Nothing answered and the rustling stopped. It probably was a possum or maybe even a koala. There were a few who inhabited the trees around the area. She turned back to grab the bucket and screamed as something came hurtling across the back patio towards her from the right.
Heart thumping in her chest, hand over her mouth to stifle the sound she’d just made, she looked down at the cat who was now winding around her legs. ‘Maccy! You gave me such a fright.’ She picked him up and held him to her, rubbing her cheek against his soft head to calm herself as much as to pet him. ‘You’re supposed to stalk rats and mice, not me!’ God, her heart was still racing. She was glad nobody had been around to witness her stupid city-girl-paranoia, jumping at her own cat and strange rustling sounds in the night. She would never hear the end of it.
She rubbed her chin against Maccy’s head once more then said, ‘Come on. Time to put ourselves to bed.’ She grabbed the bucket and let herself back inside, putting Machiavelli down only when she’d locked the back door. He followed her, miaowing, winding around her legs as she made sure the door was locked, his miaows becoming more and more plaintive. ‘How could you be hungry? You had a nice snack on bird only a few hours ago—which, may I tell you, despite what you think, is a lousy birthday present. Also, if you leave another present anywhere Cherry might find it, she’ll be wearing a ginger, white and tabby cat muff come winter.’ He looked up at her, liquid eyes pleading, the miaows more and more pathetic. ‘Oh, for goodness sakes, okay, I’ll give you something to eat. But this is the last time you have late night snacks from me.’ She wagged her finger at him. He didn’t take any notice of her chiding, simply followed her into the kitchen, winding impatiently around his bowl on the floor beside the kitchen bench. ‘You’re going to get fat if you keep eating so much.’ She rattled some dry food into his bowl, made sure he had water and his kitty litter was clean and then, leaving him to gorge himself, headed upstairs.
Despite her tiredness, she went through her nightly routine of brushing her thick hair until it shone and moisturising her body with the lavender moisturiser her mum had used and that always smelled like love and home. Even though bed was calling, she checked all the upstairs windows were locked and then couldn’t help looking in on Carter once more. He was sleeping soundly, his little body curled into a foetal position, one arm held across his head protectively. It made her heart lurch to think of all the reasons why the little boy felt the need to protect his head even in sleep.
She knew from experience to leave him be though—if she tried to move him when he was like that, he came out of sleep fighting. She blew him a kiss and whispered, ‘Love you to the end of the universe and back, beautiful boy. Sleep dreamlessly.’ She truly hoped he did, not just because his nightmares caused many sleepless nights for her, but because she wanted to know he was finally healing. That he did feel safe. And loved.
Her bed looked so inviting as she walked back into her room, the vibrant colours of her pillows muted by the golden glow of her bedside light. She glanced at the pile of medical journals on her bedside table. She really should finish that article she’d begun last night on the newest migraine medications and alternative treatments—a few of her peri-menopausal patients were suffering badly and neither were responding to the beta blockers she’d put them on—but her mind was so foggy, she knew she wouldn’t take any of it in. Even the new paranormal romance by her favourite author that sat next to the pile didn’t call to her.
She shoved the decorative pillows to the other side of her queen-sized bed—enjoying the fact she didn’t have to worry about anyone chiding her for her careless messiness—slipped under the doona and was asleep nearly as soon as her head hit her pillow.
She was torn out of sleep by screams.
Carter.
Heart a painful beat in her head, her throat, she struggled to get out of bed, legs tangled in the sheets, falling with a thud on the floor, knee whacking painfully against the bed end as she scrambled upright, desperate to get to the little boy whose nightmares were ripped from him with a sound that made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. A sound full of such anguish and pain, terror and hopelessness.
His bed was empty. Not unusual when he had a night terror. Thank god he wasn’t at the window trying to hide behind the curtains, or worse, trying to get out—she’d never forget the night she’d found him hanging halfway out the window after she’d left it open to let some cooler air into his hot room in the cramped flat they’d been put in when they’d got here. It was the reason she’d had air conditioning put into the house so she could lock the windows. The noise wasn’t coming from the wardrobe, which left only one other place he could hide.
