Page 26 of Chasing Dreams
Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, she let her nose lead her to the coffee in the kitchen. It tasted a trifle stronger than she’d have preferred, but she added a little milk and sipped it.
The whole time she showered and dressed, trying not to disturb Austin in case he was still sleeping, she went over the things they’d talked about the night before. He’d shown her things about herself—about her intuitive ability—that she’d never realized—or never admitted realizing before.
How long would it take her to control it? To zero in on Jack and find him? How long did they have?
That afternoon and evening passed much as the one before, except that both were tired from the previous night and retired early.
Immediately, Shaine fell into exhausted slumber...and dreamed....
She entered his office and glanced at the unfamiliar surroundings: a soft-looking leather sofa and two chairs, a gigantic wraparound desk with two separate computers and accessories, a landline phone and a neat stack of reference books. An oak filing cabinet and an enormous aquarium stood on either side of the uncovered double window.
The room was massive and functional, yet possessed a prosperous air of comfort. Shaine stepped to the desk and studied the framed document on the wall behind it, trying to bring the words into focus.
The room grew too dark for her to see, and she groped her way to the door, where a sliver of light shone beneath it.
She reached for the knob and the door opened silently.
Jack sat on a floor that hadn’t seen a vacuum for weeks—months maybe, his tiny fingers clumsily struggling over his shoelaces. A stale, sour smell assailed her senses.
“I’m a big boy,” he said, the tiny voice precious and familiar. “Beebee’s a big boy.”
A loud slam sounded and struck alarm into his chest. She was coming.
The door opened and she loomed in the doorway, tall and unkempt and reeking of the stuff she drank all the time. “What’re you doin‘?” she drawled.
“I put my shoes on,” he said, inching backward toward the bed.
“What the hell for? You’re not goin‘ anywhere? Stupid little boys with stinky pants don’t get to go anywhere.”
He cringed, knowing what was coming.
“Stupid little stinky boys have to sit in the bathroom.”
“No! I can’t want to!” he cried.
“Don’t you tell me no.” She shook her finger under his nose. “Don’t you ever tell me no.”
He wouldn’t look at her.
She jerked him upward by one arm, stripped his shorts off and sat him on the toilet. “And you stay there until I come and get you! If you get down I’ll turn the lights off and leave you in here in the dark tonight.”
“Noooo!” he wailed.
“Then mind what I say.”
She turned and left the room.
Tears ran down Jack’s cheeks and dripped onto his knees. He cried for several minutes, then stopped himself before she came and hit him. He stared down at the shoelaces dangling on the cracked and peeling linoleum floor.
Beside him, the faucet dripped in the rust-stained sink, the monotonous sound, his only company.
“Mama,” he whispered.
A sob tore from Shaine’s chest, a suffering so unbearable, she cried aloud with the pain.
“Jack!” she shrieked, jumping from the bed as though she had somewhere to go, desperate to reach the child and comfort him.
Orienting herself to her surroundings, she clutched her head in her hands and dropped to her knees, sobbing. “Oh, no, God, no,” she cried over and over.
