The Prisoner Project

EIGHT

Diana sighed heavily. I could feel her worry permeate through the telephone line. I knew it was selfish of me to bring the memories to life for her but I needed her. Her voice was soft, understanding my fear. "If your job is triggering your nightmares again then I think you should quit."

I knew she was thinking of the times that my nightmares were so vivid that I'd wake up with panic attacks. One time I had had a minor seizure that nearly sent me to the hospital. "It's nothing serious, I promise. I just...I was just so scared. The dream seemed so real. Hugh was right there."

"Hugh's dead, Aria. We made sure of that." She said, giving me a sense of relief.

I nodded seriously, forcing my brain to process that he was dead. I didn't want anymore nightmares. How could he frighten me so much yet be so dead? I fought back a wave of nausea. "I'm so glad he's dead, I'm so so happy."

"I am, too." She whispered. I knew then that she too must have been crying.

I knew what had triggered the night mare was the conversation I had had with Banshee and what I had found out about him, his mother, his killings. It had somehow triggered the same fear I had felt two years ago, on the day of my graduation.

Diana muttered in my ear, breaking out silence. "I had a nightmare about two days ago. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry about me when you had your job to think about." She confessed. "Besides, Dante helps me cope with everything."

Because of her insecure attachment to our parents as a child, she was very dependent on anyone who showed her an inkling of affection. I tried so hard to contain the shock in my voice but I failed. My erratic heart didn't still. "You told him about the past?"

"No!" She hurried. "I'm not stupid, Aria."

I agreed. "I'm sorry, I was just worried."

"It's OK. I meant that talking to him just helps me cope with everything. He's very supportive and even if we're writing to each other, he's an amazing listener." She paused, when she realised I wasn't speaking. "Perhaps you should get someone to talk to. Who'd listen to you."

"Diana, for fuck sake, what is wrong with you?" I couldn't help but spit. My anger was stemming from my initial fear. "I called you because you're the someone I'm talking to. I don't want to talk about this with anyone else, and you shouldn't too. Jesus."

There was heavy silence on the line.

Then Diana sniffed, whispering. "God, I really miss mom."

And in that moment, all I wanted to do was become a satellite transmission so I could travel through the phone cord and hug her. I wanted to be in the comfort of my home, not surrounded by killers who reminded me of things I didn't want to ever remember. I felt five years old again, and I wanted to cry.

"I miss her too, and I love you."

"I love you too. Stay safe, alright?" She insisted. "I've got a super early work shift in the morning so I have to go now." She paused, weighing her options. I could almost envision her twirling her hair between her fingers. "I could stay if you need me."

I shook my head, knowing she couldn't see me. "No, it's fine. I'll be fine." I said, more to myself than to anyone else. "Use your dream catcher tonight. It helps you sleep better."