Chapter 6: The Dream Came First

 

A Year Later

 

Michael lay half asleep, his body wrapped in the warmth of his bed. It was still, deceptive, until a faint crackle of movement at the edge of his bed shattered the illusion.

His eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the sunlight streaming through the half-closed blinds. The soft rustle of the sheets drew his attention. He turned his head to the side, and for a moment it seemed he was alone.

Then she moved.

On the left side of the bed, her body stretched languidly beneath the pale covers, her tanned skin gleaming in the soft light. Her dark, wavy hair spilled across her face like ink, partially obscuring her serene expression.

“May…” Michael whispered, his voice filled with disbelief.

Her hazel eyes flickered and locked on his with a tenderness that seemed so soothing. "How did you sleep, honey?" she straightened into a semi-sitting position, her tone sultry, almost teasing.

Michael's breath caught. He pushed back, sliding closer to the edge of the bed. Fear and confusion warred within him. "This... this can't be," he stammered.

May reached out, her fingers lightly brushing his arm. Her touch was warm, familiar. "Don't go," she pleaded softly, her voice carrying an echo that penetrated deep into his chest. "Don't leave me."

The blinds creaked loudly, slamming shut without warning. The room was plunged into darkness, save for an eerie red glow that flickered from nowhere and dimly lit the room. He stared at May’s features in the stunning light, her beauty now tinged with something otherworldly.

“Don’t leave me, my love,” she whispered, the words repeating themselves like a chant. “Don’t go, don’t go…”

Her touch grew more insistent, her hands sliding over his body, but the warmth he’d once felt had turned cold. A shiver ran through him as her voice distorted, echoing in a way no human voice should.

Michael woke with a muffled gasp, his chest heaving as he struggled to orient himself. Sunlight poured into the room again, illuminating the familiar space.

Elliot, his Great Dane, lifted his massive head from where he lay curled at the foot of the bed. His dark eyes studied Michael curiously.

“What are you looking at?” Michael mutters, running a hand over his sweat-soaked forehead. “Maybe you had a bad dream, too.”

Elliot blinked lazily before resting his head on his paws again.

Michael exhaled sharply, the lingering discomfort from his dream clinging to him like a second skin. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, letting them dangle for a moment before standing up.

“Still, you didn't,” he mutters to the dog as he grabs the shirt draped over the back of the chair.