Sara is surprised, but only for an instant; then it becomes clear to her what’s going on. This has happened before; this is not her dream at all. She doesn’t cry, or scream; she simply closes her eyes and pleads – already knowing she will not be answered – “Please, God, not again!”
I open my eyes, and I know before I can even force them to focus what I’m going to see. The clock reads 3:05 AM.
It was always three o’clock in the morning last time, too. At least I didn’t wake up screaming. Or bite off Mister Pennington’s arm again - my stuffed rabbit is still in one piece, right here in the bed with me. I didn’t even wake up Lumpy, who’s living up to his name, snoring away at the foot of the bed all tangled up in the sheets, or Beth, down on the floor, looking more comfortable sleeping on an inflatable mattress than I would ever be.
I’m not going to tell her about this. Or Brian. Or anybody. Especially not today.
It’s almost funny, except it isn’t at all. I haven’t had any of these dreams in a year and a half, not since “it” happened – except one time, last summer. When Brian was dreaming about me, and I saw it. But that was the only time.
Talk about luck. Of all the times for this to start back up, for my brain to start picking up signals again, it has to be the night before my wedding.
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