© Sahar’s Blog
This wasn’t the first time it had happened, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. It was a terrible thing to go through, but that wasn’t my biggest problem. While it was hard enough on me, what I really couldn’t stand was how hard it was on Talya.
“Where were you this time?” she asked. She looked worried sick; it was an expression I didn’t like on her face, even less when it was caused by me.
“In an abandoned barn, a few miles away.”
I looked down at my dirty, shoeless feet. “Probably.”
She followed my gaze, then gasped. “You’re bleeding again.”
She threw the covers off and flew out of bed, catching my hand and dragging me behind her on the way to the bathroom. We stayed silent as we cleaned and bandaged my feet for the third time this month, each nursing our own troubled thoughts. Talya was such an incredible woman. I was happy and proud to call her my wife. Had the tables been turned, I probably wouldn’t have been able to handle my wife’s mysterious nightly excursions into random areas of town where she would have walking nightmares involving murders, mutilations, rapes and other horrible things with as much grace.
That is what had been happening to me lately, and it scared the living daylights out of me. It was starting to seriously affect me in my day to day life. I couldn’t sleep, my appetite was taking a plunge (as was my weight) and my performance at work was suffering.
But Talya… She was scared, that was certain, but her head remained screwed tightly in place. Ironically enough, what made me less efficient made her more so; I had never seen her achieve this much in this short amount of time ever in the 10 years we had known each other. Ever the scientist, she had even started a chart on me – chart that I started supplying to myself a couple of weeks later. I had refused to do so sooner, hoping this would just disappear. No use denying the presence of something that wasn’t bound to go anywhere anytime soon.
“What did you see?” Talya softly asked. “How bad was it?”
I shuddered. “It wasn’t as bad as usual, but it was still bad.”
I nodded. “A man, in his forties or fifties, killed another man over what looked like drugs.”
“Easier than last week, wasn’t it,” Talya said, trying, as always to look at the bright side, however dim it might be.
“Definitely.” Last week’s dream of the murder of a little child had sent me into a sobbing fit that had lasted long enough for me to lose most of my body warmth. Thankfully, that nightly escapade had happened on a night I had fallen asleep at my desk with a housecoat on, in which I had the habit of tucking my cell phone. I had called up Talya, who had come to pick me up.
I had spent that night standing in the doorway of my four year-old’s bedroom, tears pouring down my face. It had taken every bit of will power for me to drop her off at her play date the next day, as well as to drop my six year-old at school.
“I figured something out last night,” Talya said.
I couldn’t talk; the memory of the child’s mutilated body, whose face would morph into that of my children during the night, was too close to the surface. I just nodded at her, begging her to go on and hopefully put me on the path to recovery.
“Remember that dream you had a couple of weeks ago, about the woman who had been raped then strangled?”
I nodded again.
“She was in the news a couple of years ago.”
My jaw dropped open. “Are you telling me…”
“You might not be having dreams, Sean. They might be visions.”