“There is no one,” she sobbed.
In the dream, she tried to speak. “That’s not me.” But her mouth filled with sand. ntr nightmare
But under his sleeve, something cold pressed against her skin. She pulled back the fabric. A stainless steel diver’s watch. Same as the dream. Same as the man whose face she never saw. “There is no one,” she sobbed
A long silence. Then the sound of his keys—the heavy jangle of the front door set. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “There isn’t. Not anymore.” But under his sleeve, something cold pressed against
Her, asleep. The timestamp from five minutes from now. And behind her in the frame, standing in the bedroom doorway, a figure wearing a watch that caught the moonlight.
The dream always started the same way: with the front door clicking shut.