Chapter: 4

The nightmares disappeared promptly.

For three days straight, David slept peacefully – thanks in part to the sleeping pills, and also to the optimistic turn his attitude had taken. Of course, exhaustion aided recovery as well, and when his alarm went off Thursday morning, it was all he could do not to roll over and sleep on.

That night, what was to be the third night of uninterrupted sleep, he went to bed without the pills. Granted, it took him a while longer to drop off without the lulling effect of the Ambien tablets, but when he finally dozed off, he was not haunted by grave apparitions.

He was clean. He was free.

Alice’s mood immediately took a drastic turn for the better. She was suddenly happier than David had seen her in years: she sang in the shower, carried out the most aggravating of housewife chores without so much as a complaint, and when David came home from work Friday evening, he was greeted by the deep, beautiful voice of the piano in the living room.

It was Baroque–era music: he could tell by the intertwining melodies of bass and treble. He recalled that much, but that seemed to be the extent of his memory.

Bach, is it? It’s been so long since she last played.

He smiled as he listened, barely noticing the many mistakes Alice was making, due to a lack of practice. There was no doubt that it was one of Alice’s favorite piano arrangements, although he conveniently forgot what the name of it was.

She played it on our wedding night.

Not in the ceremony itself of course, but afterwards – when it had just been the two of them.

Instantly, David found himself whisked away to once upon a time, five blissful years ago. Through a dreamy haze, he saw Alice seated at the petite Steinway. The wispy train of her wedding gown touched the ground behind her, blending with the fog of David’s memory.

The dress had cost a fortune, he recalled: it was sleeveless and low–cut, leaving Alice’s back bare from the waist up. The seductive ridge of her spine curved like a bow, crawling beneath smooth flesh as Alice felt the music, accentuating her slim figure and that light dusting of freckles between her shoulder blades.

David had just come back in from seeing their last guests out of the church, and he smiled as he beheld her in all her beauty: his wife, finally. Alice played the piece perfectly then, and he had rested his hands on her shoulders as he stood protectively over her, just listening to her play.

David snapped back to the present abruptly as Alice stopped, either out of frustration or to double–check her notes.

Smiling, he made his way down the hall towards the kitchen. From the living room, Alice began playing again, and – whistling along – David abandoned his briefcase on the countertop and entered the living room.

She was seated at the upright – a blonde Story & Clark; the one truly expensive present he had ever bought her – with her back to him as she picked out the melody. She was so deep in concentration that when David grabbed her in a bear hug from behind, she actually screamed.

After smacking him – hard – she melded into the embrace. “David, you scared me.”

It was true: David could feel her heart pounding as he held her close. “I’m sorry, angel,” he murmured into her neck. “You sounded beautiful.”

Alice laughed, kissed his hand as she brought it up to her cheek. “Liar – I haven’t played in forever. I sound terrible.”

He squeezed her tightly, putting his cheek against hers. “Well, I’m glad you’re playing again. I love it when you play.”

Although he couldn’t see her face from his angle, David could still tell she wasrolling her eyes. “No you don’t,” she argued. “Every note I hit sounds terrible.”

David straightened, letting his hands rest on her shoulders. “Alice, you know I hate it when you do that.”

She feigned innocence. “Do what?” she asked, resting the crown of her head on his belly, so she could look up at him.

Instead of answering, he bent to kiss her again – for real this time. She smiled into his mouth, upside–down, tangling her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, gently dragging his lower lip into her mouth. As she released him and he straightened, his stomach was still tingling.

“Wow,” David said, dumbfounded, with his hands still on her shoulders.

She laughed, almost embarrassed, and replaced her fingers on the keys, striking a C#. The magic moment was over, but not forgotten. The bond between them tightened almost palpably.

“What’s for dinner, babe?” David asked finally, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“I made a roast,” she replied, scaling an A arpeggio with spider–like fingers. “That’s okay, right?”

“Of course,” he said, grinning almost inexplicably.

But it wasn’t inexplicable: life was back to normal, and even from that simple, normal discourse, David Covier gleaned the purest sense of comfort, relief, and correctness.

No fucking dreams to ruin everything, no being afraid to go to sleep, no fear of alternate reality…

To top it all off, work that day had been a breeze: two half–assed cases involving minor paperwork and not a single call from Joe Panner. Traffic at a minimum, humidity low, U2 in the Lexus’ stereo. That was a good day in David Covier’s book – any day, every day.

He and Peter had also had time to sit down earlier that afternoon and have a good talk. While they hadn’t exactly discussed anything terribly important, they rarely ever had time to just talk. The chat had the effect of making the rest of the day pass even faster, and by 7:30, David had been eagerly anticipating alone time with Alice.

Peter had commented on his friend’s cheerful demeanor.

“I haven’t seen you this happy in years,” he had said, dropping into the chair across David’s office. “What made the difference? You’re not cheating, are you?”

David merely smiled, slowly revolving back and forth in his swivel chair. “With your mom,” he confessed. “It’s no secret that she gets around.”

Peter chuckled, then threw a wad of crumpled paper at him. “Yeah, yeah – the town bicycle. No, seriously. Tell me.”

David threw the paper back before shrugging. He didn’t exactly have any answers, because the past week seemed to have completely distorted his rational senses. Besides, what good was there thinking about it now?

“I don’t know, Pete,” he replied honestly, perhaps evasively. “I just made a few changes here and there. You know – made some new friends, tried some drugs, started sleeping with the lights on… cured cancer, won the Tour de France –”

His boss threw up his hands in what was both feigned and real frustration. Peter was one to always want straight answers, which was amusing – considering his standing as a lawyer, and the fact that he owned and managed his own firm.

“Alright, asshole,” he said, blowing out the words in a sigh. “Have it your way. I’m just glad that you’re back in prime form again – now you can give me a full workload at the end of the day again.”

As he sat there, watching Peter stroll back towards his own office space, David had smiled, reflecting on the drastic change his life had taken since his visit to old psychologist, Renea Phillips, the past week.

His stereotypical view of psychologists had not exactly changed, but his respect for the woman had skyrocketed upon his prompt recovery. Perhaps it had made all the difference to talk about it; maybe he had just been keeping it inside. He hadn’t tried talking with Alice about the nightmare, but doing so seemed unnecessary now.

Whatever the case, David had never felt better.

“I love you,” he told Alice, grazing her temple with a final kiss.

“I love you more,” she replied immediately, breaking into Bach again with a determined air.

That blissful feeling in David’s gut did not dissipate as he opened his briefcase and spread his papers out on the kitchen table. With the sunset falling on him where he sat, he opened his laptop and brought up the Ying–Setser case and hummed along with the piano.

He smiled and couldn’t help it. He had a good job, a loving wife, a home, and a roast in the oven.

It didn’t get much fucking better than that.

David woke at exactly 3:32.

He lay in the darkness for a moment, looking around the black void that was the bedroom. Across the way, thin blue lines were breaching the slats in the blinds, but the morning they announced was still hours away.

David rolled onto his back, blinking. His throat was parched, and he considered getting up for a drink of water. It took him a full minute to realize that he shouldn’t be awake, and that revelation put any thoughts of water on hold.

He glared at the ceiling, demanding answers.

Did I take the pills tonight? They’re supposed to keep me down for eight hours – it hasn’t even been five.

He rubbed his eyes blearily and glanced over at Alice’s side of the bed, bleakly wondering whether she had awakened him. He got his answer in the form of Alice’s naked back, which was facing him. She was breathing softly as she slept, and the freckles orbiting her spine were visible even in the darkness.

So he had woken on his own. Big deal. Maybe he was getting too used to the pills.

David licked his lips but didn’t have enough saliva to wet them, so he threw off the covers and found the floor with his bare feet.

A drink will help me get back to sleep.

Shivering, he felt his way out of the bedroom and into the hall. He headed for the downstairs bathroom, not wanting to awaken Alice by stumbling around in her bathroom. She probably had clothes thrown everywhere, and he was bound to trip on them.

The moonlight spilling in through the window above the front door illuminated his path as he made his way down the stairs. He entered the bathroom, shut the door behind him – locking it out of habit – and crossed the room to stand in front of the sink.

For a moment he beheld his face in the mirror, taking in the lines under his eyes and his disheveled hair. He was pale, but that could just have been the moonlight.

Sleep. I need sleep.

He made use of the toilet, resolved not to flush it so he wouldn’t wake up Alice, and instead washed his hands before fishing a paper cup out of the medicine cabinet. He filled it with water from the faucet, downed the cupful, then filled it again.

Sleep had been chased from him now, and he felt wide–awake. Sighing, he gazed at his reflection again, bleakly wondering whether he should just go into the living room, boot up his laptop, and get some work done.

It’d be better than tossing and turning for hours.

He filled his cup a third time and sipped tentatively at the water. His mind was perfectly at rest, suffering no agitated thoughts, although he was still curious why he had awoken so abruptly.

Maybe I didn’t take the right amount of pills – maybe I didn’t take them at all.

No, he had definitely taken them right before climbing into bed – Alice had sympathized with him about the bad taste.

Oh well. Some fluke. These things aren’t perfect.

Refreshed, he discarded the cup in the waste bin, wiped his hands on his jeans, and was turning to exit the bathroom when there was a soft knock on the door.

“I’m coming out, Alice,” he said, unlocking the door and turning the knob. “Sorry I woke –”

– but as he pulled the door open, Alice shoved it forcefully open, throwing him backwards. He caught his foot on the rug and crashed backwards onto his elbows, narrowly missing the sink. He sat up in shock, watching as a big hand slapped the lightswitch, throwing the small room into pitch darkness.

– but moonlight from the window above the sink gleamed along the edge of the knife, shimmering silver that caused David’s heart–rate to triple.

– and all he could think to do was roll over quickly as the knife fell forcefully towards his stomach –

– and the would–be killer grunted as the knife buried itself an inch in the linoleum.

David had regained control of his limbs – even though they were shaking uncontrollably – and he leapt to his feet as his assailant fought to free the knife. In the dark, he couldn’t see his would–be assassin’s face –

– and his panic at being assaulted sent adrenaline coursing through his body, and the only thought coursing through his mind was to get away –

– shit, shit, shit, shit –

The killer wrenched the knife free of its prison and took a slash that would have opened David’s throat just below his adam’s apple had he not stumbled over the rug in the dark and dropped to his knees. Pain shot through his kneecaps, but he didn’t have time to think about – barely had enough wind to scrabble out the open door and into the hall as the knife buried itself in the door just above the doorknob –

David fled with all haste, hearing the masculine voice swear, the sound of ringing metal as the man wrenched the knife free of the door –

And revelation struck him.

I was wrong all along. I was so wrong – I wasn’t seeing myself kill Alice. I was having a premonition! I was seeing this happen –

And the blind panic gave way to blind fear, granting his feet wings as he flew up the stairs, stumbling in the dark. He ignored the added pain from a jammed toe, his mind set on one unquestionable goal: Get to Alice.

He heard the assassin’s heavy footfalls on the stairs behind him, their hurried pace a tempo easily outstripped by David’s heartbeat. The attacker’s breathing was heavy and labored, each breath blown forcefully out of his nostrils: his bloodlust fueled the urgency with which he pursued.

David stumbled onto the landing, and – forcing himself upright – tore with all haste towards the bedroom.

“Alice!!” he screamed. “Alice!!”

– and heard the knife part the air mere inches behind him as the killer took a wild slash –

– but David left the man behind, bursting into the bedroom and slamming the door closed behind him –

almost

– as the assassin’s arm forced its way through the gap between the door and the doorframe in the nick time, the knife grasped in the vice–like grip. The man didn’t flinch nor cry out as David’s dead weight plowed the door heavily into the assassin’s forearm. Instead, the man forced his other hand in the gap and began pushing David slowly backwards.

At his angle, David couldn’t see Alice nor the bed, but he knew it would only take the killer a few seconds to clear the distance from the door to the bed –

– after he’s finished me off –

David set his foot at the bottom of the door as the killer gained a few inches, buying himself the time to turn and scream over his shoulder. “Alice! Get in the bathroom!”

He couldn’t hear if she had complied as the man on the other side of the door grunted in frustration, gaining another couple of inches. David had his back up against the wall already, and he knew that in a second the man would force the door back into him and gain entrance to the room –

David pushed off of the wall, propelling himself in the direction of the bed. Behind him, the door crashed open and the black shadow that was the attacker lurched into the room.

But David didn’t stop to look. He leapt onto the bed and then off the other side, skidding into the bathroom as the attacker slammed into the bed, overbalanced by his momentum, and buried the knife in the mattress –

Alice was hunkered down by the toilet, her eyes wide and frightful in the dark. “David! What is it?”

David hurried over to her, crouching down with his body in front of hers so as to shield her. He wrapped his right arm around her and craned his neck to look back over his left shoulder; he was prepared for the pain that would accompany the knife stab, was willing to take it for Alice –

But the attacker didn’t enter the room. David could see his shadow cast across the open door, knew that they only had a few seconds –

“What do you want?” he screamed at the shadow. “What the fuck do you want?!”

There was silence, although the man’s shadow shifted as he drew closer to the door.

Alice was praying softly as she kept her face buried in David’s neck, clutching him tightly. David in turn kept his right arm firmly around her waist; his left hand was planted against the wall, ready to defend.

Still there was silence.

Breathing heavily, David clutched Alice closer. “Who are you and what do you want?” he shouted again, his voice cracking.

The man’s shadow shifted once more as a strong wind rattled the windowpanes in the next room. But other than that natural noise, there was silence – silence except for David’s heavy breathing and Alice’s stammered prayers –

“David…” she breathed in his ear. “David…”

“Shh,” he murmured, giving her a firm hug with his one arm but never removing his eyes from the shadow. “It’s going to be okay.”

“David,” she said, this time with more urgency.

David ignored her for the moment, found the wind to shout one final time. “What the hell are you doing in my house?! What do you want with us?”

“David!” Alice said, her voice loud and firm, “There’s no one there!”

David finally removed his eyes from the door and instead looked into her wide eyes. “What?” He looked back at the door, more specifically at the shadow cast there by the tree outside the window –

– and was suddenly aware of the fact that he was clutching the handle of the butcher’s knife from the kitchen. So tightly was he clutching it, in fact, that his entire hand had gone numb and shaking.

He released it as though electrocuted.

The knife clattered onthe linoleum and lay there, moonlight reflecting silver across the dark bathroom.

Where did that come from? Was I… did I fucking attack myself?!

David collapsed backwards onto his hands and sat there trembling uncontrollably. “Oh, God – I’m… I’m losing my mind –”

Alice’s big eyes went back and forth between David and the knife. “David, what happened?”

He licked his lips, still staring at the knife, then looked up at her. His chest felt hollow, his heart beating so fast and hard that he couldn’t even feel it any more.

Was I dreaming? Sleepwalking? Or was I actually living out bothparts of the goddamn fight?

The prospect of multiple personalities brewed more fear in his gut, but he forced himself to think rationally. His paranoia had never been present before a week ago, so it was unlikely that he was living a dual–life, and he had a perfect memory of his past –

Wouldn’t I have become concerned by something odd a long, long time ago? Wouldn’t people have taken a notice? How could something like that remain dormant for so long?

But he couldn’t convince even himself.

His arm was bruised and painful from being smashed in the doorframe; his kneecaps ached from his fall downstairs.

“David,” Alice said, and her voice wavered with forthcoming tears. She sounded terrified. “David, what was the knife for?”

“I don’t know,” he said simply, dumbly. It was the truth: he felt utterly lost inside. “I don’t know.”