The nightmare was always the same.
Cece was lying on a cold metal table, her skin blue, her eyes open. She was reaching out her hand, her mouth moving, but no sound came out. And Elinor was running, running down an endless hallway, the walls closing in, never reaching her.
Elinor woke with a gasp, her body drenched in sweat. The bedroom was pitch black, the only sound the hum of the window unit.
Then she heard it. A rustling in the living room.
Her hand shot out, reaching for her phone on the nightstand. Her fingers brushed the empty surface. She must have knocked it off.
The bedroom door creaked open.
Elinor scrambled back against the headboard, her heart in her throat. A silhouette filled the doorway.
Derick.
He stepped into the room, flipping on the bedside lamp. He was carrying three large shopping bags, the kind from high-end boutiques on Fifth Avenue.
"How did you get in?" Elinor demanded, her voice raw.
Derick dangled a brass key from his finger. "A few thousand dollars made the super very cooperative. He had a spare."
He dropped the bags on the floor with a heavy thud. He walked to the closet and pulled it open, looking inside. Empty. He checked under the bed. Nothing.
"Where is she?" he asked, turning back to face her.
Elinor threw the covers off and got out of bed. She shoved him hard in the chest. "Get out! You can't just break into my home!"
Derick grabbed her wrists, holding her at bay. "Where is Cece, Elinor? I bought her things." He gestured to the bags. "New dresses. Toys."
Elinor looked at the bags. She saw the pink tissue paper poking out of one. Pink. Cece's favorite color.
A red haze descended over her vision.
"She's dead!" Elinor screamed. The sound tore from her throat, raw and ragged. "She's dead! She can't wear them! She can't play with them!"
Derick's expression hardened. "Stop the act."
He reached into the bag and pulled out a frilly, pink dress. He shoved it into Elinor's hands. "Put it away. I'm not playing this game."
Elinor stared at the dress. The fabric was soft, expensive. It was the kind of dress Cece would have loved, the kind she would have twirled in.
Elinor dropped the dress on the floor. She brought her foot down on it, grinding the heel of her bare foot into the delicate fabric.
She turned to the other bags. She kicked them over, scattering the boxes. She picked up a stuffed unicorn and ripped its head off, the seams tearing with a loud rrrip. She threw the pieces at Derick.
"You think you can buy her back?" she yelled, her voice breaking. "You think a dress makes you a father?"
Derick stood still, watching her destroy the gifts. His jaw was tight, his eyes unreadable. He didn't try to stop her.
Elinor ran out of things to throw. She stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by torn fabric and broken toys, her chest heaving. Her legs wobbled. The adrenaline was fading, leaving her hollow and weak.
Derick's phone rang.
The cheerful, custom ringtone filled the silence. Kamryn's tone.
Derick pulled the phone from his pocket. He looked at the screen, then at Elinor, who was swaying on her feet.
He answered it. "Kamryn?"
"Derick," Kamryn's voice simpered through the speaker. "Kiana had a nightmare. She's crying for you. Can you come?"
Derick looked at the mess on the floor, at the wife who was staring at him with eyes that held no life. He looked back at the phone.
"I'll be right there," he said.
He hung up. He looked at Elinor. "You need to cool off. I'll be back when you're ready to be rational."
He turned and walked out of the bedroom. The front door opened and closed.
Elinor stared after him. A laugh bubbled up from her chest, a high, keening sound that didn't sound like her. It was the laugh of a woman who had lost everything, even her own mind.
The laugh died in her throat. The room tilted sideways. The edges of her vision went black.
She reached out for the bedpost, but her hand closed on air. Her knees buckcled.
She fell forward, her head striking the corner of the wooden dresser on the way down. A blinding white pain exploded in her skull.
She hit the floor. She felt the warm, wet stickiness spreading beneath her head. She tried to move, but her body wouldn't obey.
The last thing she saw before the darkness took her was a flash of pink fabric on the floor, and a small hand reaching out to her from the shadows.
