SKYFALL, Johnny Kavanagh

Bad dreams

Maeve's Point of View

By the time everyone sobered up enough to get in their cars and drive back to their own houses, it was well past 2 a.m.

Gibsie was still passed out beside me and Niamh had already gone upstairs with both our backpacks, to get ready for bed.
I should have followed, but my body felt heavy, like moving would take more energy than I had left.

Johnny and Hughie were still in the kitchen, their voices low as they cleaned up the wreckage of the party. Feely sat across the room, his face blank with exhaustion.

I was exhausted too, but my body didn't feel like it knew how to rest.
A quiet shuffle of footsteps caught my attention, and then Johnny was standing in front of me, arms crossed as he looked down.

"Are you going to sleep out here?"

I exhaled, rubbing a hand over my face. "I'm getting up."

Johnny snorted, unconvinced.

I glared at him, but he only smirked before nudging Gibsie's leg with his foot. "Come on, Gibs. It's time to get up."

Nothing.
Not even a flinch.

Johnny leaned down and started shaking him roughly. "Gibsie, get up. I refuse to carry you."

That got a reaction.
Gibsie let out a disgruntled groan, eyes barely opening as he stretched like a cat. "Five more minutes, Mam."

Johnny rolled his eyes and grabbed one of the couch pillows, smacking him over the head with it.

Gibsie grumbled something unintelligible before finally sitting up, blinking blearily at the room like he was just realizing where he was.

"Has everyone already left?" He asked looking around.

"Pretty much." I pushed off the couch, my legs stiff as I made my way toward the stairs. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." The boys replied in unison.

The house was quiet now, just the occasional murmur of voices from downstairs and the sound of my own breathing filling the silence.
The Kavanagh mansion still didn't feel real to me, like I had somehow walked onto the set of a film where the ceilings stretched too high and the walls were lined with paintings so expensive they probably belonged to a museum.

The room Niamh and I were sharing was big.
Not as big as Johnny's room, of course, but still massive compared to what I was used to.
The bed was huge, with thick blankets and expensive-looking pillows with wide windows overlooking the back gardens.

Niamh was already in bed, sound asleep, so I took the chance to go the nearest bathroom to get ready for bed – which unfortunately meant changing the bandages around my brand-new scar and take off most of my make-up.
Most because I would be reapplying the concealer, in case anyone got the insane idea of entering the room tomorrow morning before I had the chance to pull myself together.

I didn't want to think about it though, not tonight, not in this house that felt too clean, too perfect.
So, I focused on what I could control.

Fresh bandages.
A new layer of antibiotic cream.
I worked quickly, efficiently, the way I had done a dozen times before.

By the time I was done, exhaustion had fully settled into my in.
I tugged my hoodie back on, washed my hands, and flicked the light off before heading back to the bedroom.

Niamh was still curled up in bed, sound asleep.
I slid under the covers beside her.

I tossed and turned in hopes of finding a position I would magically fall asleep in.
Maybe this time I wouldn't be plagued by nightmares, but I doubted it – I could still smell the whiskey, even though I knew it wasn't possible.

So, I closed my eyes and prayed whatever benevolent deity was out there – if there really was one – for some dreamless sleep, even though I doubted the wish would be granted.

Peaceful sleep wasn't something familiar to me.
It never had been.
Not without the pills.

So when I fell asleep, I wasn't even surprised about what my subconscious had in store for me.

I was in the backseat of a car, with the broken seatbelt hanging loosely against my chest.
When I looked outside my window, the only thing I could make out through the pouring rain make were a few lights and nearby cars.

The radio was on, playing Vienna by Billy Joel.
Clara was humming softly beside me, swinging her legs like she always did when she was restless.

I turned my head toward her, but her face was blurred.
Ma's too.
Da's.

I blinked hard, trying to focus, but they remained hazy.
Still, I knew it was them.

I knew, because I could feel the warmth of Ma's presence in the front seat.
I could hear the way Da's fingers drummed against the wheel in time with the music.
I could sense Clara's excitement, even if I couldn't see her eyes.
And I also knew what was coming next.

I braced myself.
No matter how loud Vienna played, I still heard it.
The sharp intake of breath.
The tension in Da's hands as he gripped the wheel.
The muttered curse under his breath.
The blare of a car horn, close to us.
Too close.

Then, screams erupted from all around me, who knows – I may have been screaming too.
The world turned sideways.
And the car crashed.

Pain erupted everywhere and the next time I opened my eyes I was lying on the cold, wet asphalt in the middle of the road, feeling like my back was on fire.

I smelled gasoline mixed with something stronger – something irony.
Blood.
Lots of blood.
Everywhere.

Something warm and wet trickled down my forehead.
I couldn't tell if it was the rain or some more blood – probably both.

The car was totalled, twisted in ways it shouldn't have been.
The hood was crumpled like paper, the metal twisted and mangled and the windshield was shattered.

A shape slumped against the dashboard.
Another, motionless in the driver's seat.
A small, limp figure half-hanging out of the open door.

No, no.

I tried to move, tried to drag myself forward, but my body wouldn't listen.
I clawed at the asphalt, trying to use my arms to move.

I had to get to them.
They couldn't be dead.
They couldn't.

"Clara?" I asked. "Ma? Da?"

No answer.
And it wouldn't come.

A scream tore through me, raw and desperate–

I woke up.
My body jolted upright, my breath fast and uneven.
The room was dark.
Quiet.

But my ears were still ringing with the echoes of a car horn.
I pressed a hand over my mouth, willing my breathing to slow, willing the shaking in my limbs to stop.

I couldn't stay in that bed any longer.
If I did, I would only wake Niamh with my hyperventilating.
So, I got up and headed downstairs.

Tea.
Tea would help.

Unsurprisingly, I found Gibsie still asleep on the couch.
In an effort not to wake him, I didn't turn on any of the lights in the kitchen and tried to figure out where the kettle was with what little came light came through the windows.

I only realised that was a bad idea when I managed to make a pot fall over, causing quite the ruckus – but, at least I didn't wake Gibsie.

After a minute, I crouched down to retrieve the pot and that's when I heard footsteps and the kitchen door opening.

I tensed.