Blind Alley - Iris Johansen [21]
She'd smashed all the chains that held her captive before and she wouldn't let death make her a final captive.
Was the ground shaking?
No air.
She fell to her knees.
No!
She struggled up and lunged forward. Which way? It was too dark to—
She turned right.
“No, that's a blind alley. This way.”
He was standing in the tunnel behind her. Tall, shadowy but she knew who it was, damn him. “Get out of my way. Do you think I'd trust you?”
“There's no time to do anything else.” He held out his hand. “Come with me. I'll show you the way.”
She'd never take his hand again. Never trust him to—
She staggered down the tunnel.
“Come back!”
“The hell I will.” Her voice was only a whisper from a throat that was painfully dry.
Run.
Hurry.
Live.
But how could she live when there was no air?
“Dammit, Jane, wake up!”
She was being shaken. Eve again, she realized sluggishly. Eve afraid. Eve trying to save her from the dream that was no dream. Didn't she know that she had to stay here? It was her duty to—
“Jane!”
The tone was demanding and Jane slowly opened her lids.
Eve's face was taut with alarm.
“Hi,” Jane murmured. “Sorry . . .”
“That's not good enough.” Eve's voice was as alarmed as her expression. “I've had my fill of this.” She stood up and headed for the door. “Get on your robe and come out on the porch. We need to talk.”
“It's only a nightmare, Eve. I'm okay.”
“I know about nightmares and there's nothing okay about them. Not when they happen every night. Come out on the porch.” She didn't wait for Jane to answer.
Jane slowly sat up and shook her head to clear it. She was still logy and half-dazed and the last thing she needed was to confront Eve with a fuzzy head. She went to the bathroom and splashed cold water in her face.
That was better. . . .
Except for her lungs that were still tight and burning from the night with no air.
That would go away soon and so would the lingering panic.
She drew a deep breath, grabbed her robe from the bed, and shrugged into it as she walked down the hall toward the porch.
Eve was sitting on the swing. “At least you look awake now.” She handed her a cup of hot chocolate. “Drink it. It's chilly out here.”
“We could go inside.”
“I don't want to wake Joe. He'd think I'm exaggerating your problem. Hell, he might not even see it as a problem. He's all for patience and letting you work it out for yourself.”
“Maybe he's right.” She sipped her hot chocolate and then sat down on the top porch step. “I don't see it as a problem.”
“Well, I do. And it's up to you to convince me I'm wrong.” She lifted her cup to her lips. “By telling me what the devil you're dreaming about.”
She made a face. “Chill, Eve. It's not as if I'm suffering some deep psychological trauma that's connected with you or Joe or even the way I grew up.”
“How do I know that? How do you know that? Dreams aren't always clear and they can be interpreted in a number of different ways.”
“Yeah, by some shrink who gets paid a couple hundred dollars an hour to make dumb guesses.”
“I'm not that fond of psychoanalysis myself, but I want to know that I haven't failed you.”
Jane smiled. “For heaven's sake, you haven't failed me, Eve. You've been everything that's kind and understanding, and that wasn't easy with a hard nut like me.” She took another drink of hot chocolate. “But I should have known you'd blame yourself for something that has nothing to do with you.”
“Then show me it has nothing to do with me. Tell me about that damn dream.”
“How do you know it's the same one every time?”
“Isn't it?”
Jane was silent. “Yes.”
“At last.” Eve leaned back in the swing. “More.”
“Well, it is and it isn't. It starts out the same way, but every dream seems to take a step forward.” She looked out at the lake. “And sometimes . . . it doesn't . . . I don't know if it's really a dream.” She moistened her lips. “I know it sounds crazy but I'm there, Eve.”
“Where?”
“I'm in a tunnel or a cave. Something like that. And I'm