Page 74 of Rescue

And that night, I dream of my mother.

The dream is familiar to me, one I’ve had a hundred times before. As soon as I see where I’m standing—the middle of our living room back in California, the green carpet scratchy beneath my feet—I know what this dream will entail. It’s always the same.

I’m in the living room, playing with one of those ball and paddle toys, the kind where the rubber ball is attached with a string and you have to keep it bouncing on the top of the paddle. It’s Cash’s toy, and I know he’ll be mad at me if he sees me playing with it, but he’s out in the woods behind our house with the other boys. I was going to go with them, but I knew Cash would want to catch frogs in the creek, and I hate catching frogs. Not because they’re gross or scary—I actually really like frogs. Besides, I’m big now, and only babies are scared of stuff like that. But I hate catching them, hate taking them from their cozy homes, hate scaring them. I know my brothers would never hurt a frog—they don’t do things like that. But whenever I look down at their little faces, their eyes wide and blinking, their chests moving so fast, I just know that they’re scared. And it makes my tummy hurt.

Besides, Mom is in a good mood today, and I thought if I stayed with her we might get to do something fun. Maybe she would take me on one of her errands, to the bank or the grocery store or some other boring adult place. But it wouldn’t be boring because I’d be with Mom. I’m the only one she ever takes with her on her errands. The other boys are too loud—I’m the only one who can be quiet.

She comes out into the living room, her purse in her hand, and I stand, excited. She looks over at me, and she’s not smiling. Her eyes are kind of wide, her hair coming out of its ponytail. Her hands are shaking. For a minute I think I should sit back down, play with Cash’s toy. Or maybe run out to the woods and find my brothers. Because I don’t really like how sad Mom looks right now. And I don’t like how she’s not saying anything.

But then she holds out her hand to me, and I go right to her. No matter how many times I have this dream, I always go right to her. Even as my stomach tightens in fear, even as my conscious brain argues that I donotwant to go, I donotwant to get in that car, still I go with her. Every time.

I jerk awake, my heart pounding, my body drenched in sweat. It’s dark in the room, and for a moment I can’t breathe.

“Lennon?”

I jerk again at the sound of Haylee’s voice. I’ve forgotten all about her, have forgotten she stayed with me. I try to focus on what happened here in this bed only a few short hours ago, try to focus on the happiness I felt, on howrightit was. Anything to escape from the dark, terrifiedsomethingthat seems to claw at my chest, wanting to get out.

“Lennon?” She’s more awake now, sitting up in the dark, reaching for me. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I manage, but my voice is strained. Shaking.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Haylee leans over me, brushing hair from my face, and I can see her eyes in the darkness. They’re wide, a little afraid. “You’re freezing cold.”

Funny, I felt so hot.

But then, I always feel hot in that dream. Not just warm, not just uncomfortable. I feel hot—burning hot.

“Lennon?”

“I’m fine,” I say again, my voice a little more normal. “Nightmare.”

“I thought so.” She kisses my forehead, brushes my hair back some more. I love her so much at night, in the darkness. All the hard, rock-chick walls come down and reveal something softer. Something sweeter. She kisses my head again, her long fingers rubbing lightly across my shoulder. “Want to talk about it?”

What would I even say? How could I explain to her the way the dream filled me with such terror when absolutely nothing had happened? My mom had offered to take me out on her errands. Real scary. “No, it’s fine.”

Her fingers move up to my head now, the motion comforting. Almost maternal. “You’re okay now.”

You’re okay now. Her words hit me with all the force of a freight train, and I’m sitting up straight in bed, hardly noticing that I’ve pushed her away. There’s no air left in this room, and my skin feels so hot again, as hot as if it’s burning, and I can’t breathe.

Because for the first time in my life I remember more of that dream. It didn’t end when I took my mom’s hand and left the house.

And I’m pretty sure it isn’t just a dream.

“Lennon?” Haylee sounds scared now, terrified really, and I feel her hands at my back, reaching for me. There’s a terrible gasping noise in the room, and it takes me a minute to realize that it’s coming from me. Haylee jumps from the bed, and a few seconds later I hear the unmistakable sound of the window opening, and then there’s a sudden gust of cool air, right across my face.

I breathe in as deeply as I can, the air like water to a dying man. But it’s not enough. I stumble from the bed, tangled in the sheets, and go straight to the window, sucking in the fresh air.

“Lennon.” Haylee’s voice is still scared, but there’s something else there too, some note of authority. “Do your breathing exercises.”

Funny, I had no idea she knew about my exercises. I try to remember what Daisy told me, how she managed her panic attacks. In through the nose, hold. Out, slowly. Repeat. It seems impossible to take slow, even breaths when I am sure I am suffocating. Then Haylee’s hand is on my back again, her fingers cold against my burning skin, and I find I can focus a little better. In through the nose, hold. Out, slowly. Repeat.

I don’t know how long I stand there, trying to get my breathing under control. I know that when I finally step away from the window, far from being hot, I’m shivering. Then I look up and see Haylee, still standing inches from me, dressed only in my T-shirt. Her entire body is shaking.

“Shit,” I mutter, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her to the bed. I fling the quilt around her, rubbing her arms through the thick material. “You shouldn’t have stayed by the window like that.”

“As if I was going to leave you,” she says, her teeth chattering.

A sick wave of shame rushes through me. I did this to her.Because that’s what you do, a voice in my head whispers, quiet and dangerous.You make things worse for people.