1970

Chapter two: Nights Echos

The monster in Quinn's dreams always had his sister's eyes.

He jolted awake with a strangled gasp, his t-shirt clinging to his skin with cold sweat. For a moment, the darkness of Husky's living room seemed to pulse with the same murky green as the river water in his nightmare. His hands trembled as he fumbled for his pendant, fingers closing around the familiar worn edges until the world steadied again, his heart hammering against his ribs..

The water was dark, so dark it seemed to swallow the late afternoon sun. Quinn could see Sarah's red hair spreading across the surface like spilled wine, her small hand reaching toward him as something pale and horrible wrapped around her ankle. He tried to move, to reach her, but his feet were frozen to the rocky shore. Her green eyes – so like his own – went wide with terror as she opened her mouth to scream—

The Ayuluk's living room slowly came into focus around him. Moonlight spilled through the bay windows, painting silver streaks across– the weathered leather couch he'd fallen asleep on, the steady tick of the grandfather clock in the corner, the soft glow of the muted television casting blue shadows across sleeping forms scattered across the floor. His pendant had left an impression on his palm where he'd clutched it in his sleep.

Loch's quiet snoring drifted up from her nest of blankets near the fireplace. Beside her, Hailey had somehow managed to wrap herself in every spare blanket like a purple-haired cocoon, while Valerie dozed peacefully in the armchair, a book still open in her lap. Husky was nowhere to be seen, probably upstairs in his own bed like a sensible person.

The dream clung to Quinn like river mud. He could still taste the metallic fear in the back of his throat, still see those impossible pale fingers dragging his sister under. With trembling legs, he picked his way through the obstacle course of sleeping bodies and made his way to the kitchen.

The linoleum was cool under his bare feet as he fumbled for a glass, nearly dropping it when he turned to find Tonrar watching him from the doorway. The husky's blue eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, and Quinn had to remind himself it was just a dog, just a reflection of the porch light, nothing more.

"Sorry, boy," he whispered, his accent thicker with sleep and lingering fear. "Didnae mean to disturb your watch."

Tonrar tilted his head, then padded silently away as heavy footsteps creaked on the stairs. A moment later, Husky appeared in the doorway, his blonde hair sticking up at impossible angles and his usual easy smile replaced with concern. In the dim light, with his hair mussed from sleep and his ever-present leather jacket forgotten upstairs, he looked younger somehow. More like the kid who'd helped Quinn repaint his bedroom the summer after Alice died, less like the local golden boy everyone expected him to be.

"You okay?" Husky asked, keeping his voice low. "Heard you moving around."

Quinn turned to the sink, letting the water run perhaps longer than necessary. "Aye, just thirsty." The lie felt thick on his tongue. "Sorry if I woke you."

"Bold of you to assume I sleep." Husky moved to the fridge, pulling out leftovers from dinner with the practiced ease of someone who'd made many midnight raids. "Want a sandwich? Dad made too much roast beef again."

The normality of the offer, the simple kindness of it, made Quinn's throat tight. He managed a nod, sinking into one of the kitchen chairs as Husky began assembling what would probably be enough sandwiches for everyone.

The silence stretched between them, comfortable but heavy with unspoken words. Quinn's fingers found his pendant again, tracing the worn edges as the dream images flickered behind his eyes.

"The river's different lately," Quinn found himself saying, the words spilling out before he could stop them. "The sound of it. The way it moves. Something's changed."