“Are you related to them?”
“Why do you ask?” Ginny tilted her head questioningly.
“Seems like the Porters and the Hayes aren’t the only ones who aren’t against sneak attacks.”
Mischievously, Ginny got his meaning. “My brothers were just welcoming me home.”
“They ambushed me.”
“They were concerned. Which was my fault for not returning their calls.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I was a little distracted.” Reaching out, Ginny tenderly smoothed her thumb along the ridge of his temple. “Sweet man, it worked out for the best. You’re going to enjoy staying here. I’ve been trying to come back since I had to leave. I can finally repay a gift given to me. Good night, Gavin.”
When Ginny walked through the curtained-off doorway, a sense of yearning hit him out of the blue. He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck, as if erasing the feeling of incompleteness and the deep loneliness blanketing him as darkness surrounded the earth at night.
Changing into a pair of shorts, Reaper turned the lights off before climbing into the bed. His movements set the bed swinging back and forth, then it subsided into a barely perceptual rocking motion that stilled when he didn’t move. Rolling over, Reaper set the bed in motion again. He was obviously going to have another restless night.
Fatigue had his muscles twitching from driving for so long, so he got out of bed, paced around the small room, and counted off each footstep.
When the air became too heavy to breathe, he turned off the heater, raised the blinds, and opened two of the six windows.
Gasping in lungsful of deep air, he stood at the window until his sore muscles couldn’t hold him up any longer. Then he slid down to the floor, resting his back on the lower portion of the wall below the window.
Feeling the sweat drying on his skin from the cold air but too tired to close the windows, he started to make his way back to the bed. Feeling lethargic, he stopped trying to make himself move. If he still believed in God, he would pray to go to sleep and never wake up.
Maybe you should pray, he thought sarcastically to himself. He’s never answered one damn prayer before. Why put me out of misery now?
Falling to the side, he felt the rough texture of the indoor/outdoor carpet against his face and body. Sleep finally gave him the respite from the torture chamber of his thoughts.
Reliving explicit images of what had been done to him and those he had committed under the influence of the drugs had him writhing on the floor, trying to escape the memories he couldn’t escape from in sleep. Sleep made the recollections worse. They couldn’t be pushed away or combatted against, caging his mind in a never-ending nightmare playing out each time he went to sleep. Sleep had become his new tormentor, replacing Slate in the ability to make him not want to endure another day.
Unconsciously, his hands clawed at the carpet, dreaming about digging out the hole that he had hidden under his cot. He was going to make it out … keep digging … the frame repeated over and over….
Warmth covered him in a soft cocoon, pressing him down, stilling his restless movements. Comforting heat drove out the aching coldness, allowing him to slip into a deeper sleep, one without nightmares. The scent of sunflowers replaced the filth he had been trying not breathe in. He felt the perfumed scent sink into every pore of his being, as if he could never wash it away regardless of how many times he tried.
He imagined himself sleeping on a hammock, swaying in the sun with someone singing in the background. God had finally answered his prayers … this was how he had always imagined heaven …. The voice banishing the memories as if they never existed.
A burning sensation had him lifting heavy-lidded eyes and raising a hand to swat away the irritating sensation. He wasn’t ready to wake. Just five more minutes … Just five more blissful minutes and he would get up.
Turning on his side, he shoved the pillow under his head more comfortably. The rocking motion came with the dawning awareness that yet another of his prayers hadn’t come true. Jerking himself upright, he found himself on the swinging bed with a thick blanket on top of him.
The vague memory of sleeping with the swaying motion underneath him kept his fear in check. He must have been so out of it that he didn’t remember switching from floor to the bed.
The heat of the sun hitting his face was what had woken him, not the sudden swinging motion of the bed.
Getting out of bed, he stretched languidly, twisting his upper body left and right. His muscles moved supplely with ease, the soreness gone.
After getting himself showered and ready, he headed into the kitchen and poured himself some coffee. Not hungry, he decided to check out the vast property Ginny grew up on. Strolling to the side of the house, he saw a target nailed to a tree trunk. Exploring over a small rise, he found a fort built out of small logs. Reaper could imagine hours of enjoyment the boys would have spent outside. A firepit close by would have provided additional entertainment roasting marshmallows. Every step, he discovered more of the happy childhood they must have spent together. The Colemans’ land had been their playground; the siblings, their playmates, and confidants.