It was clear Isabelle was dreaming. She was thrashing on the bed, fighting her way toward consciousness.
Andy didn’t know what it felt like to wake from dreaming. From what she’d been told it was like wading through black mud, struggling to breathe while the thick liquid seeped into your ears, mouth, and nose.
From what she’d observed, slipping into the dream was easy, living through it okay, but getting out was like escaping from a prison that did everything to keep you there.
She’d hoped Isabelle wouldn’t dream when she’d put her in bed. But now she was.
Fuck it.
Andy sat on the floor in the corner, glaring at the mirror on the opposite wall.
The intercom crackled. “Help her.”
It was her mother.
“You come and help her,” Andy said, crooking her finger to invite her mother into the room. “You put her here.”
Silence.
Isabelle screamed.
Andy closed her eyes.
“Help her. Dammit, Andy!” her mother shouted.
The scream became gargled, as if Isabelle was choking.
Andy swore, stood up, and rushed to the bed. She slipped in behind Isabelle, catching her arms by the wrists, crossing them over her breasts and holding her tight.
“Shh,” she whispered. “Breathe, just breathe. Take a deep breath and come back.”
Isabelle’s body stiffened at the invasion, then fought hers. Andy tightened her grip, anchoring her legs around Isabelle’s feet. She held on as Isabelle bucked, shouted something, and then finally calmed down.
“There you go. Come back. Come back.”
She listened to Isabelle’s breathing as she relaxed in her arms, the feverish heat seeping into Andy’s skin. She smoothed the white dress down around Isabelle’s legs.
Isabelle was a natural, snug fit against her own body.
“It’s okay to come back,” Andy whispered. “It’s okay. You can let go and come back.”
Isabelle’s breathing slowed, becoming deeper. Then she drew one single sharp breath and Andy knew she was awake.
Her eyes remained closed.
“Are you nauseous?”
Isabelle managed a single word. “Yes.”
“What if you open your eyes?”
“Rather not.” Her voice was like gravel.
Andy looked at the two-way mirror, realizing she’d lost the battle. “Let me out so that I can help her.”
Claire waited outside for her, Taser in hand. Her mother was nowhere to be seen.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to run.”
“We’ll see about that.” Claire pointed to somewhere behind Andy. “Kitchen’s that way.”
* * *
The arms holding her had been nice. She missed their strong, comforting presence. Same for the calm, steady voice that had lured her back from the thick sludge that had threatened to drown her. That had made her claw her way back to this room with its green door and double bed.
Isabelle lay perfectly still, eyes closed, world reeling, her stomach in uproar, until a wonderful smell stirred her senses.
“Can you sit up and take a sip?”
It was Andy.
“I’ll try.”
She didn’t know why, but she trusted her. She struggled upright, the sheets tangled around her legs.
“Take it easy. Slowly.” The voice was gentle, concerned.
She sipped the thick, lukewarm liquid that hit her stomach like a bolt of medicine. She sighed in satisfaction, opening her eyes. The world eddied, then settled, much sooner than was usually the case.
“Oh, this is so good. What is it?” Isabelle reached for the glass in Andy’s hand.
More. She wanted more.
Andy stood back so that she couldn’t reach. “Can you try to get up?”
Isabelle looked at the glass, the gray, muddy liquid swirled with red. She frowned. “What is that?”
Andy smiled, her eyes traveling from Isabelle’s face to her body as if she were making sure she was okay. Isabelle smoothed down her dress, pushed up around her hips, blushing. She didn’t want to think why this woman made every nerve stand on end.
She swung her bare feet over the bed.
Andy edged closer. “Here, put them on my boots.”
Isabelle looked at her as if she didn’t understand.
Andy shrugged. “Don’t ask me why. Sometimes it helps.”
“We’ve got…” Isabelle struggled to get the words past her lips. “We’ve got to talk about you and all of this. Seriously.”
“I know.”
She placed her bare feet on Andy’s shoes. She felt anchored as Andy handed her the glass, her proximity providing the comfort her body craved. She reached for Andy’s hips, but stopped before she touched the black jeans.
She wanted more. She wanted the heat of Andy’s skin. She wanted…
Blood rushed to her face again.
“Delicious,” she said, looking at her feet on the worn combat boots. “What is it?”
“Raw beef, strawberries, and tomatoes in a blender. I added some thyme. I find it helps to take the edge off.”
“Uggh.”
A soft smile, a cocked eyebrow. “Be glad you didn’t have to make it.”
“I am. I like the thyme.”
“Thanks. Can you get up?” Andy asked again.
Isabelle moved closer to the edge of the bed and shifted her feet to the concrete floor. “I think so.”
It was amazing how much better she felt after the previous times she’d dreamed. Better yet was the realization that Andy knew and understood what had happened. In fact, it almost felt as if she respected the dream.
Her.
“How do you… Do you know about the dreams?” she asked as she stood up from the bed, her body flush against Andy’s, still slightly off balance.
“We’ll talk about that in a minute. First we have to get you out of here.”
“They’ll never let us out.”
“Oh, I think they will.”
“How do you know that?”
Andy sighed. The sound reverberated through her tall body. Isabelle had the urge to drop her head on Andy’s shoulder, to taste her skin, to bite into her shoulder as she moved against…
She fell back down on the bed again, fighting the need that felt so primitive and raw. Ancient. She rolled her eyes at her own thoughts. Right.
Andy crouched next to her. “Are you okay?” Her voice was low, concerned.
The steel door that trapped them in the concrete room opened. An older, tall woman, bearing a striking resemblance to Andy, walked in. She crossed her arms over a tight blue top, a multitude of golden bracelets dangling from her arms. She smiled, and for a moment Isabelle could see what it would look like if Andy really smiled—broad, reassuring, begging you to trust her completely and without question.
But she didn’t trust the smile. Not on this woman. She wore it callously.
Isabelle struggled to her feet, resting her hand on Andy’s arm to keep her balance. Andy waited until she was steady, then turned to the older woman. “I’ll take her through this dream, but then I’m leaving.”
“All of it. Start to finish?” asked the older woman. Her eyes were as black as night as they weighed Andy, Isabelle.
“Yes.”
“Okay.” She stepped toward Isabelle, reaching out to shake her hand. “My name is Kate. I’m sorry about all of this, but I really had no other choice.”
Isabelle recognized the older voice from the intercom. She unmoored from Andy, pulled back her fist, and smashed it into Kate’s face.