A black shape crashed through the underbrush, its breath loud and heavy. In the darkness, suddenly, I had a flashlight in my hand, the way I did years ago. As the monster stormed toward us, my light shined on shaggy fur and the curves of sharp, huge claws. And I heard crying at my feet. When I looked down, I saw that you weren’t a woman anymore, Shelby. You were a baby again, nestled in my Easter basket among green paper curlicues.

Crying. Cold. Scared. Alone.

The beast was coming, and I had to protect you from him. I felt fear like nothing I’d ever known, but also a determined, furious, vengeful rage at the idea that anything would threaten my child. I would never let him hurt you. The beast could have me, it could take me, it could kill me, but you would live. You would be safe. I saw the monster looming in front of me. Tall, hunched, huge. Its great paws raised high, its rancid snorts hot on my face. I saw the claws that would rip me to shreds, open up my body, spill my blood. The teeth that would tear and gnaw at my flesh and consume me until I was completely inside him.

But it would never, never take my baby.

I stepped in front of the basket, shielding you.

“It’s me you want!” I screamed at the beast. “It’s me you’ve always wanted. Here I am!”

*

My eyes flew open. I awakened from one nightmare into another.

I lay on the sofa in my cold living room, where I’d fallen asleep, as I usually did these days. The fire I’d built had died to embers, just enough to cast a faint orange glow. One of my kitchen chairs had been pulled into the middle of the room, and a man sat on it, watching me.

Ricky.

He was back.

For an instant, I wondered if I was still dreaming, but I wasn’t. Immediately, I grabbed for my purse, which was where I kept my gun, but Ricky gave a low chuckle and waved my revolver in the air.

Next I reached for the phone to call for help, but when I picked up the handset, I saw that he’d sliced the cord.

“What do you want, Ricky?” I asked, trying to cover my terror with the ice in my voice. “Why are you here?”

“Very nice, Bec. I haven’t seen you in what? Almost nine months, judging by the basketball you’ve got down there. And that’s how you greet your husband?”

“We’re not married. I divorced you after you beat the shit out of me.”