Her Terrifying Love

Part 62

Lyla needed evidence that she was trapped in a nightmare, confirmation that the ghoulish specter of Keenan wedged between her bedroom door and the wall was nothing more than a monstrous fabrication, a manifestation of her unbearable guilt.

"You're not real," she whispered.

His fiery eyes seemed to be leering out from behind a gruesome mask with a crooked smile fixed in place. Though the image paralyzed her, she dared not look away, convinced that their locked gazes created a barrier that prevented him from bursting from his shadowy cocoon.

She felt as though there were holes in her feet through which she was slowly emptying out, that she was becoming a hollow, fragile container that would hold nothing more than her violently pounding heart.

Keenan raised his arm pointing a twisted finger at the ring and opened his mouth.

She recognized the groaning, the heavy breathing, and gasping she'd heard on her phone. She heard the death rattle clattering around inside his deflated lungs.

An animalistic cry spewed from her mouth, a wounded howl that scorched her throat and burned her tongue widened the wicked grin on Keenan's face.

The ceiling light illuminated and her father rushed in.

"Lyla! Honey!"

Her screams subsided when Ryan folded her into his arms.

"He was standing right there!" She pointed.

"Who was?"

"Keenan," she gulped.

Ryan looked around the room.

"There's no one here. Just you and me."

"He was standing right there!" Her voice cracked, then was drowned by tears.

Her dad ran his palms across the surface of the walls behind the door. He inspected the floor.

"There's no one here. See? Nobody."

"Don't you smell that?" She grimaced, wiping her wet cheeks with her forearm.

"You want me to open the window?"

She shook her head "no" then clung to his arm, following him out into the hallway. He leaned forward and listened.

"Nothing," he said. "I don't see a thing."

She released her grip on his sleeve and he descended the stairs to the entryway. She tip-toed to the end of the hallway, turned on the bathroom light, and poked her head in. Too frightened to glance into the mirror, she zipped out into the hall, unable to blot Keenan's ghastly image from her mind. Her dad climbed the stairs.

"The front door and back door are both locked. No one broke in. Let's get you back into bed."

He escorted her into her bedroom where she slipped under the covers still trembling.

"Bad dream is all," he patted her leg. He wheeled Lyla's desk chair to a position beside the bed and sat. "You go to sleep now. I'll be right here."

She nuzzled her pillow. "I think the last time you did this..." She cut off her remark. They couldn't make eye contact, the memory still too painful.

"You want the desk lamp on or off?" he asked.

"On," she answered emphatically.

Lyla closed her eyes, peeking occasionally to ensure that her dad was still there. It wasn't long before she had drifted off to sleep. Although she slept for only five hours, she enjoyed the most restful night of sleep in nearly a month.