In her dream, Lorraine clutched her belly without thinking, a protective instinct blooming in her limbs.
The blood painted the river like ink dropped in tea—spreading, swirling, curling around her legs until the current ran dark and crimson.
"Leroy!" she screamed.
Why she called his name, she didn't know. But in that moment, in that dream, it felt like the only thing that made sense.
Just as she made that sound, something moved beneath the surface. She looked closely at the ripple… a stirring, as if something was alive and was reaching for her legs.
She tried to run. Tried to back away. But her body wouldn't obey. She was trapped.
And then…
She jolted awake.
She bolted upright in bed, breath tearing through her lungs. Her hand was already clutching her belly. Her nightdress clung to her sweat-slicked skin. Her heart thundered beneath her ribs, loud enough to drown thought.
Both hands pressed to her stomach before she could even think. Flat. Normal. Safe.
