“Just forget it.”

Game back on, attention off me. “Yeah, right. And I have no idea. I’ve got one class with her. I don’t know her whole life story.”

“Thanks.” As I head to the stairs, I hear him call after me.

“My marketing class is Thursday morning in Huntsman Hall. Ends at nine a.m. Just FYI.”

HOLLY

The dream always begins the same way.

The door looms tall before me.

I reach up, turn the knob, and push. The hinges squeak as the door swings wide, revealing the dark room beyond. My feet move forward on their own.

Everything in the room is familiar. The worn dresser cluttered with knickknacks and jewelry. The ironing board pushed off into the corner. The large bed with its simple wooden headboard. This is Grams’s room. A place to snuggle for bedtime stories or to find comfort after bad dreams. She should be asleep here, in her bed.

Someone is under the covers, but when I pull the sheet back, it’s not my grandmother.

It’s Marcus.

My brother lies still, lids closed, like he’s sleeping, but his chest doesn’t rise. I put my hand on his shoulder and find him ice-cold.

The darkness around me shifts and moves, closing in on us. Marcus begins to sink into the bed, as if the mattress were quicksand. He’s disappearing from my sight, and he doesn’t respond when I scream his name.

There’s a pressure at my back, pushing me toward the sinkhole in the bed where my brother has vanished. Terror seeps from the black space.

I turn away, looking for the door. It stands there, closed again.

With fear scraping its way down my spine, I run. The darkness slows my legs, pulling me back, but I push my way through. My fingers clasp the doorknob, wrenching with a mighty tug—

I’m awake.

I gasp and pant, trying to slow down my breathing. My shirt is soaked through with sweat, sticking to me. I shiver uncontrollably.

“Just a dream … just a dream … just a dream …” I mutter the words. A mantra to slow down my frantic heart and to push the terror from my mind.

I know I shouldn’t call him. Sleep is so important for him. But I need to hear his voice or else the panic won’t leave. The hardwood next to my bed is cool on the early fall night, and my fingers slide over the floor until they grasp my phone. My thumbs tremble as I type in the number I know by heart.

“Holly?”

A sigh flows out of me, taking with it most of the tension in my stiffened muscles. “Yeah, it’s me. Sorry to call so late. I just …”

“Are you okay?” My brother’s voice, which started out as a sleepy slur, now sharpens to full awareness.

“Yeah. It was the nightmare. I just needed to make sure you were okay.”

“I thought you stopped having that dream.”