Nightmares

He could smell the cigarette smoke. There was a hot, burning pain in his shoulder. He screamed.

Then, water surrounded him. Out of air after his scream, he inhaled water. His body spasmed. They wouldn't let up. He was drowning.

The hands were gone. A ragged breath filled his lungs. He was soaked. His room came into focus. His covers were wrapped around him. He knew there was no point in trying to sleep. Adrenaline beat like a drum in his heart.

Sighing, he ran his hands over his face and pushed the blankets aside. The nightmares were getting worse. Well, if he couldn't sleep, he'd get something done. He trudged into the bathroom and showered.

Breakfast. He pulled on his uniform and searched his mini-kitchen for food. He was out of cereal. Grumbling, he decided to go for an early grocery run.
It only took five minutes to reach the nearest grocery store, but he was already tired by the time he got back into his car with three boxes of Cheerios. He hadn't had more than three hours of sleep a night for a few days. The nightmares were ruining his life, he thought. He started his car and checked himself in the mirror. His eyelids were half closed, and his black hair was mussed. He had a lean build, but he hunched over in the driver's seat, looking more mound than human. His gray eyes were cloudy with fatigue. Sighing, he shut the mirror.

The roads were empty at two in the morning, so he took the liberty of speeding home.

He felt the impact before he heard the horns.

* * *

Pain. Oh, God, it hurt. A pounding headache filled his head. And there was something in his face.

An airbag.

The accident came rushing back to him; the confusion, the horns, the impact. He swore.

Fighting the airbag, he pushed his way out of the car.

Sirens hit him like a wall. The police were coming. It took every muscle in his body to keep from running. It wasn't serious. He could hear the other driver cussing a blue streak. No jail time, he thought, trying to calm the panic rising in his chest. Oh, please, God, no jail time.

* * *

A court date was set, and the weeks before were filled with doctor's appointments he couldn't afford with his minimum wage salary. Working over time kept his mind busy.

Before he knew it, he found himself staring at the ancient Greek-style facade of the courthouse. “Guilty,” echoed in his ears as he approached the door. The last time he was here, they sent him to jail. They started the nightmares.

And this time, he knew he was guilty.

He pushed open the door, and the icy breeze of the air-conditioned air brushed him like a kiss of death. He reminded himself to breath, and moved forward.

It took him a while to find the right room. When he did, the other driver was already there. He sat down across the aisle from his adversary. This wouldn't take long, he knew.

A door banged open, and the judge walked in. She was a small blond, and he thought she would have been cute if not for her judicial scowl. It was amazing how intimidating she looked as she climbed up onto the stand.

His palms started sweating as the judge began.

“Matthew Black?” she asked.

“Yes, your honor.” He stood and wiped his palms on his trousers.

“How do you plead?”

“Guilty, your honor.”

“You have a history, Mr. Black.”

“Yes, your honor.”

She frowned. “You will pay the full sum requested by the plaintiff, and you will serve one hundred hours of community service with the local orphanage's mentor program.”

“Yes, your honor.” Relief washed over him. Even though jail time hadn't even been an option, memories kept popping up and scaring him.

“You may be seated.”

The rest of the trial flew by as he sat, giddy with adrenaline. He'd have to work overtime to pay the plaintiff's sum, but it was doable. He wouldn't survive jail. Not again.

The next day, he received a phone call from the orphanage.

“Mr. Black?”

“Yes?”

“You've been scheduled to visit your assigned child for two hours every Tuesday and Thursday.”

“Today's Tuesday,” he said, suppressing a yawn. It was ten in the morning and he had worked all night.

“Yes, sir. You're expected at twelve.”

He thanked her and hung up. Then he cursed. It was two hours to the orphanage.

He arrived nearly on time; a crash had backed up the interstate and slowed him down.

The orphanage looked like a poorly disguised prison. It was a hulking, gray building that sat squat and low to the ground. Trees had been planted in front of it, along with small patches of flowers, in a wholly unsuccessful attempt to make the place seem like home.

To him, it seemed more like hell. He approached the door cautiously, forcing himself to take one step after the other. It wasn't prison, he reminded himself.

A tall, reedy brunette greeted him at the door. “Mr. Black?” she asked.

“Hatch, please,” he said, managing to keep the tension out of his voice.

“Hello, Hatch. I'm Alexandra Stanton, the Community Service Director for Hollybridge Orphanage. Welcome to our program.”

“Thanks.”

“Your sponsor child is waiting for you. Follow me.”

She was so institutional, it almost scared him. Alexandra led him down a narrow hallway. The whitewashed walls had been painted an almost upsetting bright yellow. Children's artwork had been hung on the walls with tacks.

She pushed open the third door on the left and let Hatch in.

His charge sat behind a wooden table, her combat-boot clad feet propped up on the edge. She glared at him through jet eyelashes and charcoal eyeliner. Her lips were pressed together and painted a midnight black. A black canvas jacket and chain-covered pants completed the look.

He froze, trying to process what he was seeing.

“Surprised?” she asked.

He nodded.

“This is Clarissa Crow,” Alexandra said, “I'll leave you two to become acquainted. If you wish to leave the campus, just sign out at the front desk.”

Hatch nodded. Alexandra left, closing the door behind her.

“I'm Hatch,” he said.

“I'm Crow.” She swept her dyed-black hair back. “So you expected, like, a Catholic schoolgirl, right?”

“Yeah.”

Her eyes laughed. “They sure screwed you over. But I was expecting an old granny, so I think we're even.”

Hatch allowed himself to relax. She had a sense of humor.

“Well,” she said, “I like black, hard core metal, weapons, and guys with piercings. I can't stand pink, cheerleaders, hip hop, and peanut butter.”

“Good to know,” he said.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“What about you?”

He shrugged. “I work hauling crates for a produce company. I barely get paid. My hobby is sleeping... what else is there?”

“Why are you here?” A suspicious, sad look crossed her face.

“Court sentence. Community service.”

“Oh.” There was a beat of silence. “Well, what are we going to do?”

He drew a blank. “What do you like to do?”

“We could blow this popsicle joint and grab some ice cream.”

“Sure.”

They headed to his rental and she directed him to the nearest Baskin Robins.

Hatch ordered a mint chocolate chip scoop in a sugar cone. He was licking at it when Crow asked, “What do I want?”

“Sorry?”

“What do I want to eat?”

He eyed the flavors. “Nothing with peanut butter, nothing pink...” he muttered. “Mango Tango?” he asked.

“I'm not feeling mango-y right now.”

“Chocolate Caramel Swirl?”

“Closer.”

He thought a moment. “Pralines 'n Cream?”

“Bingo. In a waffle cone, please.”

As the teen behind the counter scooped her ice cream, he watched Crow. She stared at the ice cream with an intense anticipation usually reserved for small children. Despite her situation, she seemed happy.

How could she do that?

She accepted the waffle cone, winking at the teen. “Come on,” she said, “Let's walk the shopping center while we eat.”

“OK.”

They got out into the strip mall, and Crow lapped happily at her ice cream. “Have you ever done drugs?”

Hatch was startled. “I... don't think that's something people should talk about.”'

“Of course you have. What kind, though?”

There was no avoiding her question. “Pot.”

“I tried that once. It made me puke.”

He could barely suppress a surprised chuckle. She was so open. “Look, I did that a long time ago, back in high school.”

“Don't worry. You couldn't influence me if you tried.” She crossed her arms for emphasis.

If he hadn't know her for an hour, she would have looked intimidating, her black scowl contrasting with her pale skin. But the ice cream cone cocked to one side in her hand and her usually cheery demeanor deadened the effect.

She bit into the cone. “So, are you married? Dating?”

“No. What's with all the personal questions?”

She shuffled a bit. “I think you're kind of cool, so I want to get to know you.”

Hesitating, he thought. He couldn't think of anything he was ashamed of. “Alright, then. Shoot.”

“What's your favorite band?”

“Metallica.”

“Good choice. They rock. How about TV Show?”

“I don't own a TV.”

“Why?”

“I'm so deep in debt I can't afford one.” He swallowed nervously at his own brutal honesty.

“Why?”

“I got into a car crash. I have to pay for the other person's car, my car's repairs, my rental, my medical bills, and the court fees.”

“Man, that's tough.” She finished her cone and dusted her hands together.

Suddenly, her arms were around him. He froze, then wrapped a cautious arm around her. When she finally released him, she said, “I thought you needed a hug.”

“I... I guess I did, then.” The last thing he wanted to do was alienate her if he had to spen one hundred hours with her.

He looked at his watch. “We may want to be getting back , then.”

“OK.”

He dropped her off at the orphanage and went home to sleep.

The following weeks went by quickly between overtime and mentoring. He took Crow to the zoo, and she gushed over the golden lion tamarinds and baby alligators. They visited the museums in nearby DC, and she loved the Hall of Mammals in the Museum of Natural history and ate freeze-dried ice cream from the Aerospace Museum. She adored the movies and window shopping. During her probing conversations, he covered everything, and spilled to her his fears about jail. He told her about the trial, the conviction of manslaughter, the abuse he went through, the appeal, and his resulting freedom. The nightmares faded. One hundred hours seemed like nothing when it was spending time with the energetic Crow.

* * *

Before he knew it, it was his last scheduled visit.

Crow knew. When he entered the visiting room, her eyeliner was smudged and tear tracks ran down her face. “Get the hell out.”

“What?” He was startled by her mood.

“You heard me.”

“Crow...”

“Your hours are up, Hatch. Lord knows you don't want to be here. I doubt you give a damn about me. Why would you? I'm just your court sentence.”

He wanted to say, “Because you saved me.” But he couldn't.

“So get the hell out, Hatch.”

He obeyed, closing the door behind him. What else could he do? He'd never seen her like this before, and he didn't know how to respond.

It was a long ride home. He avoided driving through DC, and drove straight to work. He punched in and hauled crates for hours. He needed to clear his mind. He needed to get her words out of his head.

He did care. He really did.

Why didn't he say so?

A week passed. He barely slept. The nightmares came back. He spent more and more time at work.

One day, he found himself driving to the orphanage out of habit. He was about to turn around when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hello. This is INOVA Hospital.”

“Look, I'll pay my bills when I can...”

“Sir, you were listed as an emergency contact on a card in a girl's wallet. She was found unconscious. One Clarissa Crow.”

Fear shot through his veins like lighting. “I''ll be there right away.”

Despite the posted speed limit, he couldn't keep his speed from creeping up. He had to get the the hospital. Now.

It took him thirty minutes.

He rushed into the emergency room like the Devil was on his heels. “Where is she?”

“Sir, are you the father?”

“Yes.” He didn't know why he said it. It just slipped out. “What happened?”

“She was on ecstasy, and it had adverse effects...”

“No.”

“I'm sorry, sir. She's bad off right now. Unconscious.”

“Where is she?”

“Follow me.”

Crow lay on a gurney, surrounded by curtains for privacy. Her makeup had been washed off., and she looked like a sleeping angel. Her skin was paler than usual.

“We pumped her stomach, but we don't know if she'll recover.”

He slid one hand under her head and held her hand with the other. Then, he prayed.

He stayed with her all night. She only stirred once. He called in sick to work. He had to stay with her. She couldn't die.

Hours passed, with no improvement. The doctors began to look worried.

Around noon, she stirred softly.

“Crow?”

“Hatch...” the word was like a faint breeze on her lips.

“Hang on, kiddo, and I'll never leave you alone again, OK? I promise. Just hang on.”

“Mmmm...” she moaned. One eye opened, then closed again. “It's bright.”

“Yeah. I'll tell the doctors you're awake.”

They held her in the hospital for two days. During lunch on the second day, Hatch took Crow's hand in his.

“I've got a proposition, kiddo.”

She looked at him suspiciously.

“I'd like to adopt you.”

He found himself enveloped in one of her sudden hugs. “Of course,” she said. “I'd love to go home.”

“I'll do the best I can. I promise.”

The nightmares faded away.