The dream was always the same.
He was running across a wide, barren field, with armed soldiers on horseback chasing him. His nine year-old frame was much taller and thinner, and he moved with the grace and ease of a long-distance runner.
But it wasn’t enough. The riders got even closer and closer, their faces—Peters, they were always Peters—twisted into masks of hatred and fury.
He would always run faster, pushing his sweating, exhausted limbs until they screamed in ripping, tearing agony, but still the riders drew closer.
Eventually he would stop, realizing the futility of running, and stand, panting and shaking with exhaustion as the riders closed in, their brightly glowing eyes boring into his narrow form, igniting a burning, consuming pain that stripped the flesh from his bones and tore his soul to shreds . . .
~*~
Dante awoke with a scream, thrashing at his blankets as if they were attackers. He ripped his pajama top off and threw the wet garment away.
The pain still burned in his chest, a pain more depthless than heartburn and more intense than a flame burn. He drew his knees up to his chest and trembled, waiting for it to go away.
“Dante?” Rin crawled over to Dante, his almond eyes wide in the darkness. He whined softly, placing his chin on the edge of the bed.
Dante didn’t answer. The pain still shuddered through him, dulling his mind. He winced as the door opened and bright light from the hall streamed in.
“Dante?” He looked up and saw Mich reaching for the interior light switch. Nev was right behind her, his dark eyes roaming quickly over his son’s room.
Mich hurried to Dante’s bedside. “Honey? Are you okay?” Her fingers ran themselves gently through his hair, and he sighed despite himself. Mich’s touch had always been a comfort, and this was no exception.
“What happened, Rin?” Nev demanded.
Rin looked up at Nev and shrugged helplessly.
“Bad dream?” Mich asked.
Dante shrugged. He wasn’t ready to share the bloody, terrifying nightmares that were occurring more and more often. “I guess so.”
“It’s okay, sweetie. Happens to the best of us,” Mich said, glancing at Nev. “Even your dad.”
Dante looked up at Nev. “Really?”
Nev nodded, ducking his head. “Yep. Even your dad, Dante.”
Dante shivered, the sweat cold on his bare skin. Mich went over to the dresser and pulled out a clean pair of pajamas. “Go and get cleaned up and I’ll change your sheets, okay?”
Dante nodded and crawled out of bed, taking the pajamas from Mich. He padded down the hallway, listening to his father’s soft footfalls behind him. The living room and kitchen were dark, and Dante shuddered, heading for the welcome light of the bathroom.
Nev followed, closing the door behind him. He sat down on the toilet seat as Dante splashed cold water on his face. “Dante . . . you know if there’s anythin’ you want to talk about, you can talk to me, right?”
Dante nodded, not able to meet his father’s eyes. “Yeah, Dad, I know.”
“So is there anythin’ you want to tell me?”
Dante shook his head. There was a part of him that wanted to curl up in Nev’s lap and reveal everything that happened in his nightmares, but as he opened his mouth the words would not emerge. “No, Dad,” he lied. “Nothing.”
Nev paused, staring at his son, obviously debating whether to push the issue or not. “Okay, Dan. If you need me I’ll be down the hall, like always,” he said, apparently deciding to go with the latter. He left the bathroom, closing the door behind him; Dante breathed a sigh of relief.
“Like always,” he murmured. How could he explain that in his dreams his father was dead?
~*~
After they’d tucked their son back into bed, Mich reached out and snagged Nev by the arm as they left Dante’s bedroom. “Nev.”
“What?”
Mich took a deep breath. “Something’s wrong with Dante.”
Nev’s brows drew together. “There is? What?”
“Those pajamas he’s wearing. I bought those for him two days ago and when he tried them on last night they were about a size too big. Now they’re above his ankles.”
Nev pursed his lips. “So . . . ”
“He’s grown about three inches in one night.”
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