What came into my head right then was the memory of those nights when Jane would have her dreams. Sometimes the dreams would infect me, too. I’d wake up screaming along with her, almost seeing that man with us in the room, knowing just a thin second stood between a hammer or a hatchet and the back of my head. She’d get up, cut the lights on, check the closets, under the bed, and I’d get up and do it with her, and not because she asked me to. When we finally got back under the covers, we’d stay up a long while in the dark, half sleeping, hearts going, conscious of all the places in our house where we hadn’t thought to look.

You gotta go where the story takes you, Lisa