I fall back against the floorboards, coughing and wheezing. A new rumble builds around me, shaking the shelves, floorboards, and walls.

He’s still there, standing next to the hole.

The light continues to erupt from below me, filling the basement. It expands. Blinding. Pure. The figure of Thomas Carrington becomes a silhouette against it. The roar builds to a point that it threatens to tear the house apart.

An apex is reached. The silhouette of Thomas Carrington blasts apart, scattering like sand in a tornado.

I have to shield my eyes from the intense glare.

The roar stops.

I open my eyes.

Points of shimmering light drift through the air like ashes and stars.

There, standing before me, is Katherine. She is staring at the ground, her hair covering her face. Her head slowly tilts up and she looks at me with a quizzical expression. For a second, we stare at one another.

A form materializes next to her.

Nicole.

She’s just as perfect as I remember her.

She looks at me, then at Katherine.

Nicole holds out her hand. Katherine carefully takes it. Nicole gives me that smile I’ve missed every second of every minute of every day since I lost her.

She looks back to Katherine, and something passes between them. They turn and begin to walk into the darkness, together.

I’m choking back sobs. I have so many things I want to tell her but I can’t speak.

She glances over her shoulder. Her lips don’t move, but I hear her voice in my head.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I whisper.

With that, Nicole and Katherine disappear into the darkness, together.

The points of light fade and the darkness lifts.

I’m alone in the basement.

No sound. No unseen presence.

Just me.

I hear Caitlyn’s weak voice call out from somewhere upstairs. “Dad?”

I scramble out of the hole and race up the stairs. I run through the kitchen and living room, and bound up the stairs, continually calling out Caitlyn’s name. I throw open the door to her room.

“Caitlyn?!”

There’s a sound from the closet. I open the door with such force that one of the hinges almost gives way.

She’s balled up on the floor, still wearing her nightgown, eyes blinking as though she just woke up. I scoop her up and clutch her to my chest, not caring that I’m covered in dirt and sweat. She holds fast to my neck. Her skin is ice-cold. I carry her over to the bed and lay her down. I gently rest her head on the pillow, and pull the covers up to her chin.

“I had a bad dream,” she mutters.

I rest my face next to hers, stroke her cheek, and whisper, “It’s okay now, pumpkin. It’s okay … It was just a dream.”

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