay. Just a dream.” The voice was real, familiar. Abigail opened her eyes, confused. Something warm rested in her hand. She squeezed and felt Jessup’s fingers. Faint blue light shone through a high, small window. It seemed to wink. She sat up, brushed hair from her face.
“Jessup?”
“Yes.”
“Did I say anything in my sleep?”
“Not really,” he said. “Just at the end when you said, ‘no.’”
Some of the tension bled out. “Where am I? What time is it?”
“You’re in my room. It’s late. You’re fine.”
She shuddered from the dream, and he touched her shoulder. “What am I doing here? Oh, God. I blacked out again, didn’t I?”
“Just for a bit.”
“Did I do anything… you know.”
“Nothing bad. No.”
“I don’t remember anything.”
“Do you remember the senator in your room?”
“Vaguely. An argument.”
Jessup nodded. “I came in in the middle of it. Your husband didn’t like it. We left and came here. You zoned out after that.”
“God, it feels like they’re getting worse.”
“It’s nothing to worry about. You got a little fuzzy. I brought you here to sleep it off.”
“My head hurts.”
Jessup offered a weak smile. “I think you were drunk.”
“I suppose I should feel relieved.”
She started to rise, but Jessup pulled her down. “I want you to listen to me very carefully, Abigail.”
“What?”
“It’s important. Something bad did happen, but you had nothing to do with it.”
“Oh, God.” She tried to rise again, but Jessup stopped her.
“Listen. You and the senator argued. I came in and the argument stopped. We left and came here. This is very important. We talked about Julian. We talked about what’s been happening the past few days. We talked about what to get your husband for Christmas this year. We thought maybe some art. An oil painting from that gallery he likes in Washington. Do you remember this?” She shook her head, fear spreading. “This is what happened: You and the senator argued. I came in and the argument stopped.”
She looked at the small window. Blue light thumping.
“We left and came here,” Jessup continued. “Listen to me. We talked about Julian-”
“What’s happening, Jessup?”
“We talked about art for your husband.”
But she wasn’t listening. She pulled herself free and went to the window. The room was partially underground, so the window was high. She stood on a stool, looked out.
Cops were in the drive.
“It’s okay,” Jessup said. “Abigail. Trust me.”
“Jessup.” The voice was tiny and scared.
“You did nothing wrong. You and the senator argued-”
“Jessup?”
A lot of cops were in the drive.