It was the last thought she had before drifting off.
In the dark, she returned to her nightmare.
A black sedan came around the corner as it always did. The bright yellow rubber chicken in the rear-view seemed sharp and bright in the dream, more real than the street on which she stood.
I should be grateful for that thing. Without it, I'd have never known.
The car windows facing her father and Keisha's dad rolled down. The muzzles of guns appeared.
Warn them, Kyara. Save them.
She didn't, though. As in real life, when she'd been unsure what was happening, Kyara didn't begin to scream until the first, terrible shots.
Not again.
The sound of the gun blasts filled the streets, a hundred times louder than on TV, or even than when it happened just a few blocks away. Still screaming, Kyara pulled Keisha into her arms, pulling her into the nearby alley. Behind her, windows and bits of concrete exploded into shards and dust.
Don't make me see it again. Please. I can't do it again.
The screech of tires and sudden absence of shots was all that signaled the end of the attack. Kyara held Keisha close, the little girl sobbing into her arms.
"It's okay, baby. Everything's gonna be alright," she assured the girl.
No, it won't. Never again.
She looked down at the child, ready to sooth her. Droplets of blood, a bright, terrifying red, stood out like terrible jewels against the brown of her skin and spread in slow, oozing patches of darkness across the purple of her shirt.
You're fine, Kyara screamed at her unhearing dream self. Go to him. Check on him.
Kyara quickly checked Keisha, but the girl, other than being terrified, seemed fine. Kyara held her for a moment, soothing her with blood spattered hands.
It was the silence, Kyara remembered. Too silent. Too final.
Slowly, Kyara turned back to the street.
Not this time. Please, let him be safe this time. Let him be alive.
But he wasn't. At first, she had trouble figuring out what she was seeing. The broken figure lying on the ground looked so small. It lay draped over another, equally twisted figure, like a pile of discarded coats. Blood pooled slowly out from both of them.
Maybe that was why it had taken her so long to recognize her father as the man laying on top, blood slowly staining his neatly pressed suit.
* * * * *
Kyara woke feeling smothered. He sobs came, harsh and painful in the night air. Her voice sounded broken, like a child lost and searching, not knowing where to look next.
Jason held her close, crooning soft words into her ear.
"Kyara. Kyara, it's alright. You're OK. I'm here. It was just a dream. I'm here."
Tears still running down her cheeks, Kyara turned and buried her face in his chest. He held her, rocking slightly, while she wept into his arms.
Kyara wasn't sure how much time passed before her tears were finally spent. She let them come, giving them up to the strength of his arms and the feel of his warmth beneath her cheek.
For a while afterward she just lay there, exhausted. She let herself get lost in the rhythm of his breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the sound of his heartbeat.
Eventually, though, it had to end. He stirred, moving his hand to gently rub her back.
"That happen often?" he asked quietly, his breath tickling her hair.