Alone In the World

Chapter 1: A Bad Nightmare

I woke up from another bad nightmare.

Streaks of sweat clung from my cheeks as I pressed my hands against my face.

I take a couple of deep breaths then stared hard at my alarm clock: it was still ten o'clock, and it was the fifth time that I woke up.

Just then, a hand pressed against my drenched white tank top.

The hand belonged to my wife, Cole Hamilton, who wiped the tiredness from her eyes and stared at me.

Her long hair is lustrous and wild against her shoulders.

She wore a black t-shirt with a zombie head on it and red shorts.

"Having bad dreams again?" she asked.

I touched her high cheekbones with my hand then shook my head.

"I'm fine," I reassured her. She casted me a doubtful look.

"You look like Seth when he ate that spicy chili pepper."

I chuckled at that memory then kissed her forehead.

"I'm fine," I repeated. "Just another nightmare."

"About what?" Cole asked.

I shrugged my shoulders then said I don't know.

"Don't worry about it so much," she advised.

"Instead of thinking about the bad things, try and think about the good. Okay?"

Cole kissed me passionately on the lips, and slept peacefully under the covers.

As always, she looked sly and beautiful, just like Irene Adler.

Quietly, I pressed my lips against her forehead then roll out of bed.

I stretched my arms out and walked out of the bedroom.

I tugged the helms of my pajama pants, as I pushed the door open and peeked at my eight year old daughter, Cleo.

I carefully tiptoed into her room and shut the door behind me.

Her room is like Cole's: periwinkle blue was bathed on the walls, her old Scooby-Doo carpet laid in front of the marble-like wooden floor.

A tall bookshelf filled with all of her favorite mystery books, a desk covered in old homework papers, and straight across the bed was a closet and the bathroom door.

As I sat on the bed, I smoothed her head. On cue, Cleo's eyes woke up and turned to face me.

"Are you having bad dreams?" Cleo guessed.

I raised my eyebrow at her.

"Of course not," I lied.

Unconvinced, she gave me a look.

"If you don't have bad dreams," she began.

"Then why are you in my bedroom?"

I let out a sigh: that girl sounds a lot like her mother.

"It's just...complicated."

I sighed, touching her cheek.

"There's nothing to fear, but fear itself," Cleo quoted.

I smiled at her in response, it was no surprise that she had the brains of a Sherlock.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Dreams happen when people have a rough past or something," Cleo shrugged.

"The only thing you can do is to stop it."

"Where did you hear that?" I asked.

"Books," she shrugged.

"But what I don't understand is, what are you afraid of?"

Cleo blinked her huge hazel eyes at me then tilted her head.

Instead of answering her question, I stroked her hair then told her to go to sleep.

"Goodnight, Daddy." Cleo mumbled.

Her hands picked up something square and pressed it against her chest: it was a wedding photo of Cole and me.

She wore a wedding veil, a white dress, and a bright smile. She leaned against my shoulder, looking like an angel.

Meanwhile, I wore a black suit and tie with a shy smile.

I remembered that the wedding wasn't that spectacular; since we both hated huge weddings, we decided to do it in private.

So, Seth and Cole's mother made the arrangements in an huge, old cathedral in London, where we picked for the wedding.

Even though her mother hated the idea of making plans there, Cole and I liked the church, because it reminds us of our adventures.

The priest said our vows, we slipped on our rings, and we kissed.

"Goodnight," I whispered.

I kissed Cleo on the cheek and left her bedroom.

What are you afraid of?

I carried Cleo's question, as I headed back to the bedroom, where I sat absentmindedly on the bed.

Cole is still sleeping soundly, leaving me envious.

I left the bed again but this time, I walked over to the bathroom.

Not wanting to wake up Cole, I turned the sink tap on and shut the bathroom door.

I stood face to face with the mirror, carefully taking my green contact out of my eye, and placed it on top of the empty toothpaste box.

I soaked my hands in water then splashed it on my face.

I kept washing my face, until the fog appeared on the glass.

I wiped my drenched face with a towel, but as soon as I swept the fog from the glass, a little boy stared at my reflection.

He had brown hair, wore a green striped shirt, khaki pants, and sneakers.

Like me, he had suffered from heterochromia: he had one green eye and one hazel.

His face was ghastly as if he had seen a ghost. Slowly, I wiped away the fog, but the boy copied my movements.

I brushed away my hair and the kid did the same.

I lifted both of my arms and pressed the glass with hands in a pushing stance.

The boy repeated it, but this time I saw something gruesome: he and I had the same cuts on both arms.

I jerked away from the mirror, and the child did the same.

"What in the world?" I mumbled.

I must be dreaming. I thought as I placed the contact back in my eye.

I came out of the bathroom, but when I turned back, the boy is gone.

"I must be dreaming," I repeated again.

I was relieved when I reached my bedside.

I threw the covers over me and stared at the wall.

For an instant, I felt Cole's hand slipping through mine and holding it tightly.

"You okay?" Cole mumbled through her closed eyes.

I nodded very slowly.

"You know I love you, right?" she reminded.

She lifted her head off of the pillow then rested on my chest.

"Yeah," I answered, resting my hand against her shoulder.

"I love you too."

Cole kissed my cheek, and clung her hand to mine.

I smiled, as I shut my eyes and went to sleep.