“Hey! Jenn!” The sofa I’m dozing where I’m dozing with my dog, Quinn, is rocked violently. “Time to get up!”
I wipe my eyes and look up to see a stunning woman wearing a glorious white coat leaning over me. Her penny-brown skin is makeup free, her jet black hair swept back in a bun. Clearly she’s come here in a rush. Quinn cocks her head and observes the woman with curiosity before laying her head back on the couch and returning to sleep.
“Get up, why?”
“Why?” She looks at me incredulously. “Jenn, you called me.”
“Yes, and I came here. At 2 am. Because that’s what I do. I fix things. So what about you needs fixing?”
She frowns and brushes a few strands of Quinn’s white hair from the couch before sitting.
“Ummm…” I try and remember why I called. I must have done it in my sleep. What had I been dreaming about? Then it comes back. The nightmare. The flashbacks. The recurring one I’ve had every night for the past 20 years. The face I could never forget. I retell the story. “You can’t do anything about him…can you?”
“Watch me.” She stands, taking out her phone and stepping out onto the balcony. She makes a whispered phone call, then strides confidently back into my living room. “Get some sleep. I’ll let myself out.”
“But…” The door shuts, and she’s gone.
In the morning, the leading story on all the news channels is his arrest. I watch as two officers escort him to a waiting police car, his head bowed in shame as reporters scream questions he can’t ignore any longer. I smile to myself, call in sick to work, lay back down and fall into a peaceful sleep. Quinn nuzzles into my neck.