Post by minianne on Oct 14, 2009 22:19:23 GMT -5
“A Long Way Up”
Chapter 6
“Please Terry, no!”
Christie was startled awake by Jim’s exclamation.
He was thrashing around in his sleep, obviously having a nightmare. She reached over and touched his shoulder, giving him a little shake.
“Jimmy,” she said. “Jimmy, wake up.
“No!…” he cried out, then suddenly sat straight up in bed, his eyes wide. “What? Where?” Then he seemed to realize where he was.
Christie reached over and touched his arm.
“It’s okay honey,” she reassured him. “I’m here. It was just a dream.”
Jim rubbed at his eyes and ran his hands through his hair.
“Oh, wow,” he said, sighing. “Sorry about that.”
He threw off the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. Standing, he walked toward the bathroom and closed the door.
It was the same dream he’d been having for weeks. His partner Terry was holding a gun to Jim’s head and laughing maniacally.
Jim turned on the faucet in the sink and splashed his face with water. His hands were shaking badly. He dried off his face, leaned against the cool tile wall and took a deep breath.
When he went back into the bedroom, Christie asked if he was alright.
“I’m fine,” he told her. “Really, honey go back to sleep.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’m gonna go out into the living room for awhile. What time is it, anyway?”
She said that it was 3:12 a.m.
Jim was now wide-awake. He slowly walked toward the bedroom door and opened it, closing it behind him. Holding his hands out a bit, he made his way toward the kitchen. He located the row of barstools in front of the counter, then used them to find the entrance to the kitchen area. His bare feet told him when he had crossed into the kitchen. The polished hard-wood floors gave way to cold tile.
He opened the refrigerator door and felt around. His fingers recognized the bottled water, beer and milk. Finally, he found what he was looking for. A cold can. He couldn’t be sure, but figured there was a good chance it was a Coke.
Popping the top, he took a tentative sip. Success. Closing the refrigerator door, he walked slowly into the living room and took a seat on the couch.
Taking a sip of his drink, he put his feet up on the coffee table. Then he tried to push the dream that had woken him out of his mind. Terry was someone he didn’t want to think about. Not now. Not ever. During the day it was fairly easy to keep his mind on other things. But at night his former partner haunted his dreams.
Jim had been home from the hospital for nearly a week. In that time he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep. At first, he thought it was nerves, but as time went by, he suspected it was because he couldn’t differentiate between day and night. So he was up and down all night long and napped throughout the day. He’d ask the doctor about that at his appointment next week.
The pain behind his eyes was subsiding somewhat, at least to the point where it was bearable. Dr. Michaels had assured him it would eventually go away, but it could take several months. The back of his head was beginning to itch, which his mother assured him meant that it was healing. The site of his bullet wound was still a little numb, but he could tell that it was closing up as well.
He heard the guest room door open.
“Jimmy?” his mother said, walking into the living room. “Honey? Are you up?”
Chapter 6
“Please Terry, no!”
Christie was startled awake by Jim’s exclamation.
He was thrashing around in his sleep, obviously having a nightmare. She reached over and touched his shoulder, giving him a little shake.
“Jimmy,” she said. “Jimmy, wake up.
“No!…” he cried out, then suddenly sat straight up in bed, his eyes wide. “What? Where?” Then he seemed to realize where he was.
Christie reached over and touched his arm.
“It’s okay honey,” she reassured him. “I’m here. It was just a dream.”
Jim rubbed at his eyes and ran his hands through his hair.
“Oh, wow,” he said, sighing. “Sorry about that.”
He threw off the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. Standing, he walked toward the bathroom and closed the door.
It was the same dream he’d been having for weeks. His partner Terry was holding a gun to Jim’s head and laughing maniacally.
Jim turned on the faucet in the sink and splashed his face with water. His hands were shaking badly. He dried off his face, leaned against the cool tile wall and took a deep breath.
When he went back into the bedroom, Christie asked if he was alright.
“I’m fine,” he told her. “Really, honey go back to sleep.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’m gonna go out into the living room for awhile. What time is it, anyway?”
She said that it was 3:12 a.m.
Jim was now wide-awake. He slowly walked toward the bedroom door and opened it, closing it behind him. Holding his hands out a bit, he made his way toward the kitchen. He located the row of barstools in front of the counter, then used them to find the entrance to the kitchen area. His bare feet told him when he had crossed into the kitchen. The polished hard-wood floors gave way to cold tile.
He opened the refrigerator door and felt around. His fingers recognized the bottled water, beer and milk. Finally, he found what he was looking for. A cold can. He couldn’t be sure, but figured there was a good chance it was a Coke.
Popping the top, he took a tentative sip. Success. Closing the refrigerator door, he walked slowly into the living room and took a seat on the couch.
Taking a sip of his drink, he put his feet up on the coffee table. Then he tried to push the dream that had woken him out of his mind. Terry was someone he didn’t want to think about. Not now. Not ever. During the day it was fairly easy to keep his mind on other things. But at night his former partner haunted his dreams.
Jim had been home from the hospital for nearly a week. In that time he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep. At first, he thought it was nerves, but as time went by, he suspected it was because he couldn’t differentiate between day and night. So he was up and down all night long and napped throughout the day. He’d ask the doctor about that at his appointment next week.
The pain behind his eyes was subsiding somewhat, at least to the point where it was bearable. Dr. Michaels had assured him it would eventually go away, but it could take several months. The back of his head was beginning to itch, which his mother assured him meant that it was healing. The site of his bullet wound was still a little numb, but he could tell that it was closing up as well.
He heard the guest room door open.
“Jimmy?” his mother said, walking into the living room. “Honey? Are you up?”