Nightmares of Caitlin Lockyer (Nightmares Trilogy) Read Free Page B

noticed anyway.
    "How bad is it? Can I see her?"
    We were in the lounge at the end of the ward. It was only a short walk back to Caitlin's room, but still I hesitated. "Don't touch her," I warned. If she touched her, she'd scream again and I couldn't handle it. I just couldn't.
    "Wh ..." She started to ask a question, but she looked like she was having trouble deciding which to ask first. Why she'd want to touch her, why she couldn't, or even what in hell I was thinking. Instead, she shrugged and followed me back to the hospital room.
    She thought I was crazy. She could be right.
    The guard outside the door looked askance at Chris. I nodded to him and he let her pass unchallenged. Chris didn't acknowledge the police officer at all.
    She stopped just inside the door and stared, looking puzzled.
    I looked closely at Caitlin, trying to work out precisely what Chris was staring at.
    It couldn't be the bruises on Caitlin's pale face. They'd faded to faint shadows now. She looked as beautiful as the first day I'd seen her.
    Caitlin's hands rested by her face on the pillow, each finger individually bandaged and splinted, an IV line slipped between the gauze. The bandages extended down her wrists, like long, white gloves. She wore a hospital-issue nightgown and she'd managed to kick the bedclothes off in her struggle against her nightmares, so everything the scanty nightgown didn't cover was on show. White dressings were stuck to her back, with more on her legs, particularly her ankles and her thighs. Bruises covered her exposed skin in a disturbing rainbow of dark colours.
    Before I could stop her, Chris crossed the room and grabbed Caitlin's sheet. She yanked it up to Caitlin's chin, covering her up almost completely. Her eyes turned to me. "You need to take your own advice."
    I was annoyed at my sister. "It's not like that. Have you ever known me to take advantage of a girl, without her permission?"
    Chris frowned deeply, her eyebrows almost meeting. "She's not like any of the girls you usually bring home. She's younger, more fragile..." She stopped, looking lost for words, before her tone changed abruptly. "How in hell did this little girl survive all that?" She waved a hand over Caitlin's body, encompassing everything now covered by the sheet.
    "No one knows," I told her shortly, sitting heavily on the visitor's chair by Caitlin's bed. "But when she wakes up, it's one of the first things I'll ask her."
    "Yeah, well, I hope that's soon." She paused and looked at Caitlin again. "Or you'll have to adopt her."

10
    Kissed me.
    Two of them.
    Pinned me, forced me, kissed me.
    Why?
    Because I can.
    Nothing you can do to stop me.
    First one smelled and tasted bad.
    Rough. Hurt me. Told me what they'd do later.
    Fear. Cold.
    Wanting to cry.
    Won't show weakness.
    Stuff you.
    Second one ... didn't want to let go.
    Called me beautiful.
    Oh God. Sorry ...

11
    A week without sleep and I was having trouble focussing. I couldn't sleep in Caitlin's bed with her, she'd scream the place down if I slept in my bed or anywhere else, and I couldn't wake her up. I swear I was so exhausted my eyes kept closing of their own accord, but it was only a matter of time before she had another nightmare and woke me.
    "Help me, get me out of here!" Caitlin screamed.
    I tried calling and then shouting her name, begging her to wake up.
    "You promised..." Caitlin sobbed.
    I tried talking over her, saying whatever came into my head. I may as well have talked to myself. She was oblivious to whatever I said.
    "Let me go, you bastard!" Caitlin's hoarse voice hissed as I crossed the room to the bathroom.
    I saturated a face washer with cold water from the bathroom basin and squeezed it out so that it dripped onto her face and neck.
    She started to cry. Her voice was a raw whimper. "Please... so cold. Give me my clothes back. Or a blanket. Get me out of here..."
    I picked up her medical charts, trying to decipher her doctor's scribbled terminology in the hope that it w