and a horse called Straton

Chapter 23

A/N
So sorry it's short.

Footsteps went past her door. They turned into hoofbeats, the rearing. Hitting flesh, opening it and leaving him to bleed. Caitlyn turned. "Loving son and friend," the words echoed, louder and louder until they were deafening. "Stop.." Her own voice that time. "This is your fault. I loved you..." A dark eyed Luke spoke to her, his eyes staring into her soul.

"I'm sorry!"

"Sorry doesn't bring me back. I'm dead. And it's your fault."

"I'm sorry! I-I didn't want this! No one was there, I didn't know what to do!"

"Your fault!" That wasn't Luke's voice, it was deep, contorted and downright eerie.

Her own sobs pulled her from the nightmare, covered in a layer of sweat from the nightmare. She ran a hand through her greasy hair, trying to steady her trembling breaths. Footsteps stopped at her door. "Y'alright?"

"Fine Dad," her voice cracked slightly and sounded like she'd been screaming. It felt like she had as well.

"You were screaming." There we go.

"Nightmare."

The footsteps continued into the kitchen. Caitlyn exhaled slowly and dragged her hands down her face. What was going on? What happened had already gone but she couldn't get rid of it and no one would listen. No one would understand. Why was this happening to her?

Her hands came away wet with tears. One look at them made her frown. Crying? She almost never cried. She had no reason to anymore. "Toughen up," she muttered to herself. Why was she acting so irrational?

The pain from the nightmare still throbbed in her chest. Least there hadn't been another one of those, things, whatever they were.  Thoughts paraded around about what happened.

What seemed like an eternity later, she managed to get out of bed. Silence hung in the kitchen. She tiptoed across the floor, almost afraid of disturbing the lone dust bunnies that hung beneath the table and at the base of benches. Nothing had been cleaned for a while.

The flip of the kettle made her jump, despite turning it on herself. The bubbling and whistling of the kettle made her glance over. The kettle had finished. But once she got the banged up tin out she felt sick. Then looking at the coffee she felt sick. Everything made her nauseous. So she instead shut the cupboards and went back to her room.

The bed sat in the corner and taunted her but she ignored it, instead forcing herself to walk to the cupboard. Once she was dressed and had pulled her hat past her bloodshot eyes, she walked outside and met Straton in the paddock.

He came galloping towards her and plowed to a stop a metre from where she stood. The gelding pressed his large head into her chest and left it there. Caitlyn held a tight hold on her lip for a few minutes, holding herself together through the sharp pain.

But then the pain tore through her fragile front. A quiet sob left her red lips. Then another. Then they tumbled over each other in torrents. His head never moved from her chest. He understood. Someone did. He did. He wasn't going to leave her.

The realisation made her suck in a sob that made her hiccup. "Thank you," she muttered. "Thank you."