Ramsey jerked up in bed, breathing hard, sweat sheening his forehead, and covered his face with his hands. So much blood, as if it had rained blood, “It’s all right, Ramsey.”
It was Emma. She was sitting beside him, her small fingers lightly stroking his forearm. “It’s all right. It was a nightmare, a bad one, like mine sometimes. Don’t worry. I won’t leave you, not until you’re okay again.”
“Emma,” he said, surprised that he could even get the word out of his mouth. He swung his legs off the side of the bed, pulled the little girl onto his legs, and drew her close.
“I heard you,” she said against his shoulder. “I was scared for you.”
“Thank you for coming. It was a bad one. It happened three months ago. I haven’t dreamed about it for several weeks now.”
“I’m sorry it came back. What was it, Ramsey?” “I had to kill someone, Emma.”
She drew back and gazed up at him. His eyes were used to the darkness and he could see her clearly. She looked at him with calm and utter certainty. “You must have had to, that’s all. Did they deserve it?”
He stared down into that child’s face with her eyes that had felt far too much pain and seen horrible evil. He owed her the truth.
“Yes,” he said slowly, never looking away from her. “They deserved it. They broke into my courtroom. They had guns. They wanted to free the drug dealers the jury had just found guilty. They started shooting jurors. So I stopped the carnage.”
“What’s carnage?”
“Emma? What are you doing here, love?”
She turned toward the door. “Mama, Ramsey had a nightmare. I heard him and knew he needed me. He dreamed about carnage.”
Molly blinked at that.
“Hello, Molly,” Ramsey said. “I’m okay now. Emma’s made me see things a bit differently.”
“Can we help you get to sleep, Ramsey?”
“I smell like sweat, Emma. You don’t want to stay close to a sweaty guy.”
“You’re drying off, Ramsey. It’s not too bad.” Emma yawned, her head falling forward to Ramsey’s chest. He looked toward Molly, who was standing in the doorway, wearing a white sleep shirt that had across the front in blue lettering, F-Stops Are My Specialty.
Molly shrugged. “Why not? Emma and I can stay on top of the covers. Here’s another blanket I can cover us with. I’m surprised I didn’t hear you. I just realized Emma was gone a moment ago.”
As Molly climbed in next to Ramsey, pulling Emma next to her, she said, “Next time it’ll be my turn to have a nightmare.”
“Are you all right, Ramsey?”
“I’m much better now, Em, that you’re here.”
“Tell me about the nightmare, Ramsey,” Emma said, leaning up over her mother. “Mama says it helps when you say everything out loud,” and he did. It was easier this time.
Molly said, “How did they get into the courthouse with guns?”
“A guard was bribed. He’s in jail.” He felt himself begin to ease. He had no more words. The shadows were reclaiming the blood and the death.
“Yes, I remember now. That was in the articles I read. Well, it’s over now. Does your back hurt?”
“No. It wasn’t much of a burn, Molly.”
“Good,” Molly said. Emma was breathing deeply in sleep. Molly lightly touched her hand to his shoulder. “I’m very glad you weren’t hurt.”
He tightened like a spring. He cleared his throat and said, “I’m sorry I’m sweaty.”
“There are three blankets between you and us. You haven’t sweated them through.”
He heard Emma’s rhythmic breathing. She’d crashed. He hated himself, but he couldn’t stop the words. “Tell me about your little brother, Molly.”
He felt her stiffen, then felt the whisper of her sigh in the silence. “He was such a sweet little boy. He was just ten years old that summer. He was a good swimmer, which was why I was on the dock, not really paying all that much attention. I was probably thinking about some thirteen-year-old boy, I was just about at that age. Then he was yelling and going under. I swam to him as fast as I could but he never woke up.