Page 57 of The Witching Hours

Adding as much detail as possible, I recounted the years before Mr. Caras secured a mysterious little blue vial of magic. Nick never reached for the espresso. Nor did his expression ever change. Nick’s blue-eyed stare was more intense than most. I didn’t try to interpret his reaction as I talked. I just focused on telling the tale.

“I think Mr. Caras said something about a decade, but I was a kid and just so glad to get rid of them…” I trailed off without finishing that sentence.

Nick stood abruptly almost knocking over his chair in the process. We had a liquor cabinet, but it was never opened often. Never when it was just the two of us. And certainly not when we were supposed to be sleeping.

After shoving bottles around, he pulled out the Irish whiskey, which was two-thirds full. He took three big gulps while I watched in fascination.

Oh no. The freaking characters had driven my husband to drink.

“You know, I could tell you it was a bad dream, but when they come back, you’d know I was lying.”

He walked over, set the whiskey on the table, and slumped into the chair just as the doorbell rang. We looked at each other.

911.

I left him in the kitchen staring at the bottle.

Two uniformed policemen stood at my door waiting for an explanation.

“I’m so sorry, officers. Nothing like this has ever happened before.” I knew that statement was easily verifiable.I’d never called 911 before and was pretty sure Nick hadn’t either. “It seems like my husband has had a somnambulistic episode. For the first time. In his dream, he thought he was fighting with someone and crashed into a wall. I’ve iced down the bruise and will take him to a sleep expert in the morning.”

One of the officers nodded. “I’m. Officer Derek. This is Officer Menendez. What’s your name?”

“Catherine Campbell.”

“Since we’ve been dispatched, we’d like to come in and have a look around. For the record. You understand.”

“Of course.” I stepped back to give them access then hurried to the kitchen. “Nick, I just told these officers that this is your first sleepwalking event and that we’ll be going to talk to a sleep expert in the morning. This is Officer Derek and Officer Menendez.”

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Nicholas Angelopoulos.”

“You’re married to Ms. Campbell?”

“Yes.”

Officer Derek took a look at Nick’s shoulder. “I’m not a medic, but it’s good you got ice on that early. It will help with the swelling.”

Officer Menendez was wandering around the apartment looking in closets for what I’ll never know. Meanwhile, Officer Derek was talking sports with Nick. When the overly curious Menendez returned to the kitchen, he said, “All clear.”

“Okay. We’ll be on our way,” Officer Derek said. “Before we go though, I have to ask, do you feel safe?”

My head jerked his way to protest, but Holy Smokes. He was talking to Nick!

“Are you asking if my wife did this?” Nick asked without trying to disguise his smirk.

Officer Derek blushed slightly and looked sheepish. Looking at Nick’s size and level of fitness compared to me had to make him feel silly asking that question. “However unlikely, we have to ask. Policy.”

Under any other circumstances Nick would’ve laughed, but he’d just been traumatized by fairytale characters.

“Yes. I feel safe,” he said matter-of-factly.

I walked our second responders to the door. “Again, we’re sorry to trouble you over something comparatively insignificant.”

They were as gracious as police know how to be.

I shut the door and returned to the kitchen.

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