I place my hand on the knob.

Fear consumes me. I know what’s on the other side.

Justine.

And him.

I don’t want to open it. I know I have to because I’m the big brother. Justine needs me. The door swings open, but everything is wrong. It’s not my home.

What’s this? Where am I?

I see the river.

And then I see her! It’s my mother!

She’s standing near the water’s edge. I need to run. I have to get to her.

I run as fast as I can. Left foot, right foot, left foot. With every stride I take to close the distance, that flowing ebony hair gets further and further away.

No! Don’t go away! I’m almost there!

The muscles in my legs feel like they are on fire, but I need to keep going.

Almost there. Keep pushing.

I look down at my small feet, wishing that the tattered running shoes would give me more traction. I couldn’t wait for the day when I could make money. I could buy myself better shoes.

Clean shoes.

No more dirt.

No more holes in the toes.

But shoes don’t matter right now. I only have a little further to go. Propelling myself forward, triumph surges through me when my hand makes contact with her shoulder.

Finally. I’ve found her. My gut churns with nervous anticipation as she slowly turns toward me.

“Alex!” a voice calls from behind me.

Krystina. It’s Krystina’s voice. She sounds afraid.

I turn my head around to see what’s wrong, only to feel the woman within my grasp slip away from me. I reach out to her.

“Wait! Come back!” I cry out. But she continues to move away, so far that I can barely make out her silhouette.

“Alex!” Krystina calls again.

Torn over which woman I should chase after, I look down in anguish only to see a pair of bright white track shoes on my feet.

Clean shoes. Adult sized shoes.

I’m not a child anymore.

I look up again at the slowly disappearing woman. I couldn’t reach her. I’ve lost my mother again. I have to go to Krystina instead. She’s my future. I need to get to her.

I run in the other direction toward the sound of Krystina’s voice. Daytime turns to night, and fog billows around me as I run. It obscures my vision and I can’t see her, but I can hear her shout my name.

“Krystina!” I call. “I’m trying to find you.”

“Alexander, you’re hurting me!”

I look around frantically. A roaring begins in my ears, fierce like the sound of a stampede.

“No, angel. I didn’t mean to! Forgive me, please! Where are you?”

“Alex, please!”

Her voice is closer now. I turn to my left. There she is, standing in a pool of crimson red, clutching her bloodstained abdomen. Tears stream down her face, but her expression is emotionless.

It seems to take forever, but I finally reach her. I’m frantic. She needs medical attention.

“Krystina, what happened? Who did this to you?”

She stares back at me, her deathlike gaze cold and vacant when she finally speaks.

“You did.”

I jolted awake, shock reverberating through my system. It took me a minute to collect my bearings. I glanced over at Krystina and saw she was sleeping peacefully. Breathing and unharmed.

Just a dream.

My heart pounded in my chest, but I was careful to keep still in the bed. I didn’t want another one of my nightmares to be the reason she woke. Not again. I tried to shake off the nausea, feeling repulsed by the haunting images that plagued me.

Rolling onto my side, I watched my sleeping beauty. Her peaceful and angelic face helped to calm the roaring pulse of blood in my ears. Her lips were slightly parted, and her steady breathing created the gentle rise and fall of her breasts. I wanted nothing more than to lose myself in her, but I knew she needed sleep. The fitful dreams that inundated me most of the night had woken Krystina more often than not.

My nightmares were the same as usual. They always began with the child version of myself reliving the moments before I discovered my father’s dead body, evolving into the adult version of myself chasing after my mother. However, the dreams had changed recently. Krystina’s face and voice was now intertwined in the web of images, causing me to wake up feeling fearful that she wouldn’t be there. I was afraid she wouldn’t be beside me in our bed. Or worse – that I had physically harmed her in some way. While every dream ended differently, there was one constant theme. Krystina was hurt, and I had been the one to cause it.

I rolled onto my back and tried to fall back asleep. Visions from the night flashed before my eyes. I could still see my mother running, her black hair flapping behind her in the wind as she ran. I could hear Krystina calling to me as I chased shadows into the unknown. I could almost smell the blood that dripped from her body. I turned my head to look at her once more, needing assurance that she was okay. That it was only a dream.

She’s here. Beautiful as ever, and present. Just relax.

But I still couldn’t shake off the unease. I glanced at the clock. It wasn’t quite five in the morning yet. I felt anxious, and my skin was covered with the sheen of a nervous sweat.

Giving up any thoughts of falling back to sleep, I rolled over and climbed out of bed. I had office work to do, but it wasn’t the distraction I needed. An intense physical work out was the only thing that would clear my head after such a disturbing night. If it weren’t for the fact that it was barely dawn, I would have called my trainer for a cathartic sparing session.

I quickly threw on a pair of gym shorts, left Krystina alone in her peaceful slumber, and headed toward my home gym in the penthouse. Once I was there, I went to the stereo system with the hope that music would drown out the sound of Krystina’s scared voice from my nightmare. I turned it on and Bastille blared through the speakers. Startled by the loud volume, I quickly lowered it to a reasonable level.

I pressed my lips together in annoyance. I rarely played music that loud. That meant Krystina must have used the gym recently.

I’ll have to remind her to turn it back down after her workouts.

How she found the time for a workout over the past week was astonishing. It was no wonder she looked so tired. I made a mental note to monitor her gym time going forward. While I appreciated her desire to stay physically fit, she was pushing herself entirely too much and everyday my concern about her health grew.

After selecting a series of songs to accompany my workout, I stepped up to the treadmill. I began my warm up to the instantly identifiable voice of Sia, her raspy voice holding just enough dark qualities to match my mood. As the belt began to pick up speed, I thought about everything that transpired over the past few weeks.

Years of study allowed me to take a step back and analyze everything rationally. I knew why I had nightmares. They were brought on by fear and childhood trauma. As to why Krystina was now manifesting in those nightmares was most likely due to fear and trauma as well. I had almost lost her in a near fatal car crash. The images of her being found in the trunk, her lifeless body and blood-matted hair, would forever be singed into my brain.

While she was now alive and well, I was still very much afraid. I was afraid of losing her, but in a different sense. I was afraid to lose her because of something I fucked up and was subconsciously terrified that my temper would get the best of me again. If that happened, I would be no better than my father. Krystina deserved so much more.

I didn’t need a shrink to tell me these things.

As my feet pounded through the last mile on the treadmill, sweat began to drip down the side of my face. I grabbed a towel from the handrail, wiped away the perspiration, and slowed the treadmill to a cool down.

Satisfied that my muscles were warmed up enough to go a round with the punching bag, I climbed off the treadmill and headed to the far corner of the room. As I made my way there, the ping from a cell phone notification sounded through the room. I picked up my cell that I had left sitting on the bench press and saw that it was a text from Hale.

I felt all the blood drain from my face, before it came roaring back with a vengeance. It went from ninety-eight degrees to two hundred twelve in less than a second.

Fuck!

Without hesitation, I dialed Hales number. He picked up on the first ring.

“I thought you had this handled!” I barked.

“It was handled, Mr. Stone. However, there was a new guard on duty yesterday. He just transferred in from another prison. I wasn’t made aware of him until the Correction Commissioner called me this morning to let me know that Charlie had a visitor.”

I slammed my fist down on the seat of the bench press.

“A visitor? It wasn’t just any visitor, Hale! It was the goddamn fucking press!”

“I’m aware, sir. I was assured that it won’t happen again. In the meantime, I already have a call in to The City Times. The reporter was Mac Owens. If he has anything substantial, I’ll shut it down.”

I considered the source to assess how bad the situation could potentially be. Mac Owens had been trying to dig into my past for years, but had little success. He was now with The City Times, a smaller newspaper with decent credibility. Their reporting was wide ranging, anywhere from national politics to local gossip columns. I knew I shouldn’t take the threat lightly.

“Hale, we’ve kept Charlie quiet for months. I’ll be damned if I let some rookie prison guard fuck it up. Keep me posted.”

“Will do.”

“I mean it. I want updates on every detail, no matter how small.”

I hit the button to end the call and fought the urge to throw the phone against the wall. Instead, I tossed it back onto the bench. At that moment, I needed to beat the shit out of a bag until my fists were raw. Not bothering with boxing gloves, I stepped up to the punching bag and took a bare fisted swing.

Hitting the vinyl felt good. Almost too good. I beat at the bag, over and over again, looking for some form of cathartic release with every blow.

I need to fucking think.

A multitude of emotions pumped through my veins. Between the barrage of nightmares and the latest news about Charlie, my goddamn head was spinning. Images swirled. Krystina’s voice was a constant echo that I couldn’t push away.

“Alexander, you’re hurting me!”

I spun around and struck the bag with a forceful back fist and tried to erase the memory. I could still see the fear in her eyes, fear that mirrored my mother’s when my father came after her.

I am not him.

I turned again and landed a strong roundhouse kick, forcing the visions from my past to my more immediate threat.

Charlie. The fucking leach.

Just the thought of him sent me into a rage, causing the image of his face to project onto the bag. I imagined his bones and cartilage crumbling beneath my fists as I inflicted another punch onto the cylindrical bag.

My fury toward the man came from someplace deep within me. It wasn’t just about what he did to my sister, or about how he made her a victim in an endless cycle of abuse. It was also from what he put Krystina through, and from how I nearly lost her because of his greed. Just thinking about what could’ve happened to her, my angel, tore at my gut.

I threw another punch, even more forceful than the last, before I caught myself. I had to calm my temper and think this through rationally. I needed to regain control. I closed my eyes, took a few calming breaths, and resumed at a more measured pace.

Snap. One. Two. Three. Kick.

I counted the reps over and over again, using the tempo to simmer my boiling rage. Punches flowed freely, the snap keeping my rhythm flowing as I moved effortlessly around the bag.

Breathe. Maintain balance.

It appeared as if Charlie was back in the game again, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. His meeting with a reporter could only mean one thing – he was scared. Exposing the past was the only leverage he had left.

I had worried about what he might say during the upcoming trial. However, it only took a phone call to the right judge to have the trial closed to the public, as the sensitivity of Krystina’s testimony easily convinced the judge to rule on closure. It never occurred to me that Charlie might seek out a reporter.

It was clear that he still had the plea deal in his sights. This would be his gambling chip, making it safe to assume that he planned to use the reporter to influence me to drop some of the charges against him. Attempted murder, kidnapping, extortion – the list was long, and Charlie knew I had been in touch with the District Attorney about making every single charge stick.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have fought the deal Charlie wanted to make.

How much he actually knew about my past still remained to be seen, as Justine never elaborated on how much she told him. I only knew I had to shut him down. It wasn’t an option. Krystina was still unaware of one major detail from my past. I’d be damned before I let him use that to tear us apart. I couldn’t lose her.

Not again.

I often wondered if I should’ve just told her everything that night on The Lucy. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t. After all, I had given her the worst of it. The part I left out shouldn’t matter. She knew of the potential monster I could be. That was more than enough.

Thirty minutes later, I was drenched in sweat and my knuckles were raw from the repeated striking on the vinyl without the proper gear. However, my mind felt clearer. While I was still searching for answers on how to handle the situation with Charlie, I no longer felt like I wanted to rip him limb from limb. I delivered a final blow to the heavy bag and reached a decision.

There was one secret that I still clung tightly to. If Charlie knew it and shared his knowledge with a reporter, it wouldn’t be long before it was all over the news. I couldn’t allow Krystina to find out that way. She needed to hear it from me. More importantly, she deserved an explanation for why I had kept it from her.

I have to tell her before it’s too late.

A glance at the clock told me that she would probably wake soon. Deciding that I would tell her over breakfast, I grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat off my face and neck.

I felt Krystina’s presence before I saw her. Slowly turning around, my angel came into view. She was wearing one of my t-shirts and her beautiful legs were bare. My gaze traveled up the long length of them until I reached her face. Her eyes penetrated mine and raked over my features. I knew what she saw. It was what I saw in the mirror every morning – eyes haunted from a past I couldn’t escape.

“Good morning, angel,” I greeted lightly.

“I’m all about taking out my frustrations on a punching bag, but I think you were trying to kill it. You’re up really early. Everything okay?” she asked groggily with a yawn as she came towards me.

Appearing to not care about the fact that I was covered in sweat, she wrapped her arms around my waist and rested her head against my chest. I brought my hand up to stroke her hair, appreciating the soft feel of her luscious brown curls between my fingers.

“Everything is just fine,” I lied. I couldn’t help it. Her embrace was like heaven and I didn’t want to ruin it. “Are you hungry? I can make us omelets if you’d like.”

“Mmm, that sounds good,” she said and looked up at me with a sleepy-eyed smile. “But you know me. I need coffee first.”

I leaned down and planted a kiss on the tip of her nose.

“Why am I not surprised?” I joked and squeezed her tighter to me.

We stayed that way for another few moments, a silence settling between us. I knew she was thinking about the numerous times my dreams pulled her from her sleep throughout the night. I could tell she was worried by the way she clung to me, as if she were hanging on for dear life. I hated that I was the cause for her concern.

Because of that, I couldn’t lay anything else on her today. After weeks of tension, we were finally in a good place. I just wanted to stay there for a little while longer.

Later. I’ll tell her later.