The Last Nightmare **Completed**

part III

Immediately my insides come out, and  I vomit, careless of the carpet beneath me. Suddenly the room is cold, despite the sweat that is now dripping down my back. I collapse to the ground beside my mothers head. My hands tremble as I check her pulse.
Nothing.
"Mom," I sob. "Mom wake up! I'm so sorry."
Salty tears moisten my cheeks and I bite my lip so hard it begins to bleed. I turn to my sister, who's body lays limp beside my mother.
"Claire," I whisper, my hands placed gently on her cheeks. Her blue eyes stare vacantly at the ceiling.
She is dead.
My breath is laboured as I stand, unable to grasp the importance of the situation. I lethargically pull on some pants and a black sweatshirt. Time slows as I drag my feet to the bathroom and rinse my bloody hands in the sink.
My reflection shows a boy whose blonde hair badly needs a trim and whose eyes are red and puffy with tears. This is me, but all I can think of is who are you, and what have you done?
I don't know what happened, nor if I ever will. But if the women lying motionless on my bedroom floor are my fault, I know I will never be able to live with myself.
Taking shaky steps down the stairs, I try to control my sobs with a hand over
my mouth.
Before I step out of the front door, I take a deep breath and put on a brave face. I can't look guilty, not now, not ever.
The sunlight blinds me as I step onto the empty porch.
As I make my way down the cracked concrete sidewalk, a sob threatens to escape from inside of me. I gulp it down. Luke's house, I tell myself. You just need to make it to Luke's house before breaking down.
The walk feels unbearably long, but eventually I make it to the old brick home that houses my best friend.
I stumble aimlessly up the porch steps and burst open the door, not bothering even to knock. That was a formality Luke and I said our farewells to years ago.
At the sound, Luke emerges from the kitchen, an alarmed expression printed across his face. His dark hair falls freely around his piercing green eyes, his eyebrows knit together in sympathy.
"Ethan?" he says, rushing to my side. "What's going on? Are you okay?"
I know my face is white as a ghost and my composure is falling apart. I can't seem to find words to describe what happened. Luke looks more concerned than I've ever seen him, and suddenly I have reservations. What if he hates me? I wonder. What if he hates me once I tell him what I've done?
"Ethan?" he asks again.
I can't answer. I stare down at the dusty wood floor and the shoes scattered through the entryway.
"Come," Luke says, walking ahead of me down the cramped hall and into his room. I follow, glancing around as he closes the door behind us.
"Speak," he demands.
I look him in the eye and we lock gazes for a moment. A sob escapes from my mouth and this time I don't try to stop it. Again I cover my mouth with my hand and and fall to the floor. Luke doesn't say a word, which I'm thankful for.
After a few minutes, I finally look up, tears blurring my vision. Luke is sitting on his bed, looking down at me.
He must think I've gone crazy, I think. There's a lot of things I don't do, but crying is at the top of that list. I don't think Luke's ever seen me cry. But if he knew why, he wouldn't be so shocked.
"Tell me if you want to," he says calmly, not demanding anything from me.
I nod and exhale slowly.
"You know that dream I was telling you about?" I start cautiously.
"Yea, the one where those guys
break in and you stab them both?"
"Uh, yep. Thats the one."
"What about it?" he asks.
"I dreamed it again last night. But this time..." I bite my lip to keep from crying more. And then I whisper in a voice so quiet I can barely hear, "They're dead. Mom and Claire. They're dead."