Tuesday, 12:24 a.m. PST
She is dreaming again. She doesn't want to. She wrestles with the sheets, tosses her head, tries to keep the dream version of herself from walking up those stairs, from opening that door, from entering the gloom.
She wakes up stuffing the scream back into her throat, eyes bulging and still seeing things she doesn't want to see. Reality returns in slow degrees, as she registers the gray-washed walls, the dark-eyed windows, the empty side of the bed.
She heads for the bathroom, sticking her head under the faucet and gulping mouthfuls of lukewarm water. She can still hear the rain thundering outside. It seems like it has been raining forever this November, but maybe that's only her state of mind.
She goes into the kitchen. Note's still on the table. Seven days later, she doesn't read it anymore, but can't quite bring herself to throw it away.
Refrigerator inventory time: yogurt, tuna fish, pineapple, eggs. She grabs the eggs, then realizes they expired two weeks ago.
Screw it, she goes back to bed.
Same dream, same images, same visceral scream.
One a.m., she gets up for good. She showers, scrounges for clean clothes, then stares at her gaunt reflection in the mirror.
"How do you spell fuckup? R-A-I-N-I-E."
She goes for a drive.
YOU ARE READING
GONE
Mystery / ThrillerWHEN SOMEONE YOU LOVE VANISHES WITHOUT A TRACE... For ex-FBI profiler Pierce Quincy, it's the beginning of his worst nightmare. A car has just been found abandoned on a desolate stretch of Oregon highway, engine running, a woman's purse on the drive...
