Page 37 of Sins of Leo

“Especially when I’m sober,” he groused, turning away.

She slid from her bed to circle around, asking, “Does being drunk actually help?”

“If I siphon enough of the hard stuff, then yeah, sometimes I can skip the nightmare.”

She crouched in front of him, glancing upward so he didn’t feel threatened by her presence. “Is it the same dream every time?”

“Yes and no.”

“Tell me about it.” She didn’t ask, she demanded. If given a choice, the most recalcitrant would rather keep things bottled.

“Do I have to? It’s the middle of the night.”

“And we’re both awake, not to mention it’s fresh in your mind. Tell me. What do you see when you go to sleep?”

For a moment, he said nothing. When he did, his head ducked, his shoulders rolled inwards, and his expression turned grim.

“It always starts with that day in the sewer from the moment I enter those tunnels. I smell the putridness of the sewage. I relive the battle with the wendigo.” His voice went so low she almost didn’t hear him say, “The first part of my nightmare always ends with me clutching Olivia’s sleeper.”

“First part? What happens in the second half?”

He shook his head and clenched his fists on his thighs. “I don’t want to do this.”

“Because it hurts. I get it. But if we’re going to help you move past what’s troubling you, then I need to know what I’m up against. What is your mind doing to you when you sleep?” The subconscious could be vicious, especially with those carrying around a sense of culpability.

“I see Olivia.”

“That’s not unusual. She was important to you.”

“I get that. The hard part has been watching her grow.”

“Grow?” Ruth couldn’t help a surprised exclamation. “As in she’s not a baby in your dreams anymore?”

“It’s like, as time passed, she actually aged.” He paused. “In the beginning, right after it all happened, the darkness would sweep in after the sewer and I’d get a brief glimpse of a baby, wide-eyed and reaching for me.”

“Did you ever pick her up?”

“Yesss.” He hissed the word. “I snatched her close in the hopes I would wake up and she’d still be in my arms.”

“Only you’d wake alone.”

“Alone and feeling as if I’d been kicked to the ground,” he growled. “In my dreams, I watched her grow from a tiny frail baby to one that crawled for me, babbling. On what would have been her first birthday, she toddled to me with open arms. When she would have been around two, she called me Dada.” His voice cracked.

No wonder the man drank. Ruth might, too, if her own mind tortured her relentlessly every night.

“You know it’s not real.”

“I’m aware,” he snapped. “But that doesn’t make it stop or hurt less.”

“Does your wife haunt your dreams too?”

“No. I barely remember Kylie’s face. It’s always been about Olivia.”

“You saw her tonight,” Ruth stated.

“Yes. Looking around five, the right age if she’d lived. But…” He trailed off and didn’t finish.

“But what?” she prodded.

---