9. The White Wolf
I awakened, twitching violently as I startled myself fully conscious in a single moment. The bedsheets around me were cold and clammy, disgustingly sticking to my skin, indicating that I had sweat profusely throughout the night. My heartbeat raced dangerously, my lungs were powerfully churning air even as it burned in my throat, and my mind was wandering in a thousand terrifying directions simultaneously.
For the first time in my life, I had woken up and had a picture-perfect, crystal-clear recollection of a dream. I never dreamed. Perhaps once a year, at most, would I even remember having experienced a dream, and even then, I wouldn’t remember what had happened. I could recall exactly what I had experienced the previous night, and it terrified me. Someone, or more accurately, something, had tried to contact me in a way that wouldn’t be traceable or recordable. I had accepted their solicitation and allowed them into me. It had made sense in the mind-numbing quasi-reality I had endured.
The worst part of the morning was what I saw when I opened my eyes and looked around the bedroom. I found two sets of aghast irises looking back. One green set, concerned yet determined, adjacent to a pale blue pair filled with longing and regret, with tears forming at the edges. I tried to speak and found my mouth dry and scratchy, no words forthcoming.
Beth took the opportunity and spoke softly, “Are you back with us?”
I coughed and rubbed my eyes, trying to clear the insanity from my mind. It was in no hurry to depart.
“What do you mean? Did I leave?”
Beth shook her head, “No, you had some kind of freak out. Started mumbling a couple hours ago, enough to wake me up. I didn’t think anything about it until you started seizing and crying out in pain.”
The tears on the precipice of Sam’s eyes came forth freely, and she said, “I thought you were being attacked by someone. I thought you were dying. Please tell me you’re okay. Please.” Her final utterance had the hoarse quality of someone honestly begging and beyond their wit's end.
The anguish evident in her voice physically hurt me, and I realized that while I was still in bed, they had kept their distance cautiously. I lifted my arm and motioned them to me, and I was instantly pinned back down onto the bed as a hysterical Sam leaped into my arms. Beth took a decidedly more conservative route, walking around the bed and sliding across it into my other arm. I could recognize through our connection that she was reassured that I was alright and felt that we needed to work together to comfort Sam.
Sam clung onto my shoulders and lay directly on my chest as she attempted to control herself. Her tears slowed, and she held me tightly, her face pressed firmly into my neck. For the first time since I woke, I noticed what she was wearing: a snug, wispy crop tank top and a lacy pair of hipster panties. I assumed that was what she used as pajamas and that Beth had gotten her directly from bed. I tried to simply hold her, brushing her back with my hand to comfort her and ignore the feeling of her supple flesh against my body with only the barely perceptible clothing separating us.
As she practically burrowed into my chest, her breathing gradually calmed. Another minute passed, and I fought to not recognize the absurdity of having a scantily clad woman I had yearned after for years clinging onto me in my bed without anyone trying to get us here. I didn’t want to have that kind of reaction now. I still wasn’t confident where Sam and I stood, especially after the Zoey bombshell was dropped on her.
Surprisingly, Sam spoke first, asking a provocative question of Beth, “Why are you so calm? How are you not freaking out? I thought you said you loved him.” Her final sentence had a level of venom I hadn’t anticipated and which was wholly uncalled for.
Beth smiled patiently, allowing the barbed comment to pass right by, and brought her hand to cup Sam’s face as she responded, “I can feel his mind, remember? He isn’t freaking out. He also isn’t full of his usual doubts, so maybe you should come in here crying every morning.”
Sam tightened her gaze onto Beth, the comments failing to lighten the mood as intended. I brushed some of Sam’s hair out of her face and cupped her cheek, returning her focus to me.
“Are you alright to talk now? I have questions about what happened — what you saw and what I experienced.”
Sam nodded, not recovered to her baseline but clear enough to discuss what she and Beth had seen.
I looked at the clock and tried to steady my mind. The dream I had experienced was still clear in my memory — more evidence that it wasn’t a simple dream — but I hadn’t felt like I was truly interacting with something. I felt like I was watching a recording of myself making decisions, except that I had no recollection of making them until after I saw them displayed openly.
The clock said that it was after seven am. I had two hours and some change before meeting Zoey at the gym for a workout and, hopefully, a flying lesson. Plenty of time for an honest discussion. The time also suggested that it would be reasonable for everyone else to be up, especially if they had heard Beth and Sam reacting earlier.
I called out towards the doorway, “Cynthia! Could I bother you for a few minutes?”
Sam tensed up on top of me, her arms tightening the grip that had only begun to loosen. Beth calmly grabbed one of my shirts and draped it over herself, entirely consumed by the unsuitably large garment. I pulled the blanket of the bed up and over myself, covering three-quarters of the three of us.
Sam met my eyes, absolute panic in her eyes. She hissed out, “What are you doing? Mom’s going to think…”
Beth whispered back, “Isn’t that exactly what we want her to think?”
Sam’s terrified eyes ricocheted between the two of us, unable to make an utterance in response and frozen in place. That place was straddling me in bed, a hair's breadth away from nude, with her mother seconds away from entering the room.
Cynthia’s footsteps filled the hall, her light footfalls the only sound aside from Sam’s racing heartbeat. An excruciating moment later, Cynthia stood in the doorway, carefully and gracefully opening the door. When she recognized what she saw in the room, her eyebrow raised precisely as it had last night.
She confidently continued, bypassing any awkward moment, and sat down in the office chair for the desk, spinning it to face the three of us in the bed.
